The Hand They Left Broken

The next second, my phone rang. It was my mother.

As soon as I answered, she asked, "Abigail, did your scholarship come through?"

She had no idea I was only a short distance away.

I leaned against a pillar, my right hand hanging at my side. "It did."

"How much?"

"$120,000."

"Perfect. Transfer $100,000 to me first."

She paused before adding, "Your sister got hurt. Your dad and I can only come up with $200,000, and we have to pay the surgical deposit tomorrow."

Another pause.

"Keep the remaining $20,000 for living expenses. I know college isn't easy for you, so I'm not asking you to give me all of it."

So, she was leaving me $20,000. Was I supposed to be grateful?

Five years ago, she had done the same thing.

My grandfather needed money for dialysis. My surgery could wait. We had to set aside some of the household food supplies. Whatever was left could go to me.

After that, there was never anything left for me.

"Mom, I need surgery too."

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.

"What kind of surgery?"

"A procedure to correct my right hand. The doctor said they'd have to break the bones again and reset them in two stages."

"What? Why are you suddenly thinking about getting your hand treated?"

I did not answer.

My hand hurt every day, but to her, as long as I did not complain, I was as good as healed.

"Mom, I'm at the orthopedic hospital right now."

"Don't pay anything yet," she answered immediately. "Your hand has been like that for five years. Waiting a few more months won't hurt. Lillian is only five. We can't let her be left with a permanent injury."

"I was only thirteen five years ago."

There was silence on the line.

My father took the phone. "Abigail, help us get through this emergency. Once things settle down at home, I'll get your hand treated."

"You said that five years ago too."

No one said anything.

Lillian Rothwell suddenly leaned toward the phone. "Abigail, does it hurt for you too?"

"Yes."

"Then, what will you do after you give me the money?"

I really did love her.

For five years, we had never met, but whenever my parents called, Lillian would grab the phone and sweetly call me Abigail.

When she had a fever and could not sleep, I would tell her stories over the phone all night.

The picture books she loved were ones I had saved up for and mailed to her out of my living expenses.

My mother immediately took the phone back. "Abigail, we have emergency money set aside at home. We can't just use it. Transfer the $100,000 first."

"So, the family's money can't be touched, but my scholarship money can?"

"Do you really have to be so calculating with your own family?"

I hung up.

The staff member at the information desk handed me an assessment form. I filled it out with my left hand, but the brace got in the way, so writing was slow and awkward.

She moved the brace to my left side. "This should make it a little easier."

A stranger only had to look at me once to realize I was struggling. My parents hadn't asked once in five years.

I found my grandfather's number and stared at it for a long time, but in the end, I did not call. He was already so sick. I did not want to give him anything else to worry about.

The payment window called my number. My father was only a short distance away, and I was about to enter my PIN. In the reflection of the glass, I saw him running toward me, furious.

I did not hesitate.

The payment was successful. The $600 assessment fee was deducted from my scholarship account.