I shoved the crumpled diagnosis deeper into my pocket and forced a smile. "I missed home. Asked my teacher for leave."
Dad didn't scold me for being impulsive. He pulled two eggs from the cabinet—eggs he'd been saving—and steamed my favorite egg custard.
I kept my head low while I ate, letting my bangs hide the tear tracks on my cheeks.
Mom noticed something was wrong.
She brushed the hair from my forehead and wiped my cheek with the back of her hand. "Anna. Did something happen?"
To keep them from worrying, I lied.
"A classmate got really sick. But their family can't afford treatment." I stared at my bowl. "I think… they're just going to die."
Dad sighed. "Only seventeen or eighteen. What a tragedy." He shook his head. "If you ever got sick, your mom and I would take out loans, sell our blood—whatever it took to save you."
Mom shot him a glare. "Our Anna is perfectly healthy. Don't say such unlucky things."
My hand trembled. My chopsticks clattered to the floor.
Yeah. If I insisted on treatment, my parents would have to borrow from loan sharks. Sell their blood.
But a family like mine—even if we sold ourselves down to the bone—couldn't scrape together five hundred thousand dollars.