In 1936, my sister and I were raised by our parents because our family was poor, leaving only my younger brother.
They were separated for half their lives and lived well on their own. It was not until their later years that they were able to recognize each other.
When we returned home at the age of eighty-nine and met our brother's descendants, we truly understood everything that happened back then.
It turns out that I have some regrets that have been hidden all my life...
