Chapter 7

After Donna left, I poured myself a glass of water. I took a few sips, and my mind started to wander. I kept refreshing my phone screen, flipping between different apps, but nothing seemed to make sense.

Then, I noticed a flood of red notifications on my account. When I clicked to check, I discovered a slew of direct messages:

"Loser, if you're being ridiculous, go get help. Why are you bothering someone else's girlfriend?"

I frowned and clicked on the links. Someone had posted photos of me with Donna online, showing me delivering breakfast and gifts to her. Donna's face was blurred, but mine was clearly visible.

The post accused me of harassing the wealthy CEO Jessica's girlfriend and demanded a public apology. As I scrolled down, my hand holding the glass began to tremble slightly. There were hundreds of comments criticizing me.

"This guy looks decent but does such shameless things. Appearances can be deceiving."

"Don't you see? He's obviously trying to latch onto a rich girl to avoid struggling for years. But going after Jessica's girlfriend is like hitting a brick wall."

A wave of dizziness hit me, and the cup slipped from my hand. The ceramic shattered on the floor, breaking into several pieces. I crouched down, desperately trying to piece it back together, but it wouldn't return to its original form.

This cup was a birthday gift from Rachel, the year she passed away, and she had made it herself. Rachel and I were twins. When we were ten, our parents died in a car accident, leaving us with only twenty thousand dollars.

No relatives wanted to take us in; we were like unwanted burdens, tossed around in disdain. So, after graduating junior high, I started working to support my sister, eventually helping her attend a prestigious university.

The cup had a white and blue gradient, and the little stars on it were crafted by Rachel's hands.

“Bro, I made this cup for you with my own money. Do you like it? My brother is so handsome, this fresh color suits you best! I will work hard to become successful and buy more and better things for my brother. I won’t be a kid who worries you anymore!”

Her eyes sparkled, and I pinched her chubby cheeks, nodding with affection.

Rachel, it’s alright. With your brother, you can always be a kid.

At the bottom of the broken cup, there was some writing. After piecing it together, I found the number "907." When Rachel gave it to me two years ago, there was no writing on the bottom. She must have added it later.

I held the ceramic pieces, thinking for a moment, and then my gaze fell on the corner where my sister's suitcase was. I slid the numbers, and with a click, the lock opened.

Inside the suitcase, there were only four items: a pair of white ballet shoes, a photo of her practicing ballet, a journal, and a cell phone she used before.

I gently touched the cover of the journal with Rachel's name on it, picked it up, and opened it carefully.

Starting from the beginning, the earlier entries were just daily records, including which boys confessed to her at school. Rachel was born with curly chestnut hair, a small, doll-like face. She even received an offer from a director.

But perhaps because our parents left us so early, even with all the admiration she received from others, she never dared to face it directly and only opened her heart in her journal.

After starting university, Rachel, who had practiced ballet since childhood, was recommended by the school to participate in major competitions. Each spin and jump on stage made her shine like a star.

I smiled as I read the entries, but my smile froze when I saw a particular line. Because my sister mentioned Jessica's name.