“You’re so little, but you can eat so much.” Ryan Cooper looked at the empty box—only the last cake was left. He picked it up and took a bite himself; sweet chocolate lava oozed out from inside.

Ethan Clark reached out to him again, softly saying he wanted more. Ryan Cooper had no choice but to hand over the remaining half in his hand. “There’s no more, okay?”

That last half was also eaten clean in the same way, chocolate smeared at the corners of his mouth. Ryan Cooper, finding him messy, grabbed a tissue to wipe his mouth.

He felt like he was really acting like a big brother.

This sudden, brother-like role gave Ryan Cooper a very complicated feeling—a bit of a burden, but also some joy and pride. It convinced him more than a hundred people telling him, “You’ve grown up.”

At bedtime, Ethan Clark absolutely refused to leave, crying and fussing to sleep with Ryan Cooper. Grace Miller had no choice but to carry him into her son’s room. As soon as he crawled into Ryan Cooper’s bed, Ethan Clark stopped crying and fussing, becoming quiet and well-behaved, snuggling up against Ryan Cooper’s arm like a little doll, even holding back tears to obediently say good night.

He seemed to have developed an attachment to this boy three years older than himself, because when it thundered, he would cover his ears for him and give him cake.

After Grace Miller left, Ryan Cooper turned over to look at the sleeping Ethan Clark, thinking to himself that having a little brother might actually be pretty nice. Even if he was a bit clingy and always stuck to him, it wasn’t annoying. He could take him to the riverside park to fly kites, watch the reeds, bring him along to math class, though this little guy probably wouldn’t understand a single word.

Ryan Cooper’s mind was already filled with scenes of being clung to by Ethan Clark.

Kids are always full of curiosity, but not Ryan Cooper; he had always been especially rational since he was little. But when he realized he was going to be a big brother, for the first time, he felt a kind of innocent novelty.

But that night, Ryan Cooper also realized for the first time that being a big brother wasn’t so simple.

In the middle of the night, he was startled awake by Ethan Clark’s breathing. The little hand was gripping his arm tightly, each breath sounding like he couldn’t get enough air. Ryan Cooper was terrified; his first reaction was to jump out of bed and bang on his parents’ door.

The sound of the ambulance was even more chilling than thunder. Ryan Cooper was caught up in it all night, as if his ears were ringing. He refused to listen to reason and insisted on following along, running behind the adults, watching as Ethan Clark was carried by his father—so small, eyes closed, lips no longer that pretty pink.

Everything in the emergency room was chaotic, like a rapid montage of confusing scenes in his memory, all gray, with the sound of his heartbeat and Ethan Clark’s labored breathing as the background.

It wasn’t until the doctor came out and told them everything was fine that the crying mother stood up at once, the father stubbed out his cigarette, and Ryan Cooper finally felt his heart settle.

“Our preliminary diagnosis is food allergy-induced asthma. We checked the allergens—this child has a severe wheat allergy. In theory, he can’t eat any food containing wheat. Mild reactions can be diarrhea and hives; more severe ones, like this time, can trigger asthma. How could you as parents not pay attention to this?”

Grace Miller wiped away her tears and said nothing. During the days Ethan Clark had been here, he hadn’t eaten anything made with flour—mostly vegetables, fruit, and rice porridge. The child’s parents had left so suddenly, they really didn’t know.

“We’ll be more careful next time,” Mr. Cooper said hoarsely.

“Allergies can be serious or mild, and the child is only three years old—it’s no joke,” the doctor continued, “Did he eat anything he shouldn’t have today?”

“He shouldn’t have…” Grace Miller was puzzled too, but no matter how she tried to recall, she couldn’t think of any wheat products.

A string in Ryan Cooper’s mind snapped. He suddenly realized he was practically the world’s most terrible criminal—he had almost killed this little brother who depended on him so much. He thought he was just using his favorite cake to cheer him up, but what he’d fed him was actually poison.

“He… he ate cake. I gave it to him.” In all his life, Ryan Cooper had never been so anxious, but he still confessed his “crime” truthfully, even though it was truly unintentional.

The doctor sighed. “This kind of thing is common. Kids, you know—sometimes they feed their goldfish too much, and the next day the fish are all dead. It’s never on purpose.”

This example didn’t lessen little Ryan Cooper’s sense of burden; it only made it heavier.

“Judging by the symptoms, he probably ate quite a bit,” the doctor comforted again. “Maybe you just love your little brother too much, so you gave him so much cake. Remember, don’t ever do that again.”

A child’s guilt and sense of responsibility made Ryan Cooper realize for the first time that even love can cause harm.

He thought he was taking in a poor stray dog, holding an umbrella for it in the rain, but in reality, the hand he reached out was the one that scattered fish food without restraint—full of joy, only to end up with a little fish floating lifelessly on the surface.