My father was the CEO of a major corporation, and I was his illegitimate daughter—the one no one was supposed to know about.

Growing up, I was the child nobody cared for. My father didn’t love me, and my mother wasn’t much better. From a young age, it was just me and my little brother looking out for each other.

When I got into college, my father’s family decided to take my brother in. However, only a few days later, I received the news that my brother was dead. 

I knew, deep down, that his death wasn’t just some accident. From that moment on, I worked even harder, determined to succeed. When I finally returned, I had a special gift prepared for my father’s family.

This one’s for my brother!

I was an illegitimate child. Yep, my mother was the infamous homewrecker everyone despised. She was just an intern at a hotel when she met my father, the CEO of some big corporation.

Apparently, my father was drunk that night, and after a wild fling, my mother stuck to him like glue. Back then, she was young and beautiful. No man could resist someone like her throwing themselves at them.

My father thought throwing some money at her and keeping a little side piece would be simple enough, but my mother had bigger plans. She secretly got pregnant, hoping to force her way into the main seat. When that didn’t work, she cried, screamed, and even threatened to end it all just to bring me into the world.

I was born a month premature because my mother, hearing that my father’s wife had just given birth, rushed to the hospital to have an emergency C-section. She didn’t even wait for the anesthesia to wear off before calling my father, demanding he claim his newborn daughter.

However, guess what? My father turned off his phone.

Honestly, I couldn’t blame him. Any man stuck with a woman like my mother would probably wish they could go back and undo their mistakes.

It was too bad for him, though. Due to me, he couldn’t shake her off. My mother warned him that if he even thought about leaving us, she’d throw herself and me off the top of his company’s 29-story building.

My mother wasn’t one to bluff when it came to stuff like that. She made sure people knew she meant business, and her threats worked like a charm. Hence, my father put us up in a small apartment and sent some money each month. My mother, with her fierce determination and stubbornness, made sure we had a roof over our heads.

My earliest memory of my father was my mother calling him relentlessly for a month, threatening him with three bottles of sleeping pills and two wrist-cutting attempts, until he finally showed up at our shabby little apartment.

He tossed a wad of cash on the table, clearly irritated. “Isn’t this what you want? Just ask my secretary for money next time, and stop calling me.”

My mother started dredging up the past, her voice sharp enough to pierce the ceiling. “Marcus Norton, you have no conscience! Remember when–”

He cut her off, clearly sick of hearing her complaints, “Today is Cindy’s birthday. I have to get back.”

Cindy Norton was his daughter with his wife, born on the exact same day as me.

My mother yanked me over, practically waving me in his face like a banner. “You only care about your wife and daughter. What about this one? She’s your flesh and blood too! She’s got your last name, doesn’t she?”

My father’s face turned dark as he tried to leave, but my mother clung to his leg like her life depended on it, crying and ranting about how he had abandoned her and ruined her life. No one paid any attention to me, the pawn in all this.

I walked over to the coffee table, stared at the pile of cash, and looked up to ask my father, “Are you rich?”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded awkwardly.

I grabbed the money, struggling to stand on my tiptoes as I handed it back to him. “I don’t eat much. I don’t need all this. Can you stay with me for a few minutes instead?”

I saw the surprise and shock in his eyes. After a moment of hesitation, he sat down stiffly on the couch.

I pulled out a tattered little booklet, a free ad from the supermarket with cartoon characters and a simple story. I climbed up next to him and pushed it into his hands with no flattery but just a natural request—like any kid who craved their father’s attention.

“Can you read me a story?”

He actually read a little, his voice flat and awkward. I listened quietly, gradually leaning against his arm.

When he got up to leave, I stopped him, grabbing a small, smudged cake from the table and handing it to him with all the seriousness I could muster.

He blinked, finally realizing. “It’s your birthday too?”

I nodded shyly.

He looked a bit embarrassed and rubbed his hands together. “I came in a rush… I didn’t bring you anything.”

Still, I smiled brightly and waved the little booklet in my hand. “I already got the best birthday gift.”

The next day, I received a doll bigger than I was.

I was five that year. Yet, some talents were just innate, like reading people’s expressions and understanding what they were thinking.

After that, my father started visiting once or twice a month. He didn’t have much to say to my mother, but he’d chat with me, tell me stories, and sometimes take me out for a meal.

My mother, though, was relentless. One rainy night, she got my father drunk again.

The next morning, when he woke up in her bed, he looked like his world had fallen apart. It seemed possible to make the same mistake twice.

Ten months later, my brother, Xavier Norton, was born. The first time I saw him, all wrinkled and red, I thought he was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen.

He cried his little toothless head off, face flushed bright red. I reached out with a finger to poke his cheek, and just like that, he stopped crying. Instead, he turned his head and latched onto my finger, sucking on it with all his might.

With my brother’s arrival, my father moved us into a bigger apartment, and the monthly allowance doubled. Life got a bit better.

My mother, holding my baby brother, was filled with renewed ambition.

She kissed his little face and bragged to me, “Your father’s wife only gave him that one daughter, Cindy. But me? I gave him a son. With your brother, your father will have to put me ahead of that old witch.”

Yet, once again, she was overconfident, for my father had no intention of divorcing his wife, and he made that crystal clear.

He even threatened her. “Gracie Adams, you better behave. If you so much as think about bringing this to Mary’s attention, you’ll regret it. You like threatening to kill yourself, don’t you? In that case, go ahead and do it.”

Mary Norton was my father’s wife. I learned later that my father had built his fortune through his wife’s family, so divorce wasn’t an option for him.

In a fit of rage, my mother shoved my brother into my arms and hurled herself at my father, screaming, “I can’t take it anymore! Why don’t you just kill all of us?”

Xavier started wailing in fear. I held him tightly, coldly watching my parents as they fought like wild animals. If I could choose my parents, I definitely wouldn’t have picked them.

The battle ended with my mother bruised and swollen, and my father with a bloodied face. From that point on, my mother seemed to have given up. She finally realized that no matter what, my father would never marry her, not even after she had his son.

Once she accepted that, my mother stopped making my father her life’s goal.

In her own words, she said, “I’ve moved on. Who cares about titles or status? You two are his kids, and there’s no way he can deny that. I’ll just spend his money. It’s there for the taking, so why not?”

With that, she shifted her focus to playing poker through the night, totally forgetting about the time. She also stopped caring about her appearance. Every time I went to find her at the games, I’d see her shouting while stuffing her face with burgers and fries.

From elementary school onward, I had no choice but to take on the responsibility of caring for my little brother. Other kids’ first words were “Mom” or “Dad”, but his first word was my name—Willow. When other kids cried for their parents, my brother would cry for me.

I used to resent that little burden because he was the reason I didn’t have a childhood and couldn’t play outside like other kids. After school, I had to rush home. If I didn’t, my mother would leave my two- or three-year-old brother alone, locking him in the house. He’d cry until his throat was hoarse, covered in his own filth.

One day, it was raining heavily outside. My mother had gone off to play poker and hadn’t come back. Thunder rumbled outside, and I curled up in bed, trembling. I’d always been terrified of thunderstorms, convinced they sounded like wild beasts that could devour me at any moment.

In the dark, a small figure crawled into my bed, his soft little body snuggling into my arms.

Just like how I’d comforted him so many times before, he gently patted my back and whispered, “Don’t be scared, Willow. Don’t be scared. I’m here. I will protect you.”

I cried and hugged him tightly.

He was five that year, and that was when I finally understood what it meant to have a sibling.

When Xavier was twelve, I got accepted into the finance program at Futura University in Salone City. My new life was full of hope, and I couldn’t wait to start. The only thing that weighed on my mind was Xavier. With a mother like ours, he barely had a steady supply of food, let alone a decent life.

He’d just gotten into middle school, still chubby like a little kid, not yet hitting puberty.

Despite that, he spoke like an adult, trying to comfort me, “Willow, don’t worry about me. Go to Salone City. I can take care of myself and look after Mother too.”

I used the money I’d earned from my summer job to hire a housekeeper to cook for them. Still, I left for Salone City with a heart full of worry.

Undergraduate life was busy and exciting, and for the first time in my eighteen years, I felt like I was truly living. As no one there knew I was an illegitimate child, no one mocked or looked down on me. I also didn’t have to deal with a mother drowning her life away at the gambling table or a father who couldn’t care less about us.

However, less than a month after I left, Mary—my father’s wife—finally found out about us. It wasn’t that my father had been so good at keeping us a secret. It was just that he didn’t care enough about us to make it an issue.

The whole thing blew up because of my mother. Having lost a ton of money gambling, she went to ask my father for help, and when he refused, she went straight to Mary.

Mary lowered herself to go to our apartment, offering my mother 10 thousand dollars to disappear and take Xavier with her.

My mother scoffed at the amount, shouting, “10 thousand dollars? Do you think I’m a beggar? I gave birth to two Norton kids, and the younger one’s even a son! So what if they’re illegitimate? Don’t think I don’t know that the law says even illegitimate kids have inheritance rights! Xavier’s going to inherit everything from the Nortons one day!”

Mary stood up, sneered, and left.

I had no idea what she said to my father, but she offered my mother 50 thousand dollars when she came back, with the condition that she’d take Xavier with her.

My mother, drowning in debt, lit up at the sight of the money. When I found out and tried to stop it, it was too late. Xavier was already living with Mary and my father.

I called my mother, furious. “Xavier’s only twelve, and you sent him to live as an outsider in that house! Think from Mary’s perspective. Why would she treat her husband’s illegitimate son well?”

My mother, now debt-free, sounded smug. “Why wouldn’t she treat him well? He’s your father’s only son, the Nortons’ only male heir. Your brother’s living the good life now, in a big house with servants. Don’t be jealous. You’re a girl. You can’t carry on the family name. Of course, they don’t want you. But once Xavier secures his place in the family, we’ll both benefit. He’ll be rich, and there’s no way he’ll abandon his own sister.”

I was seething. “You need to get Xavier back. I don’t care if we have to eat scraps. He belongs with us!”

Alas, my mother’s deadbeat attitude shone through. “Get him back? To send him where? To you? Let me tell you something: don’t ruin your brother’s future. He’s with your father now, your real father. I’ve raised you two long enough, and now, it’s his turn. Besides, that 50 thousand dollars has already been spent. If you want Xavier back, you can pay for it. Do you have 50 thousand dollars lying around?”

I hung up the phone, fuming.

After calming down, I called my father to find out what was going on and what Mary was planning.

He was annoyed. “It’s all because of that idiot, Gracie. She went to Mary for money, and that was how she found out about you two. This whole situation has been driving me crazy. But if Mary’s being generous by taking Xavier in and forgiving the past, what am I supposed to say? It’s a good chance for Xavier to be officially recognized as my son.”

So that was what my father thought, too. He was actually grateful to Mary for being “generous.”

There was nothing I could do from so far away, so I swallowed my frustration and softened my tone. “Father, if Xavier is living with you now, please keep an eye on him. He’s only twelve and really needs a father figure at this age. You’re successful, and I’m sure he’ll grow up to be just as great under your care.”

The words tasted bitter in my mouth, but after years of knowing my father, I knew how much he loved being praised. His ego was massive, and nothing made him happier than hearing how great he was.

I was too far away to do anything, so I could only hope that my father would at least protect Xavier and not let him get bullied by Mary or Cindy.

I called Xavier every day. At first, he’d chat with me about how strange everything felt in the new house, like how Mary always had a stern look on her face, Cindy didn’t like him, and he was mostly confined to his own room. However, over time, he talked less and less, only saying that he was fine and that the food was good.

Then, one day, Xavier told me quietly over the phone, “Willow, I want to come home. I don’t want to stay here anymore. I can make my own food. I know how to make sandwiches.”

Hearing that broke my heart, and I promised him through tears. “Xavier, give me four years. Once I graduate, I’ll take you back to live with me.”

He went silent for a moment, then whispered, “Okay, Willow. I’ll wait for you.”

A few days later, while I was working, my mother called. “Willow, something’s wrong. Your brother—something’s happened to him.”

My heart pounded, and I froze.

All I could hear was her wailing through the phone, “Why am I so unlucky? I didn’t even get to enjoy my son’s success, and now he’s gone! I raised him for twelve years, and he’s gone!”

It took me ten minutes to understand what she was saying. Xavier had an allergic reaction after eating an almond tart at my father’s house. The reaction was so severe that he didn’t make it.

When Xavier was two, I once fed him a peanut butter sandwich. Not long after, his whole body broke out in rashes, and his face swelled up. I was so scared that I dragged my mother away from her game to take him to the hospital.

The doctor said he had a severe nut allergy. We were lucky we got him there in time, or the swelling in his throat could’ve choked him to death. From then on, nuts were completely banned from Xavier’s diet.

Both my mother and father knew about his allergy. I had also warned Xavier many times, and he’d always been careful. As he got older, though, a little exposure didn’t hurt him much, so I couldn’t imagine how much he’d eaten to trigger such a violent reaction.

The phone slipped from my hand as I braced myself against the table to keep from collapsing. Pain shot through my chest, spreading through my body.

The little brother who used to comfort me during thunderstorms and had promised to wait for me never got to see the day I would bring him home.