Mom, unable to help herself, covered her wound and walked out with a doting smile.
She caught sight of the white medical box in the middle of the cabinet and stopped, her eyes blank for a moment.
This box was something I had specially prepared for her.
Inside, besides the usual cold medicine, were patches for her back pain.
Since giving birth to my brother, Mom often suffered from backaches. I'd spend days and nights massaging her or applying patches for relief.
She picked up a patch, read the instructions, and fell silent.
I watched her, trying to discern any emotion on her face.
But there was nothing.
Suddenly, she looked at me with playful annoyance.
"You keep wasting time on these useless things. Why can't you be more like your brother and not cause trouble?
“What kind of strange illness do you have anyway, is it cured?"
Mom, there's no need to treat my illness anymore.
The greatest comfort I can offer is never being a burden to you again.
When Dad pushed the door open, his hair was covered in snow.
He brushed it off carelessly and eagerly pulled a letter out of his pocket.
I immediately recognized it as the one I had sent a month ago.
I messaged him two days after sending it, but he didn't respond, seemingly indifferent.
Now, during the holidays, he'd actually gone to retrieve it.
Hearing it was from me, Mom, unusually curious, leaned in with a look of intrigue.
When the letter was opened, the first thing revealed was a somewhat worn hundred-dollar bill.
Before they left the courthouse, they had at least given me that hundred dollars.
On the day I found myself desperate and out of options, it was all I had left.
Staring at the two-dollar slices of bread in the convenience store, I pondered long and hard—should I die full or die starving?
In the end, I decided to return it all to them.
Dad's eyes briefly froze, then he smugly regained composure.
Pointing at the bill, he gloated, "See, I told you she was faking her illness! Kept the money, probably because she's scared we'd call her bluff.
“And she dares to send the money back in a huff! If she asks for more later, don’t give her a cent. She needs to know who’s in charge!"
Mom’s disdain was blatant: "At such a young age, instead of learning good things, all she does is act melodramatic."
"I bet her grandma's to blame for spoiling her; she's ruined for life!"
My spirit shook its head in protest.
On the contrary, I had spent the best times of my life with my late grandmother.