I was only eighteen. I hadn't gone to college yet. Hadn't dated. Hadn't really lived.
I didn't want to die.
But to keep from crushing my parents, I had to choose death.
After making the decision, I actually felt lighter.
I forced myself to be cheerful, eating big spoonfuls of the steamed egg custard Dad made, hoping to leave them only good memories.
When it was time to go, Dad pulled a crumpled fifteen dollars from inside his shoe.
"Anna, this is what your mom had left over from buying medicine. Take it for pocket money."
Through blurry tears, I waved him off, turned around, and walked out the door.
The instant I stepped outside, it hit me—this was the last time I'd ever see my parents.
I broke down. Tears poured out before I could stop them.
With my back to them, I choked down a sob. "Dad, Mom… if I weren't here, would your lives hurt less?"
Mom's voice was soft, but scolding. "Silly girl. What parent would ever think their child is a burden?"
"As long as you make something of yourself—forget suffering—your dad and I would work ourselves to death and still be happy."
A mother's love pressed down on my chest like a stone, so heavy I couldn't breathe.
Maybe… I should have died a long time ago.