I woke up and found myself in a hospital bed in the emergency room.
I only remembered a little. I was working part-time moving boxes when I felt a sharp pain in my head as I stood up.
The doctor advised me to get a full checkup. “Most of the costs can be covered by health insurance.”
However, I declined and only got a basic scan.
I needed my mom’s approval for any expenses over 500.
Besides, I worked at a small company. My boss said he would not provide benefits but would give me a higher salary instead.
So, I had no health insurance and could not afford to get sick.
My parents said those benefits were a waste of money and praised my boss for being smart.
They told me it was better to use the money to buy health supplements for Joan Parker, my sister.
However, I found out they had secretly gotten Joan a bunch of insurance plans.
When the doctor looked at my brain scan, he frowned hard.
Right then, my heart started to beat fast.
“You have early-stage brain cancer. It hasn’t spread much, but you should get treatment soon. Surgery will likely work.”
Surgery? I did not have the money for surgery.
My fists trembled from nervousness as I clenched them tightly on my lap.
Joan needed a kidney transplant. So, I had used most of my salary to help pay for her treatment.
I did not have enough money left in the bank.
Unless… Just then, I thought of an idea and suddenly felt hopeful again about the future.
I told the doctor that I would try to get the money in two weeks and return for treatment.
I was stuck in the hospital all morning. After that, I hurried over to a restaurant. Even making some money was better than nothing.
On weekends, I worked at the restaurant and a second job at a bar in the evenings.
Ever since Joan got sick, I had even worked on New Year’s Eve as a waitress at a hotel restaurant.
My parents said working on holidays paid triple, and only a fool would not take that chance.
By the time I finished work, it was already 1 a.m.
It was a cold winter night, and the wind made me shiver. Cabs were expensive at midnight, but I could walk home in 40 minutes from here.
My parents usually went to bed early, so I did not turn on the lights when I arrived. I quietly changed my shoes and started walking upstairs.
Just as I reached the second floor, I saw a small figure closing my room door under the dim hallway light.
I picked up a broom and waited for the right moment to move.
I heard the sound of a zipper. It sounded like someone putting something into a bag.
Was it a thief?
My heart raced. I walked quietly and felt for the light switch by the stairs.
“Don’t blame me. I’m doing this for Joan.
“I don’t have a choice.”
Relief washed over me. It was my mom.
I turned on the light, and she screamed.
I called out to her, and she turned around in shock. She looked at me with unfocused eyes.
When she realized it was me, she snapped. “Why are you sneaking around like that in the middle of the night?! What’s wrong with you?! You scared me!”
What was wrong with me? I was sick.
She looked nervous and uneasy, just like Joan always did when she had done something wrong.
I was used to her yelling. If I came home early, she would say I was lazy. If I came home late, she would say I was out doing bad things.
She seemed to realize she had overreacted. So, she cleared her throat awkwardly and said, “I was just checking if you were home. Since you’re back, I’ll go to sleep.”
Her sudden concern felt strange. She and my dad had been living in a rented place near the hospital for almost two years. They hardly ever came home.
I wanted to say something but ended up keeping quiet.
She mumbled to herself when I did not respond.
Then, she quickly entered her room while hugging her black backpack tightly.
