I couldn't help it—my hand trembled, and my chopsticks clattered to the floor.
Yeah. If I insisted on treatment, my parents would probably have no choice but to borrow from loan sharks and sell their blood.
But for a family like mine, even if we sold our bones clean, we still couldn't scrape together $500,000.
I was only eighteen. I hadn't gone to college yet, hadn't dated, hadn't properly experienced this world.
I didn't want to die.
But to keep from crushing my parents, I could only choose death.
Two:
After making the decision, I actually felt lighter.
I forced myself to be optimistic, taking big bites of the steamed egg custard Dad made, hoping only to leave them good memories.
When we parted, Dad pulled a crumpled fifteen dollars from the sole of his shoe.
"Lily, this is what's left from your mom's medicine money. Take it for pocket change."
Tears welling, I waved my hand, turned, and walked out the door.
The instant I stepped outside, it hit me in a daze—this would be the last time I'd ever see my parents.
My composure shattered. Tears poured out.
Back still turned to them, I choked down my sobs and asked, "Dad, Mom, if I weren't here, would you two have it easier?"