So when Mom was hospitalized, Grandma, despite her age, went to the hospital every single day.
She fed her by hand and wiped her body clean, never once complaining.
Mom noticed everything. She often said to me that Grandma treated her even better than her own mother did.
And my brother, he was the pride of our whole family.
Ever since he knew Mom wasn’t well, he worked hard without a word of complaint, even from a young age.
After getting accepted into Princeton University, my brother threw himself into studying medicine with an unshakeable focus.
He once said he wanted Mom to live a long and healthy life so our family could be spared the pain of sickness and loss.
When Mom was diagnosed with kidney failure, he didn’t hesitate; he gave up his chance to study abroad without a second thought.
And just like that, he donated one of his kidneys to her.
On the day of the surgery, Mom clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably, torn between overwhelming gratitude and the weight of guilt.
Even the other patients in the ward couldn’t help but praise us, saying we were the most loving and united family they had ever seen.
But that same family, once admired by all, once held together by love, was torn apart by Mom’s own hands.
I simply couldn’t make sense of it.
We had never even argued, not once.
During her stay in the hospital, she had been deeply moved by everything we did for her.
She even said, more than once, that our home held everything she ever treasured in life.
Then why did she end up killing the very people she loved most?
That question burned through my chest like wildfire, spreading pain with every breath.
I got up and began searching the house, desperate for any clue, anything at all, that might explain what went wrong.
On Mom’s bedside table, I spotted Dad’s hangover pills, the ones he always kept on hand after those exhausting business dinners.
On Dad’s bedside lay a well-worn guidebook on post-kidney transplant care, filled with his careful notes and highlights.
Above the bed hung a framed photo from their twentieth wedding anniversary.
In it, Mom clung sweetly to his arm, her face glowing with joy as she leaned against his shoulder.
Both of them looked so happy as if they had the world in their hands.
Grandma’s room was neat and simple, just like she had always kept it.