Billions for My Brother, Regrets for My Grave
In my parents' hearts, there was always a "perfect son" who died too soon.
I was just his flawed substitute, while my younger brother was their new hope.
They pretended to be poor for 20 years, secretly funneling all their resources to him.
While I was in the final stages of stomach cancer, writhing in pain, they were spending millions of dollars to build him a state-of-the-art study room.
When the doctor told me to notify my family about hospital bills, I felt helpless, thinking they were just ordinary, broke workers.
When my mom finally showed up at the hospital, she grabbed my hand, not out of concern.
"Neville is under so much stress with his college entrance exams. Can you not die right now? He can't take it."
My dad stood by, wearing a stern expression. "David was way more sensible than you."