Shortly, I heard footsteps approaching. Struggling, I quickly pushed my wheelchair back to my room.

Mom then found me staring out the window as usual and said, "You should be resting. Your legs are injured. Why are you wheeling yourself around again?"

As she entered, her gaze drifted outside, following mine to the soccer field below, where a group of kids laughed and kicked a ball across the grass.

"Will I ever walk again?" I asked quietly, eyes vacant.

For a moment, she was stunned, caught off guard, before forcing a smile. "Of course. You just need to focus on your recovery. Don't overthink it. You'll be fine."

I sneered inwardly.

My uncle is a renowned orthopedic surgeon abroad. Handling a fracture in legs was as easy as a pie for him as he could even save severed body parts. So, if they’d wanted to, they could have flown him in to help. But they didn’t. Not once since the accident.

And I knew the truth. I heard it with my own ears.

Mom was the one who ordered the doctors to take my corneas and give them to Jed.

It wasn’t the accident that made me blind.

Memories crashed over me. My heart ached with the weight of betrayal. After a long silence, I forced out another question.

"The painting I gave you... Do you still have it?"

Her eyes darted away before she answered, "The maid had it framed, but it got moldy during the rainy season. I had to throw it out." She waved her hand dismissively. "Anyway, it wasn’t even original, right? Just a copy of that foreign artist, Code Teel. You can paint me another once your eyes heal."

My throat tightened. Heal? My corneas were gone. How could I ever see again?

I remembered that day clearly. When I gifted her that painting, Jed had sneered. "It’s not bad, but it can't hold a candle to Code Teel's work. Giving Mom a knockoff... are you trying to insult her for raising a fake son all these years?"

Back then, Mom's face had darkened with disappointment. "You're my real son. There's no need to play petty games or target Jed."

I stood there, frozen. I wanted to tell her that I was Code Teel. But seeing her cold gaze, my courage suddenly drained.

Back then, my hands had already begun to weaken. The muscles wasted away, making it harder and harder to hold a brush. So, if I revealed my secret identity, I'd only be a fool.

That painting was my final masterpiece, a piece of my soul poured onto the canvas. It was priceless.

Yet she tossed it away.