DISEASE

"He had her mother's love. She had his silence."

Nix was her baby brother, but to Mun, he was something more—her shadow. Her softest ache.

From the moment he was born, her mother's attention shifted. It wasn't gradual. It was instant. Nix cried, and her mother ran. Nix laughed, and the whole house echoed with joy. Mun watched quietly, invisible in her own home.

She didn't blame him. He was just a child. But the favoritism grew so loud it silenced her completely.

When Nix broke a glass, it was brushed off with a chuckle. When Mun dropped a spoon, it was a scream. When Nix failed an exam, her mother comforted him. When Mun missed a grade, she was slapped, starved, and humiliated.

But still—Mun loved him.

She combed his hair before school. Helped him memorize poems. Saved her favorite snacks for him. When he was sick, she stayed up all night rubbing his back.

One day, she saw her mother kiss his forehead. A gentle, unforced kiss. She hadn't felt that kind of touch in years.

It hurt—but she smiled anyway.

Nix didn't understand. He never noticed the difference. And Mun never let him see her pain.

Because to her, love wasn't about being chosen.

It was about choosing.

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