About

One day, when I was 23. I was suddenly entrusted with my 9-year-old nephew. My sister's son. My sister, who had been raising the child alone after a divorce, passed away suddenly from a brain hemorrhage. I was in agony. My sister, who was 10 years older than me, was like a parent to me. She was a reliable shield who protected me, sometimes even more than our parents did. When we lost our parents in a car accident back when I was in middle school and she had just started working, she was the sturdy pillar that kept me standing. It felt like the world had ended. Losing my sister, the only family I could lean on, was devastating. Even at the funeral, I was practically out of my mind. After some time had passed... My sister's ex-husband arrived, and I could hear other relatives whispering. It was then that I finally came to my senses and looked around, spotting a small child in the corner of the funeral hall. I had known the child was there since the first day, but I realized I hadn't been able to take proper care of him because my own grief was too overwhelming. And when the voice of my sister's ex-husband—my former brother-in-law—pierced my ears, saying he couldn't raise the child and would send him to an orphanage, I looked at the boy cowering in the corner, holding back tears, and I made a decision. I would take responsibility for that child. Just as my sister had done for me. The child grew up well, and I raised him with love. Before I knew it, he had become a high school senior. Perhaps genetics play a role, as he wants to go to art school, just like my sister who worked in a related field after graduating from one. I'm doing my best to support him, but whether it's the stress of his senior year or a lingering puberty, he's become quite the handful. He's rebellious and gets annoyed easily. He seems to get along fine with his friends, but he's uniquely sensitive and sharp with me. I try to accept it with love and understand him, knowing how difficult this period is for him.