I shoved the crumpled diagnosis deeper into my pocket and forced a smile. "I missed home. Asked my teacher for leave."

Dad didn't scold me for being impulsive. He pulled two eggs from the cabinet—eggs he'd been saving—and steamed my favorite egg custard.

I kept my head low while I ate, letting my bangs hide the tear tracks on my cheeks.

Mom noticed something was wrong.

She brushed the hair from my forehead and wiped my cheek with the back of her hand. "Anna. Did something happen?"

To keep them from worrying, I lied.

"A classmate got really sick. But their family can't afford treatment." I stared at my bowl. "I think… they're just going to die."

Dad sighed. "Only seventeen or eighteen. What a tragedy." He shook his head. "If you ever got sick, your mom and I would take out loans, sell our blood—whatever it took to save you."

Mom shot him a glare. "Our Anna is perfectly healthy. Don't say such unlucky things."

My hand trembled. My chopsticks clattered to the floor.

Yeah. If I insisted on treatment, my parents would have to borrow from loan sharks. Sell their blood.

But a family like mine—even if we sold ourselves down to the bone—couldn't scrape together five hundred thousand dollars.

I was only eighteen. I hadn't gone to college yet. Hadn't dated. Hadn't really lived.

I didn't want to die.

But to keep from crushing my parents, I had to choose death.

After making the decision, I actually felt lighter.

I forced myself to be cheerful, eating big spoonfuls of the steamed egg custard Dad made, hoping to leave them only good memories.

When it was time to go, Dad pulled a crumpled fifteen dollars from inside his shoe.

"Anna, this is what your mom had left over from buying medicine. Take it for pocket money."

Through blurry tears, I waved him off, turned around, and walked out the door.

The instant I stepped outside, it hit me—this was the last time I'd ever see my parents.

I broke down. Tears poured out before I could stop them.

With my back to them, I choked down a sob. "Dad, Mom… if I weren't here, would your lives hurt less?"

Mom's voice was soft, but scolding. "Silly girl. What parent would ever think their child is a burden?"

"As long as you make something of yourself—forget suffering—your dad and I would work ourselves to death and still be happy."

A mother's love pressed down on my chest like a stone, so heavy I couldn't breathe.

Maybe… I should have died a long time ago.