That day, clutching the doll my mother had
given me, I cried and cried. I had no family.
Ethan came over and offered me a piece of candy. He wiped my tears and snot with a
tissue and said softly, “From now on, I’m your family.”
He kept his word. Even in the orphanage, there was a hierarchy. The kids somehow learned about my past and taunted me relentlessly, calling me a bastard, a murderer’s daughter. Ethan fought anyone
who bullied me. The teachers scolded him, punished him. In the dead of winter, he stood outside, shivering, his face red from the cold. I’d try to wrap my scarf around him, my heart aching. “Ethan, please don’t fight because of
me… I don’t hear them when they call me
names.”
<
He’d frown. “No! I said I’m your family now.
No one can bully you!”
And he meant it.
When I was ten, a creepy prospective adopter cornered me, trying to… touch me. Ethan saw and flew into a rage. He was only thirteen,
small for his age, no match for the man. He
was beaten badly, covered in blood, his eyes
swollen shut. But he clung to the man’s leg,
screaming at me to run. The scar on his
finger was from that day.
As I grew older, I had plenty of suitors. But I
couldn’t forget the boy who lay bleeding in
the snow, protecting me.
<
Somewhere along the way, my gaze started
following him. His smile made me happy.
Other girls around him made me jealous. His words, even his glances, could send my heart racing. He became my whole world.
When I was eighteen, Ethan, holding a bouquet of red roses, confessed his feelings, his face flushed. “Sarah, I love you. Please, give me a chance to love you, protect you, as more than just your brother. When you’re old enough, we’ll get married, have kids, build a family. Me and our kids, we’ll be your family.”
I was an orphan. But wherever Ethan was,
that was my home.
I remembered his promise. From the age of twenty, I waited for his proposal.
But… one year passed. Then two… Ethan
never proposed. He was always busy with
work.
