Everything I wore was secondhand from relatives and neighbors. Stained clothes that wouldn't come clean no matter how many times you washed them. Some of them reeked.
I thought about the message my father had posted in the family group chat: five thousand dollars for anyone who went in for typing.
I tested the waters. "If I go get typed, do I get the five thousand too?"
My parents froze.
My mother set down her chopsticks and started dabbing at her eyes.
"I told you she was born to bleed us dry! Her sister is that sick, and when we ask her own flesh and blood to go get typed, she has the nerve to ask us for money!"
"I said we should've given her away. You wouldn't listen. Look at what we're dealing with now!"
My father's face darkened. "Lily, she's your sister. Family doesn't keep score like that."
I wanted to tell them I had no money.
I'd only been out of college two years. Five thousand a month. Two thousand of that went straight to the household. On top of that I bought groceries, toiletries, and covered the water, electric, and gas bills.
Now that I was sick, I needed to save every penny I could for myself.