Love by Lottery

Something warm flowed down the back of my neck, slipping along my hair and dripping outward.

The floor was getting dirty. Mom would be even angrier if she saw that.

I wanted to wipe it away, but my whole body felt light, as if I were floating in midair.

That was when I realized that I was already dead.

I knew what death was. When I was seven, Grandma had also lain on the floor like this and died.

That day, she and Mom had a huge fight. Grandma had pointed at her and screamed, calling her a self-righteous lunatic.

"You either love a child, or you don’t. Why are you hiding behind this lottery nonsense? If you don’t want Silas Vale, I’ll take him back to the countryside right now. Otherwise, throw away that damned lottery box and love both children together!"

Mom had sneered back coldly. "How I love my children is none of your business. I love both of them, of course. But there will always be bias. That can’t be controlled.

"That’s exactly why I bought the lottery box to truly be fair. If they want something, they rely on their own luck. Their father and I won’t interfere. If he can’t draw the long stick, that just means he’s unlucky."

Grandma then collapsed onto the floor from rage and never woke up again.

After that, Mom’s lottery-based parenting only grew more extreme.

If there were two eggs at home, Mom would still make Asher Vale and me draw lots. When I drew the short stick, the long stick naturally belonged to Asher, so both eggs went to him.

At mealtimes, we drew lots too. I drew the short stick, so every dish cooked was something Asher liked, even though I was allergic to several of them.

Mom would sigh helplessly and say, "Rules are rules. There’s nothing I can do. You drew the short stick."

Even when I had a fever of 39 degrees Celsius and cried, begging her to hold me, Mom still insisted we draw lots. When I pulled out the short stick again, she smoothly turned and hugged Asher instead. "Silas, your luck really is terrible."

My entire life was spent drawing lots. Even after I died, I was still thinking about drawing lots.

When Grandma was buried, her coffin was large and spacious. Mom had bought it herself.

Outsiders all praised Mom for being filial and kind. I wanted Mom to be kind to me, too.

I had slept in the same bed for five years. When I lay down, my legs couldn’t even fully stretch out. That was also the result of drawing the short stick.

I wanted to go find Mom and ask her to draw lots for me. If I were lucky enough to draw the long stick this time, she would definitely agree to buy me a bigger coffin.

My soul drifted toward the door.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded outside. My eyes lit up.

Then I saw Mom push the door open.