Reborn The Son They Threw Away Became the Nation's Pride

I was the throwaway child, the first draft they never planned to keep.

Mom and Dad sat me down together and asked if I wanted a little brother.

I looked at the toy car in my hands, the only toy I owned, and shook my head solemnly.

"I don't want a little brother. And I don't want a little sister either."

But they never cared what I thought. They laughed, handed me off to my grandparents, and didn't come back for a full year. When they finally did, they had a chubby baby boy in their arms.

Mom said he'd be my playmate. My flesh and blood.

But I never even made it to adulthood. My brother got leukemia.

I was strapped to an operating table, again and again, while thick steel needles punched through bone into marrow.

When his kidneys failed, Mom signed a voluntary organ donation consent form on my behalf. She had every legal right. She was my guardian.

I dropped to my knees and begged. I told them I had a clotting disorder. But Mom and Dad decided I was lying. They called me cold-blooded. They held me down while a nurse pushed the anesthetic into my veins.

I bled out on that operating table. Every last drop. The surgical lights were the last thing I saw, cold and white and blinding.

Then I opened my eyes.

……

Mom was crouched in front of me, her face glowing with maternal warmth.

"Desi, sweetheart, Mommy has a little baby in her tummy! Wouldn't you love a little brother to play with?"

She held two action figures in her hands. Behind her, a brand-new blue crib stood in the corner, the one Dad had just bought.

I looked down at the toy car in my hands. The only toy I owned.

I understood. I was back.

This time, I would never be my brother's blood bank. And I would never let my parents chain me with their hollow, counterfeit love.

Dad leaned in with that eager, coaxing smile. "Come on, buddy. There's a little brother growing in Mommy's tummy right now. You're always scared of sleeping alone, right? Once your baby brother's here, you'll never be lonely again."

He'd said those exact words in my last life.

But after my little brother was born, I was lonelier than ever.

Mom stopped reading me bedtime stories. Dad stopped pulling me onto his lap. Overnight, I became invisible in my own home.

Be good. Take care of your brother. Act like a big brother.

I was five years old when they said those things to me.

Five. They expected a five-year-old to swallow every ounce of jealousy, every flicker of hurt, and devote himself entirely to a screaming lump of flesh that hadn't even been born yet.

Back then, I'd felt it, dim and wordless, the sense that something was about to be taken from me. I was terrified. So I told Mom and Dad that I wanted to be their only baby forever.

Mom's face twisted. She jabbed a finger at me and screamed, "I always knew you were the jealous type! You can't even tolerate your own brother!"

I didn't understand what she meant. All I knew was that she was angry.

So I sobbed and told her I was sorry. I said I was wrong. I said I wanted a little brother to play with.

Only then did she smile. But later that night, she whispered to Dad when she thought I couldn't hear: "I saw a story online about an eight-year-old boy who pushed his pregnant mother down the stairs. Who knows if that little brat would snap and come after me? I think we should send him back to the countryside. We can deal with him after Lucius Galloway is born."

Lucius. They'd already picked out his name before he even existed. Lucius, meaning legacy, inheritance, everything the family had would one day be his.

The memories kept flooding back, one after another. My gaze darkened.

Mom must have thought I didn't understand. She took my hand and pressed it against her belly.

"There's a tiny little life growing inside Mommy right now. It might be a brother, or it might be a sister. Aren't you excited?"

Dad walked over and put his arm around her, grinning. "One son is more than enough for me. I'm hoping for a girl, actually. That way our little Desi will have someone to play with."

He'd said that in my last life too. And I'd believed him. I'd gotten so excited that I blurted out how much I wanted a little brother.

But after my brother was born, he despised me. He threw his toys at my head. And the one toy I owned, my only toy, he smashed it to pieces on purpose.