After the Countdown
When I was born, the nurse handed me over to my parents, and the smiles on their faces instantly vanished.
Hovering over their son's smooth head was a line of numbers that no one else could see.
6570 days.
It was exactly 18 years. Not a day more, not a day less.
The nurse thought they were just nervous first-time parents, but my parents knew the truth. That number was my lifespan.
While everyone else in the delivery room was celebrating a new life, my parents were staring at my death.
For the next 18 years, I was the most precious person in the family.
No matter how poor we were, the eggs were always mine, the new clothes were always mine, and the meat was always mine.
My younger si
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