Mom hurriedly hid the painkillers behind her. When she looked up and saw me, a flicker of joy crossed her sallow face.
"Lily, senior year is so hectic—how'd you find time to come home?"
I secretly stuffed the crumpled diagnosis into my pocket and forced a small smile.
"I missed you guys. Asked my teacher for leave."
Dad didn't scold me for being impulsive.
He took two eggs he'd been saving from the cabinet and steamed my favorite egg custard.
While eating, I kept my head low—low enough that my bangs hid the tear tracks on my face.
Mom noticed something was off.
She brushed the hair from my forehead, wiped my cheeks with the back of her hand, and asked gently, "Lily, did something happen?"
To keep them from worrying, I made up a lie.
"One of my classmates got really sick. But their family can't afford treatment."
"I think… they can only wait to die."
Dad sighed. "Only seventeen, eighteen years old. What a tragedy."
"If you ever got sick, your mom and I—even if we had to borrow from loan sharks, go sell our blood—we'd find a way to save you."
Mom glared at him. "Our Lily is perfectly healthy. Don't say such unlucky things!"