Hope Mired in Regret
After my older sister Rachelle came home from dialysis, the atmosphere at home was suffocating.
She curled up on the couch, thin as a rail. She was nagging me hard and telling me not to tire myself out too much at work.
Dad was by the door smoking. To get money to treat Rachelle’s condition, he had sold our old house and land.
Dirty and muddied, my fiance, who had always viewed Rachelle as a sister of his own, brought home his week’s salary.
They all lamented how unfair life was to already poor and suffering people who had to suffer even more.
I looked at myself in the mirror with my bleeding nose and flushed away the report with my acute leukemia diagnosis.
During dinner, Dad sud
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