Sister Mom

When I was 2 years old, on the day my mother was buried, I crawled in the snow to look for her. My 6-year-old brother picked me up and said, "Don't be afraid, brother is here." But later, my brother died. He became addicted to gambling, fell into debt, stole money, and was chased and beaten. When I was 14 years old, I knelt at the door of an Internet cafe and begged him to go home. He pushed me away without looking back. It doesn't matter. If he doesn't come home, I'll take care of him. I dropped out of school to work and washed two thousand dishes a day to save money to pay off his debts. Afraid that he would be hungry, I sent pickles with a note inside: "Brother, I feel homesick after eating." In ten years, I sent three hundred jars of pickles. He lost everything and only my sister was left. Everyone said: "Leave him alone, bottomless pit." But he is my brother, not a hole. Later, he cried while eating the pickles I sent in the rental house. He started writing a diary, writing about me, himself, and the unspeakable guilt. Later, his novel became popular and he became a well-known author. On the wedding day, he knelt in front of me in front of everyone: "This is my sister and my mother." I haven't read any of his books, but I know-- I have only written one work in my life, called Brother. [Adapted from a true story·Pre-ordered to burst into tears on the whole network]