I Stole His Dream

Okay, here goes nothing. I've been holding onto this for… god, almost twenty years now. I need to get it out. I need someone to know. I don't deserve to carry this around anymore.

My brother, Liam, always wanted to be a musician. Since we were little kids, he was strumming a guitar, writing songs in his notebook, dreaming of playing on big stages. He had the talent, too. He was *good*. Like, really good. Everyone said so. Even me, and I was usually too busy being jealous to admit it.

I was… different. I was 'practical.' I was the one who was supposed to go to college, get a 'real' job, make something of myself. Liam was the dreamer, I was the doer. That's how everyone saw us, and honestly, how we saw ourselves.

But deep down? I envied him. I envied his passion, his freedom, the way he could just *create* something out of nothing. I wanted that. But I was too scared to chase it myself. So, instead of admitting that, I… well, I sabotaged him.

He got a scholarship to this amazing music school. Full ride. It was his dream come true. He was packing his bags, buzzing with excitement. And I… I planted the seed. I kept saying things like, "Are you *sure* you want to do this?" "It's a long way to go. Will you even be able to make a living?" "Mom and Dad are counting on you to help out with the house."

Little by little, I chipped away at his confidence. I made him doubt himself. I made him question his dream. I told him he had a responsibility to the family and he should do something more stable and closer to home.

And it worked. He gave up the scholarship. He stayed home, went to the local community college, got a job at the hardware store. He still played guitar sometimes, but the spark was gone. The music was… quieter. Sadder.

I went on to get my 'real' job. I made good money. I bought a house. I did all the things I was supposed to do. But I was never happy. I always felt this… emptiness. This guilt.

Liam never knew it was me, not really. He probably thought he just wasn't strong enough. He probably thought he made the right choice. And that's what makes it worse.

He's got a family now. A wife, two kids. He seems… content. But sometimes, when I see him, I see a flicker of that old fire in his eyes. And I know. I know what I took from him.

I don't know why I'm writing this. I can't tell him. It would destroy him. Maybe I just needed to say it out loud, even if it's to a bunch of strangers. Maybe I'm hoping someone will tell me it's okay. But it's not, is it? It's not okay. I stole his dream. And I don't know how to live with that.