My Birthright Wine Became My Brother's Victory Toast

4: 4

The day of the cultural office evaluation, Jason wore the red flower of the third-generation heir pinned to his chest.

The examiner opened one of the fermentation jars.

"The sour smell is too strong, and the jar wall is hot. How would you handle it?"

Jason had no answer. He just looked at me.

I caught the smell and picked up the wooden rake at once.

"The temperature's too high. Cool it down first, then check the three jars beside it."

The examiner followed me into the cellar, watched me work, and asked, "You're the one who actually runs this cellar?"

My father cut in before I could speak.

"This is my daughter, sir. She only does the grunt work. Jason handles the recipes and the theory."

"Is that so? But she seems very practiced."

"Jason taught her. She stopped going to school at ten, so she can't understand the technical side. She only follows instructions."

I looked at my brother.

He knew exactly who had kept this cellar all these years, and he knew not a single word our father said would hold up.

Jason avoided my eyes and murmured his agreement. "My sister has a bad memory. I wrote all the steps out for her."

In that moment, the last bit of hope I had was gone.

After the evaluation, the family threw a party to celebrate passing the first round.

That night, my parents called me into the front room.

A partnership agreement lay on the table.

The brand, the account, and the profits all went to Jason.

In the box for the person responsible for product quality was my name.

My mother held the pen out to me.

"You turn eighteen today. Perfect timing for you to sign."

I didn't take it.

"If something goes wrong, there's compensation to pay. There could be prison time."

My father frowned.

"You're the one watching over the wine, so of course the responsibility is yours."

"Then why don't the name and the profits go to me?"

"Jason's building the brand. You've had food and a roof here for eighteen years. Is it too much to ask you to shoulder a little responsibility?"

I said quietly, "From the age of ten until today, I've never received a single cent."

My mother's voice shot up.

"We haven't even asked you for the cost of your meals, and here you are counting wages!"

Jason tugged at me, anxious.

"Sis, our wine has never had a problem. It's just a name. It won't matter."

"If there's no risk, then put your name on it."

He let go of me at once.

My father pressed the pen into my palm.

"Your brother starts school any day now. Don't make him leave with something weighing on him."

I set the pen back on the table.

"I'm not signing."

My mother grabbed my wrist.

"Your brother's project is due tomorrow. You back out now, you want to see him laughed at by his classmates?"

I looked at her. "When I dropped out at ten, I got laughed at for a long time too."

Her hand froze for an instant.

But my father cut in, his voice cold. "Are you going to keep dragging up old history?"

A slap landed hard across my face.

He pointed to the door.

"Without this family you wouldn't even have food to eat. When you're done with your fit, go turn the mash!"

My mother complained that I was set on ruining my brother's future.

Jason stood off to the side, his eyes a little red.

"Sis, I'll make it up to you someday."

I asked him, "With the money I earned for you, or with the wine I brewed?"

He couldn't get another word out.

I went back to my room, picked up the bag I'd already packed, and left the cellar keys, the apron, and the order ledger on the bed.

Outside, my mother was still shouting.

"Get up at four to turn the mash. Don't let it hold up what matters!"

I left through the back door.

They were all gathered around Jason, packing his things. Not one of them came after me.

At four in the morning, I boarded the northbound long-distance bus.

As the bus passed the Dewbrook arch, my mother sent a voice message.

"Turn every one of the three hundred jars before you come back."

"Don't hold up your brother's start of school."

I pulled out my SIM card and slid it into the envelope holding the old red paper.

Beyond the window, Dewbrook grew farther and farther away.

And everyone at home was still waiting for me to come back before dawn and open the cellar.