Don't worry about us. Just focus on work.
It's just that money your dad borrowed from Uncle Gabriel for the hospital… forget it, don't stress. We'll figure it out.
Dad's illness two years ago had emptied our savings. We still owed tens of thousands.
Mom always said it was almost paid off.
But I knew that was just something she said to comfort me.
She barely made anything running her street stall, and Dad couldn't work.
Even pinching every penny, paying it off seemed impossible.
So I reminded myself constantly.
The weight of this family could only rest on my shoulders.
I started frantically hunting for part-time work. Days at the design company. Nights at the convenience store. Delivery runs squeezed in between. Sleep compressed to almost nothing.
My body was breaking down, but whenever I thought of the debt Mom and Dad carried—whenever I pictured that lab report buried in my drawer—I couldn't stop.
I went to the hospital quietly and chose the most conservative treatment plan.
The doctor disagreed, but I insisted.
Dialysis was out of the question for now; the cost was too high.
I got only the most essential medication, using the money from selling my hair to cover the basics.
It was fine. I told myself I could hold on.
At the end of the first month, I received my wages from the design company and convenience store. $10,000 total.
Looking at the number that appeared briefly in my bank account, I didn't hesitate.
I transferred all of it to Mom.
Mom, I got a bonus and project allowance. Use it to pay off the debt. Don't skimp on yourselves.
Not long after, Mom called.
"Ellie, why did you send so much money? Do you have enough for yourself? Don't push yourself too hard—your health is what matters."
"It's enough. The company's benefits are pretty good."
I kept my voice light.
Her voice caught. "Come home for dinner tonight, okay? I'll make your favorite braised pork."
When I got home, my face was deathly pale. I pulled out the cheap makeup I'd prepared and made myself look as normal as possible.
Sure enough, there was a bowl of braised pork on the table when I walked in—glossy, bright red.
Dad's complexion looked better than before. When he saw me, a rare smile crossed his face. "You're back? Go wash your hands."
Mom bustled around, piling meat into my bowl. "Eat more. Look how thin you've gotten. Work must be exhausting."
I smiled and shook my head.