She Saved Me Then, I Save Her Now
When I'm in my senior year of high school, my mom, Bethany Stout, is diagnosed with uremia.
Even after our family sells the house, we are still 300,000 dollars short on the dialysis fee. I pack my bags overnight, ready to go to work on an assembly line at an electronics factory.
The class belle, Natasha Ferris, grabs my shirt tightly at the train station ticket gate.
She's someone who usually blushes even when speaking a little loudly, but that day she forces a bank card into my hand.
"The password is your birthday. Consider the money a loan. You're not allowed to miss the SAT."
I say I may never be able to pay this money back in my entire life.
With red-rimmed eyes, she scolds me, "Then pay me back slowly, but you cannot ruin your life just like this."
Throughout the four years of college, she transfers me 800 dollars for food every single month without fail, and the note is always "eat more meat".
Mom survives the kidney transplant surgery, and I also secure a guaranteed admission and enter a top-tier company.
But Natasha cuts off all contact without any warning.
Eight years later, I am the youngest partner at the major company, with an annual salary of ten million dollars.
Yet, Natasha's name appears in a mockery video of a local matchmaking group.
"Not only is this woman already 30 years old and has a sick mother, but she's also demanding 100,000 dollars as a wedding gift? Is she crazy or what?"
When I watch the person in the video wearing old clothes, head lowered while enduring people's criticism, my eyes sting with tears.
I push aside the signing ceremony for a ten-million-dollar project and pick up the bank card and my Social Security card.
This time, it is my turn to catch Natasha when she falls.