My Broken Bond, Their Unending Pain

After our parents died, my brothers were my protectors. That ended the day they brought home Faye, a fourteen-year-old orphan they treated like a fragile doll, while I became part of the furniture.

They gave her my vintage saxophone, my promised trip to Paris, and dismissed my symphony-my life' s work-as "noise."

The final betrayal happened in the library. Faye deliberately tore my master score to shreds. When I tried to stop her, she faked an injury, and my brothers took her side without hesitation.

"You are a jealous, manipulative child," Clinton spat, before burning the rest of my symphony in front of my eyes. They told me to get out of their lives.

So I did. I accepted a ten-year isolated fellowship and vanished. Now, I've returned as a world-renowned composer whose work saved millions. When my brothers, broken by regret, finally found me and begged me to come home, I gave them a calm, professional smile.

"I'm sorry," I said. "Do I know you?"