When my mom was pregnant with my little brother, a prenatal checkup revealed he had XYY syndrome. Everyone begged her to terminate the pregnancy. My mom cried and flat-out refused. I asked her what “XYY” meant. She said to me, “It means your brother is going to be the manliest of men. He’s going to protect his big sister.” I half-understood it. Until he was seven years old, and he took a brick and smashed it into my mom’s head over and over again. Then, I finally understood what kind of “man” he was. 1 I was six years old when my mom got pregnant. A few months in, they paid a private clinic to find out the gender. When she found out it was a boy, my mom was ecstatic. Even though my dad always said having his “little princess” was enough, having a son had always been my mom’s ultimate wish. Until the amniocentesis results came back, and everything changed. They said the unborn baby had an XYY karyotype. Also known as “Super Male Syndrome.” I eavesdropped outside the door. My dad was pleading with her to give it up: “Let it go, Sarah. We have Harper, and that’s enough! The doctors said these kids have a very high risk of severe antisocial and aggressive behavior. We can’t raise a kid like that.” Tears streamed down my mom’s face. She shook her head, her hands protectively covering her belly. “No, I can’t do it. Look how big he is already. You want to end your own child’s life just because of something a doctor said?” My dad frowned, at a loss for words. My mom said firmly, “Didn’t we raise Harper to be a wonderful girl? I believe this baby will be fine too. We just need to guide him properly…” My dad, speechless with anger, went out to the patio to smoke, leaving my mom crying with red eyes. I walked over and asked, “Mom, what does ‘Super Male’ mean?” She looked at me sadly, thought for a moment, and said, “It means your little brother is going to be the manliest of men. He’s going to protect his big sister.” I hesitated. “Will you and Dad only love him and not me?” She stroked my hair. “How could that happen? Mom loves you the most.” I smiled. A few months later, my brother Caleb was born. Everyone who saw him praised how beautiful he was. Big eyes, fair skin—he looked like an angel from a greeting card. Whenever someone praised him, my mom beamed with pride. She would say, how could such a cute baby ever be violent? She was going to love him with everything she had. Shielded by my mother’s overwhelming love, Caleb slowly grew up. He babbled, he cooed, and he began to express his emotions. It was just that the way he expressed his emotions was very different from other kids. If he didn’t like the carefully prepared baby food, he would just flip the bowl onto the floor. If a toy car ran out of batteries and stopped moving, he would fly into a rage, stomping on it brutally until it was smashed to pieces. Only when it was utterly destroyed would he smile. He had an extreme destructive urge. His toys never survived a second day. Once the toys were gone, he destroyed other things. It was as if obliterating objects brought him endless joy. No matter how my dad tried to discipline him, it was useless. My mom practiced “positive reinforcement.” “Good boy! Our baby is so strong!” I felt wronged and complained to my mom: “Why do you ground me when I break something, but you never punish Caleb?” My mom sighed. “Caleb is different. You can only guide him gently. Harper, you’re the older sister, you need to be understanding.” I didn’t get it. This was just blatant favoritism. 2 To cultivate a gentle temperament in Caleb, my mom bought us each a pet rabbit. She smiled and said, “You have to treat the bunnies well, okay? They’re living creatures too.” Caleb stroked the rabbit’s ears, looking like he absolutely adored it, and nodded. But the next morning, when my mom went to the patio to change their lettuce, she let out a blood-curdling scream. I rushed out. The rabbit Caleb was given had been sliced completely open and was dead. Its intestines were spilling out all over the cage. Meanwhile, my rabbit was huddled in the corner of its cage, shivering violently, its ears pinned back in terror. Caleb stood behind my mom, smiling as he reached his arms up for a hug. “Mommy, I want another bunny!” I held my rabbit, a violent shudder running down my spine. Ever since Caleb was born, all of my parents’ energy had been focused on him. Even my grandmother moved in specifically to help take care of him. He became the center of the universe that our family revolved around. I have to admit, most of the time he looked no different from any other little boy. He had a sweet smile, loved snacks, and loved cartoons. But a boy who seemed that bright and cheerful could turn into a demon in the very next second. When Grandma told him he couldn’t have more candy, he bit down on her arm with the ferocity of a wild jackal. No matter who pulled at him, he wouldn’t let go. When I was watching cartoons, and Mom went to the balcony to get him, he casually picked up the heavy remote control and smashed it into my head. Blood dripped down my forehead, and he just flashed a look of pure delight. When he finally reached daycare age, my parents spent a fortune to get him into an elite preschool that focused on child behavioral development. But it wasn’t long before the teachers called my parents in. The reason? An older kid had bullied him, making fun of him for being small. Nobody knows where he found it, but during nap time, Caleb snuck into the older kids’ room while the teacher was in the restroom, used a lighter to set the kid’s bedsheets on fire, sprinted out, and locked the door behind him. If the teacher hadn’t returned in time, the consequences would have been catastrophic! The teachers were horrified. “Does your child watch violent movies? I’ve never seen a kid like this in my life! This is terrifying!” Under pressure from the other parents, Caleb was expelled. My parents bowed, apologized endlessly, and paid a massive settlement to make it go away. Caleb stood to the side, biting his fingernails as he watched my parents humiliate themselves, giggling and laughing. The teacher asked him what was so funny. Caleb said, “I wanted to watch you all burn!” All the blood drained from my dad’s face. He slapped Caleb across the face in front of everyone. Caleb was knocked to the ground. He wailed at the top of his lungs. The bystanders watched coldly. Only my mom threw herself on top of him to protect him. “It’s Mommy’s fault! It’s all Mommy’s fault!” 3 My dad and my mom had a massive fight. My dad roared from the bedroom: “We never should have kept him! He’s a monster!” My mom pointed a finger at his nose, screaming hysterically: “Even if he’s a monster, he’s your flesh and blood! He’s already here! What’s the point of saying this now?!” My dad tried to argue but couldn’t find the words. He left my mom crying alone in the room. My mom exhausted herself getting Caleb into another preschool. But instead of just pulling little girls’ hair, he bullied the younger kids, shoving a toddler’s head into the toilet and forcing him to drink the water. Seeing a teacher who was seven months pregnant, Caleb actually told the other kids he wanted to kick her hard in the stomach. Later, he really did it. When the pregnant teacher turned to go to the restroom, he intentionally tripped her. She lost her balance and fell forward. If someone hadn’t caught her in time, it would have been a disaster. The teacher’s husband caused a massive scene, demanding emotional distress compensation and demanding to know how a child so young could be so purely evil. The principal had no choice. She refunded our tuition and practically begged my mom: “Please take your child somewhere else. We can’t handle him. I’ve run this preschool for thirty years, and I’ve never seen a kid like this!” My parents tried everything—bribery, begging—but nothing worked. Finally, my mom gave up. She just had Grandma watch him at home until he was old enough for elementary school. As the only grandson, Grandma spoiled him rotten. Whatever he wanted, she gave him. Because of her age and bad knees, going up and down the stairs of our apartment building was incredibly painful for her. Yet, she would go to the grocery store every single day to buy whatever specific food Caleb craved, never complaining. Who would have thought that one day, just as Grandma returned from buying groceries and reached the top of the stairs, Caleb would come charging out of the apartment, staring at his video game console. He didn’t even try to dodge her. The grocery bags tumbled down the stairs, followed by the heavy thud of Grandma’s body rolling down the flight of steps. Caleb didn’t even look at the grandmother who had just plummeted down the stairs. He just kept playing his game, his laughter echoing through the hallway. I saw the whole thing with my own eyes. Because of that fall, Grandma was paralyzed from the waist down. My dad went crazy, slapping Caleb over and over. He looked like he wanted to murder him. My mom cried and clung to his legs, screaming, “He’s just a child!” My dad roared, “He’s not a child! He’s a monster!” He slumped into a chair, muttering to himself, “We should have aborted him. We should have aborted him.” Caleb glared at him with pure hatred. Only I walked up to my dad. I told him not to be sad, that Grandma would get better. My dad pulled me into a tight hug, tears suddenly falling from his eyes. When I got back from the hospital, I was in a great mood. I hummed a song while feeding my rabbit lettuce. My poor rabbit was still traumatized by the brutal death of its companion; it shivered whenever anyone came near. I shoved the lettuce against its mouth. “Eat.” The rabbit wouldn’t open its mouth. “Why won’t you eat?” Finally, I opened the cage, pried its mouth open, and watched the lettuce go down its throat. Only then did I leave, satisfied. 4 After Grandma was paralyzed, there was another person in the house who needed constant care. To prevent any more “accidents,” my mom quit her job to stay home and look after Caleb and Grandma. No one knows why Caleb pushed Grandma, but according to him, he “thought it was fun.” He had always been like this. Seeing others suffer was fun to him. His joy was built entirely on the pain of others. After being betrayed by her precious grandson, Grandma’s personality completely changed. She stopped talking to Caleb and finally realized my worth. Whenever there was something good to eat, she would call me over and save it for me. She didn’t give Caleb a single ounce of warmth. Caleb caught us talking and sharing snacks several times. He would stare at us with a dark, brooding look: “What are you guys doing?” We stayed silent and didn’t answer. He would turn around and go watch cartoons, and I would breathe a sigh of relief. After that, Caleb became incredibly reckless, completely ignoring the feelings of anyone else in the house. When told he couldn’t light fireworks outside, he decided to light them inside the living room. To prevent him from burning the house down, my mom confiscated all his toys and lighters. Until one day shortly after. Grandma was taking a nap, and my mom and I went to the supermarket. My mom warned Caleb: “Do not go near the kitchen. Stay in the living room and wait for us, you hear me?” Caleb gave a sweet, innocent smile and agreed. An hour later, when we returned, we smelled smoke before we even opened the door. Panicking, my mom threw the door open. The house was filled with smoke. She screamed Caleb’s name like a madwoman. Caleb was standing in the living room, perfectly fine and unharmed. But when I went to look for Grandma, I realized the smoke was pouring out of her bedroom. Grandma was still lying in bed. I covered my nose and yelled, “Grandma, Grandma, wake up!” She didn’t respond. I yelled a few more times. My mom rushed in and shook her: “Mom! Mom! What’s wrong? Mom!” Grandma remained lifeless. As the smoke cleared slightly, I could see her lips had turned a dark, bruised purple. My mom with trembling fingers reached out to check her breathing. Two seconds later, she let out a blood-curdling scream and collapsed onto the floor. Grandma was dead. 5 Soon, police cars, ambulances, and fire trucks completely surrounded our building. The paramedics pulled a white sheet over Grandma’s body. A firefighter looked at the shredded firecracker paper covering the living room floor and let out a long sigh. The firefighter told the police: “Preliminary assessment is the child was setting off M-80s inside the house. The elderly woman was asleep, suffered a severe shock, and had a sudden, fatal heart attack.” A police officer frowned at my mom. “Leaving a young child home alone is bad enough, but letting him play with explosives? Do you have zero common sense as a parent?” My mom still hadn’t recovered from the shock. She stuttered, “I… I didn’t know…” The police looked at her in disbelief. Meanwhile, Caleb sat on the couch sucking on a lollipop, acting as if nothing had happened, watching the commotion and giggling. Someone glanced at Caleb and muttered, “Look at that kid. His grandmother just died in a freak accident and he’s sitting there laughing.” But they didn’t know. Caleb literally had no heart. When Grandma’s body was wheeled past me, my nose stung. Even though she was only kind to me at the very end, those were still memories I cherished. Right then, my dad rushed home, just in time to see Grandma being loaded into the ambulance. He leaned against the doorframe, his legs gave out, and he slowly slid down to the floor. My mom protectively stepped in front of Caleb. She said weakly, “You… you need to calm down. Mom was already in her 70s, her heart was never good to begin with.” My dad had already gotten the news on his way home. His eyes were locked onto Caleb, overflowing with bottomless hatred. Suddenly, he let out a guttural roar, shoved my mom to the floor, grabbed his heavy leather briefcase, and swung it directly at Caleb’s head. The metal clasp of the briefcase struck Caleb, knocking him to the floor. Blood instantly poured from his nose, staining the hardwood. My mom screamed and clung to my dad’s leg. “It was just an accident! It was an accident!” My dad yanked my mom up from the floor and roared, “Get the hell out of my sight!” Seeing things escalating, the police quickly pulled my dad away. “The tragedy already happened, please calm down! You don’t discipline your kid normally, and now that someone is dead, you resort to beating him?!” A firefighter quickly chimed in, “Exactly. If this had started a structural fire, could you take responsibility for the casualties in the whole building?” Taking advantage of the chaos, Caleb sprinted back to his room. When he came back out, he was holding the remaining string of firecrackers. He lit them right in front of all of us and threw them directly at my dad. “I want to play with fireworks inside!” The popping and banging of the firecrackers echoed through the room again, filling the air with smoke. Everyone in the room fell dead silent, staring at Caleb in horror. He was a monster. 6 Grandma’s death was ultimately ruled an accidental death. After sorting out her funeral, the house was left in ruins. From that day on, my dad never spoke a single word to Caleb. He treated him like he was invisible, and he barely even spoke to my mom. After Grandma was cremated, my dad held her urn and said coldly to my mom, “Let’s get a divorce.” This time, there was no explosive argument between them. Caleb silently appeared behind me. He didn’t speak. He just stared at me with dead eyes. Early the next morning, my dad had his bags packed. The house was quiet; my mom was leaning against the headboard, crying with red eyes. He left all the money and the house to my mom, and voluntarily gave up custody of both of us. At the moment he was leaving, I cried and asked him, “Dad, are you really leaving?” He smiled bitterly. “Harper, be a good girl. Dad knows you are the most sensible one. Take good care of Mom. If anything happens, make sure to call Dad.” I sobbed, “If I’m so sensible, then please don’t leave!” He sighed heavily. “Harper, don’t blame yourself. It’s all Dad’s fault. I never should have gotten married and had kids. I’m not capable of living a normal life, and I’ve caused so much suffering for everyone else.” With that, he grabbed his suitcase and left without ever looking back. From that moment on, it was just the three of us left in the house. Because I promised my dad, I worked even harder. In the middle school placement exams, I scored exceptionally well and was admitted to the best middle school in the city. Caleb, however, because of the arson incident, made every school in the district refuse to take him. Seeing that no school would accept him, my mom came up with a plan: she legally changed his name, and then we moved to a completely different school district. After a lot of hassle, she finally managed to get him enrolled just before September rolled around. My mom aged drastically over those few months. The divorce hit her hard, but she still refused to give up on Caleb. She always hoped her love could somehow change him. But Caleb used his actions to prove to her that some kids are just born bad seeds, and they can never, ever be changed. 7 After starting middle school, I consistently maintained the number one rank in my grade. Caleb also transitioned somewhat smoothly into elementary school. Although he was frequently sent to the principal’s office for pulling girls’ hair, fighting, and stabbing classmates with compass needles, thankfully, no major disasters occurred. Until his classmates all started getting allowances. Driven by a child’s vanity, he suddenly discovered the perks of having money. One day, the $5,000 collected for a class field trip went missing from the classroom. The school took it extremely seriously and pulled the security footage immediately. The camera clearly captured Caleb sneaking back into the classroom during recess and taking the cash envelope from the teacher’s desk. The school called my mom in. Five thousand dollars is no small amount. The school administration and the principal had a very serious sit-down with her. Caleb was publicly disciplined at school, and my mom had to apologize and pay restitution in the parent group chat. As for the five thousand dollars, Caleb had already blown through all of it at the arcade. I remember it clearly. That was the day I attended the district’s academic awards ceremony. I waited until the very end, but I never saw my mom in the audience. I walked home alone, holding my certificate of excellence. It wasn’t until late at night that my mom dragged her exhausted body home, bringing Caleb with her. I sat in the dark living room, clutching my straight-A report card and the award. “Mom.” My mom saw me and froze. “Why are you sitting in the dark? Did you eat?” I didn’t answer. She walked toward me, confused, until she saw the certificate in my hand. She stared at it for a long time, then murmured, “Mom forgot…” Caleb stood in the doorway and said coldly, “I’m hungry.” My mom ignored him. Instead, she pulled me into a tight hug, choking back sobs as she said, “Harper, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you’ve had to suffer so much these past few years.” “It’s okay, Mom. It just means I need to do better.” At that moment, Caleb raised his voice again, “I said I’m hungry!” As my mom cried, her breathing started to quicken. She involuntarily doubled over, her face turning bright red. Her old condition was flaring up. I quickly said, “Mom, I’ll go get your medicine.” She clutched her chest, gasping for air, and slumped onto the sofa. Then, the unthinkable happened. Caleb suddenly picked up a heavy ceramic plate from the table and hurled it directly at my mom’s head. It happened so fast, no one could react. My mom screamed. Her brow bone split open instantly, and blood poured down her face. Caleb was still screaming, “I SAID I’M HUNGRY!” My mom wiped the blood from her face, rushed over, and slapped Caleb twice across the face. She screamed and cried, “Do I owe you?! Do I owe you something?! What more do you want from me?! I never should have given birth to you!” Caleb said nothing. He just glared at her with venomous hatred. If looks were knives, my mom would have been carved into a thousand pieces. 8 Over the years, raising Caleb left my mom covered in physical and emotional scars. As he grew older, he became more and more like a ticking time bomb. You never knew when he would explode. Stumbling along, he had changed schools twice by the time he reached sixth grade. I was already in high school, usually living in the dorms. One day, my homeroom teacher suddenly called me out of class. She said Caleb’s school had called; they couldn’t reach my mom. To make ends meet, my mom was working two night-shift jobs. She slept during the day, so she likely slept through the calls. I got permission to leave and rushed to his school. When I got there, I found out Caleb had gotten into an argument with the class president. Since Caleb couldn’t beat him in a fight, he took a fountain pen and stabbed it straight through the boy’s hand, pinning it to the desk. The paramedics had to use an electric saw to cut the pen to free him. The class president had two severed tendons. When they finally removed the pen at the hospital, there were chunks of flesh stuck inside the barrel. That boy had just won first place in a national youth piano competition! Even if his hand slowly recovered, its dexterity would be permanently compromised. His music career was dead, killed by my brother. Caleb was expelled again. This time, the victim’s parents were both lawyers. They were relentless, refused any mediation, and immediately filed criminal charges. My mom knelt on their front porch, begging them to spare Caleb this one time. They just called the police to have her removed. The boy’s mother looked my mom dead in the eye and said, “I’ve heard about your family. I pity you. But some kids are just born demons. They don’t deserve mercy! I’ve seen kids like yours—zero empathy, highly dangerous.” “None of them ever end up well!” Because Caleb wasn’t even fourteen, the court could only mandate juvenile detention and massive restitution. My mom had to drain every last penny the family had left to pay them off. After that incident, my mom aged another ten years overnight. 9 My mom was in a parent support group she joined when she was pregnant, called “XYY Mothers.” As the name suggests, the people inside were all mothers raising kids with Super Male Syndrome. My mom found a lot of comfort in that group back then. Many people said XYY kids don’t always develop antisocial personalities. They just have a higher probability. How could anyone give up their own flesh and blood over a percentage? My mom believed it completely. When the babies were born, they all thought they were innocent and cute. They believed that with enough love, they could guide them right. They all believed their child would be the exception. But as the kids grew older, they became more and more anxious. Covered in bruises and bite marks, they would ask the “veteran moms” in the group what to do. The ironic part was, the veterans almost never spoke. They couldn’t even control their own kids; how could they advise anyone else? My mom finally ran out of options. She took an indefinite leave of absence from work and stayed by Caleb’s side 24/7 to watch him. Ever since she was pregnant with him, it was like she was under a spell. I don’t believe it was purely maternal love. She never had that kind of obsession with me. Or maybe it was because I was too well-behaved and obedient. I never made her worry, so everything good I did was just taken for granted. During my three crucial years of high school, my mom became Caleb’s full-time warden. She barely checked on me. I gritted my teeth and survived the hardest period of my life alone. In the end, I scored a near-perfect on my SATs and wrapped up high school beautifully. I excitedly called my mom. Before I could even share the good news, I heard her rambling on the phone: “Your brother has been so good lately. He hasn’t caused any trouble, hasn’t gone to the arcade, just stays in his room every day. I can finally relax a little.” I silently hung up the phone. By the time Caleb was thirteen, he was already over 5’7″. Because he did absolutely nothing but sit in his room eating junk food and playing games, he weighed nearly 200 pounds, and his personality became even more volatile and erratic. Since he had been quiet for a while and hadn’t caused any disasters, I suggested to my mom that we take him swimming to lose some weight. At the indoor pool, Caleb was visibly overstimulated. He looked around wildly, staring at the girls. When I came out in my swimsuit, Caleb stared at me with an inexplicable look. I avoided his gaze. He smiled, a dark, confusing grin. Looking into his eyes, my stomach suddenly churned with disgust. Watching his back, it felt like I was watching an amnesiac demon slowly awakening. Caleb dove into the water. Because it was the weekend, the pool was packed. Within minutes, my mom and I lost sight of him. About half an hour later, Caleb climbed out of the deep end. He walked up to my mom and pointed at the snack bar. My mom knew he was hungry, so she bought a corn dog for him and one for me. Just then, a scream erupted from the deep end: “Help! A kid is drowning!” People rushed over, pulling a little girl out of the water. Her face was chalk-white, and her lips had turned a terrifying shade of blue-purple. Her legs were twisted and cramped together. The lifeguard pushed the crowd back and immediately started CPR. The little girl’s mother was already crying hysterically on the sidelines. The bystanders silently began praying for the girl. My mom and I exchanged a look, then both of us instinctively turned our eyes to Caleb. My mom’s hands started shaking, her breathing growing ragged. I quickly pulled her asthma inhaler from my bag and handed it to her. Meanwhile, Caleb was chewing his corn dog, looking down at the dying girl on the tiles, and started laughing. The girl coughed up a lungful of water and slowly regained consciousness. Her mother hugged her tightly, crying, “Sweetie, who did this to you? Do you remember?” The little girl looked around the crowd. When her eyes landed on Caleb, she burst into terrified sobs. The stunned crowd began to whisper and point. The mother, tears streaming down her face, screamed, “What did you do?!” Caleb said coldly, “I didn’t do it!” My mom’s face flushed as she forced herself to stand in front of the angry woman. “Yes! My son was right next to me eating a corn dog! Your daughter must be mistaken!” Caleb remained silent, taking another bite of his food. A few other kids quickly ran over and pointed at Caleb: “It was him! We saw him! He dragged her into the deep end and threw her floatie away!” The girl’s mother finally lost control. She grabbed a cleaning pole nearby and swung it at Caleb. My mom instinctively stepped in front of him, taking the blow for him. Caleb sat behind her, completely unfazed. He muttered darkly, “I just wanted to play with her. Why wouldn’t she let me play?” His voice was quiet. Maybe I was the only one who heard it. But his eyes were locked dead onto the little girl on the ground. The sound of police sirens approached. My mom and I followed Caleb as he was taken to the precinct.
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