“Hayden, you almost hurt Mom!”
My son glared at me.
“She’s paralyzed. She can’t even feel pain, so what are you so worked up about?”
“So annoying. I lost our qualifying match again!”
He muttered a curse under his breath and stomped back to his room, eager to get back to his game.
My daughter, still shaken, checked me carefully from head to toe to make sure I wasn’t hurt.
Only after confirming I was fine did she turn her attention to the wheelchair, ignoring the blood dripping from her own hand.
When she noticed a clasp had come loose, she immediately brought out the toolbox. She tightened every bolt and screw, working until late at night.
Meanwhile, the live-stream comments were full of outrage.
[I can’t stop crying. Where can you find such a good daughter? Her hand is bleeding badly, yet she only worries about her mom.]
[The real question is, how can someone so kind have such a cold and unfair mother?]
[Exactly! How could her heart be so hard? Her daughter gives her everything, and she still treats her like this!]
[No wonder they say pitiful people can be hateful too. A mother this blindly biased, no surprise she ended up paralyzed!]
[This is unbearable. Girl, run! A mom and brother like that aren’t worth it!]
The live stream was flooded with insults. Even the reporter called me.
“This is the three-day secret live stream you asked for? Do you know how much people have been cursing you these past two days?”
“Your daughter has done everything for you. Are you trying to make people hate you on purpose?”
I looked toward my daughter in the living room, quietly tending to the wound on her hand, and said calmly, “There’s still one more day.”
“By then, you’ll understand everything.”
The next morning, my daughter came into my room right after waking up. “Mom, how are you feeling today? Do you have a better appetite?”
Her voice was soft as she checked my condition.
I stayed silent, my eyes falling on her hand wrapped in gauze, where faint blood still showed through.
Even without my reply, she continued as she always did, massaging my limbs and moving my joints to keep them from stiffening. Her every touch was gentle, as if I were something fragile.
“Mom, look, the weather’s nice today.”
“After breakfast, let me take you out for a walk. The doctor said getting some fresh air will help your recovery.”
She glanced out the window, trying to find something cheerful to say.