My Fake Cancer Exposed Their Greed

My name was Aiden Carroll, and I got lucky and won 20 million dollars in the lottery.

As soon as the money arrived in my bank account, I quit my job as a programmer at a huge company and immediately made appointments at the hospital for the next day to receive treatment for all my ailments.

When my aunt, Jessica Davidson, bumped into me at the hospital, I had only just finished receiving my cervical traction treatment and was struggling to get back to my hospital room as I held myself up against the wall.

My face was sallow, my back was hunched over, and my hospital gown was as wrinkly as a rag.

Meanwhile, Aunt Jessica held her little grandson's hand as she stood at the elevator door, staring at me with her eyes wide open.

"Aiden? What are you doing here?"

"Some minor surgeries," I replied through clenched teeth.

She gave me a quick once-over, opened her mouth to ask me something, but thought better of it and kept quiet.

I didn't have the strength nor energy to continue with the small talk with her either. It was only the third day after my hemorrhoid surgery, and speaking hurt as it tugged against my wounds.

Aunt Jessica then quickly left with her grandson in tow. I didn't think much about it.

That night, my phone nearly exploded with messages. Aunt Jessica had sent seven or eight messages in the huge relative group chat.

"Aiden's in the General Hospital, and he looked so emaciated I nearly couldn't recognize him! I'm guessing he's having stage-four cancer. And his own mother didn't even know about it! What the hell?"

I didn't respond to her messages.

However, my relatives soon began posting about it on their social media accounts. Some of them sent me private messages to wish me better health, while some others just posted vague photos with a whole wall of text.

One of them even posted, "God always calls home the most talented people first."

My cousin, Larry Carroll, posted a black image with the words, "RIP, Aiden", with three "prayer hand" emojis behind it.

I stared at the screen for a long time and didn't bother explaining.

I had another cervical traction treatment scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, and I hadn't taken my stomach medicine yet. Yet, I'd already broken out in a cold sweat from the pain of changing my dressing after the hemorrhoid surgery.

I really didn't have the strength or the time to reply to everyone's wishes and misunderstandings.

The next morning, my mother, Jenny Davidson, came to visit me at the hospital. She brought a clear plastic bag with her with two oranges in it.

I thought she came to check on my condition and take care of me. But as it turned out, she was here for another reason.

She sat down next to my bed, placing the oranges on the bedside table, and pulled out a stack of papers that looked like a document.

"Sign this, Aiden."

I took the papers from her and saw that it was a "Declaration of Waiver of Inheritance".

The contents wrote, "I, Aiden Carroll, hereby voluntarily waive my right to inherit the property under my name and fully hand over the right to my younger brother, Austin Carroll."

The document was printed in black and white. Only the date and signature fields were left blank.

I gripped the pages in my hands until my knuckles turned white.

"What's the meaning of this, Mom?" I asked.

"Austin hasn't bought a house yet," she said, looking out the window instead of looking at me when she said that. "Remember to transfer your house to him before you die."

Before I died? Why did she say those three words so casually as though she were just talking about the weather?

"I'm not dead yet, Mom."

"I know," she said, finally turning to look at me. "But your Aunt Jessica already said that you just came out of the ICU. Why did you hide it from me, Aiden?"

"I never went into the ICU."

"Stop acting tough. Jessica already told me everything."

I looked at Mom's face. There were tears in her eyes, but most importantly, I could sense the urgency in them. However, she wasn't anxious about my health. She was anxious about my house.

"I bought this house with my own money. I took out a ten-year loan for this."

"You brother can't marry until he owns a house."

"What does that have anything to do with me?" I shot back.

She was stunned for a moment. Then, the rims of her eyes turned red.

"Aiden, he's going to be the only son I have left if you die."

I gripped the document in my hand so hard that it left creases in the paper.

Someone pushed a wheelchair past the window, and a nurse called out in the corridor that it was time for my medication.

There was a long silence inside my hospital room.

"I'll think about it," I said, putting the document on my bedside table without signing it.

Mom then launched into a long grandmother story, telling me about how Austin was a very kind and obedient kid when growing up, how he and I were brothers, and how she was just being fair to the both of us by making this decision.

I listened to every word she said. I also recorded all of it.

When she finally left, she brought the two oranges away with her, saying that she forgot to turn off the stove at home.

I then turned to look at the document on my bedside table and fell into deep thought.

I'd gone to a good college in the big city when I was 18 years old, started working as a programmer at a huge company when I was 22 years old, and paid the down payment for the house when I was 26 years old.

I'd paid 3,000 dollars a month every month for the next ten years, but now, Mom casually just told me to give everything to Austin instead.

I grabbed my phone and took a photo of the document. Then, I went into my photo gallery and set up a new folder especially for the photo.

I wrote in the footnotes, "My mother, Jenny Davidson, brought a notarized declaration of waiver of inheritance and requested for the property to be transferred to Austin Carroll."

I locked my phone screen and then stared at the IV drip bag above me. The transparent tube dripped slowly like a countdown.

News about my "stage-four cancer" had only been circulating for a day, and the first person to visit me, my own mother, was already behaving like this.

I could kind of guess the people who would be coming to visit me tomorrow.

I carefully folded the stack of papers and put them under my pillow for safekeeping. I never signed it. I was just waiting for the next person to show up.