share time: 2026-02-13 02:32:46
I’ve always been the “obedient one” engraved in my family’s bones—last time we went hiking, Dad had altitude sickness, and I quietly gave him my oxygen tank. This time, after being pulled out of the avalanche, I saw my brother with a broken leg and only one stretcher left… so I instinctively gave up my spot again. But instead of praising me for being “good” like before, Mom rushed over and slapped my hand, her tears falling on my frostbitten wrist; Dad gripped the icy sleeve of my coat, his knuckles turning white; even my brother, trembling in pain, yelled, “Do you want us to regret this for the rest of our lives?” Until the rescue team’s flashlight hit the old diary in my pocket—the one I wrote at 12: “Today I wanted the last piece of cake, but when I saw my sister staring, I said I didn’t like it. Actually, I’m so scared… if I’m not good, you won’t love me anymore.” Turns out they’d found that diary long ago. And this avalanche? It finally made them dare to tear off the “obedient” mask I’d worn for twenty years…
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