Only My Death Can Fix This Family

When Mom is pregnant with me, Dad has an affair. The happy family that my older sister, Zara Johnson, once has falls apart after my birth. From then on, my parents become a couple who splits the bills. They keep track of every penny they spend raising me in a cold and calculated manner. By the time I'm undergoing my third round of chemotherapy after being diagnosed with cancer, they've been arguing nonstop. "This good-for-nothing child was conceived in the year you cheated on me. Why should I pay half of his medical bills?" "Because you enjoyed yourself in the process too! If you don't want to pay, then let him die. But don't you dare touch the tertiary education fund I've saved for our daughter!" Frustrated and furious, my parents storm out of the house one after the other. Right then, my illness flares up. I've already run out of pain medication at that point. The pain swallows me whole and even radiates deep into my bones. Clenching my teeth, I gather every penny I've managed to save and beg Zara to buy me more painkillers. She's in a hurry to meet her friends. So, she impatiently stuffs a handful of chewy candies into my medicine bottle before tossing it back to me. "Just take these. Stop pretending you're dying and keep dragging everyone down. I'm sick of looking at you," she says irritably. I stare at the chewy candy I'm holding in my palm. In that moment, my heart shatters into tiny little pieces. Maybe the only way Mom, Dad, and Zara can ever be happy… is if I disappear. Chapter 1 "Wilbur's tutoring fee for this month is 1,200 dollars. It's for helping him earn money to support you in the future. I'm not paying it," Dad said coldly as he flung the bill onto the coffee table. Mom let out a scoff and retorted, "He's your son. If that homewrecker of yours hadn't shown up back then and upset me so badly that I went into premature labor, would I have given birth early? This kid's poor health is all your doing! Why should I be the one paying for it?" As I listened to those harsh words, I gathered my courage and walked over to tug gently at Dad's sleeve. "Dad, Mom, please stop arguing…" I lowered my head and pleaded softly. "I won't go for any tutoring anymore. I'll study on my own. Please don't fight because of me—" Before I could finish, Dad shoved me away in disgust. "Don't touch me!" Then he turned to stare me down, his eyes full of resentment. "What do you mean you won't go anymore? Easy for you to say! If you don't go and fail to get into college, who's going to pay us back for the 15 years we spent raising you? Do you think money grows on trees for your mom and me?" Mom seemed to have found an outlet to vent her anger too. She pointed angrily at me and scolded, "So now you know how to be sensible? Do you have any idea how much that incubator for your premature birth cost me? I had to pay thousands every single day! That was my hard-earned money that you used up!" At that moment, the two people who had been screaming at each other just seconds before were suddenly in perfect agreement. I stood frozen, completely at a loss. Dad looked at my pale complexion, which annoyed him to no end. "Just looking at your sickly face ruins my mood. You look exactly like your miserable mother. Go back to your room! Stop standing here and being an eyesore!" "Who are you calling miserable?" Mom shrieked. Yet another heated argument broke out between them. I lowered my head and turned around silently to retreat to my cramped little room. Just as I reached the doorway, a tall shadow blocked my path. My older sister, Zara Johnson, had appeared at some point in time and was now leaning against the doorframe. She was wearing a brand-new outfit that cost about 3,000 dollars. Over her ears were the latest noise-canceling headphones. She had an irritated look on her face. Instinctively, I tried to slip past her, but she deliberately stuck out a leg and tripped me. I staggered and was lucky enough to steady myself against the wall, or I'd have fallen face down. I looked up at Zara in alarm. She looked down at me with contempt and sneered, "Wilbur, what's the point of you even being alive? All you ever do is waste money and cause trouble. You're nothing but a jinx!" Chapter 2 I curled up on my bed and lay there motionless. It felt as if my heart was being torn apart. "Was my birth and existence a grave mistake?" I thought bitterly. After I was born, Mom and Dad started splitting every expense evenly. Each of them paid for half of the household costs. They hated each other, and they hated me. By comparison, Zara was the apple of their eye. She had been born when they were in love, so she had always been the child who carried the family's hopes. Unfortunately, my arrival had shattered all of that. So, Zara came to hate me too. I didn't know how long I had slept before the rumble of thunder woke me. Just then, the bedroom door opened. A moment later, Zara's voice broke the silence. "Wilbur, how can you sleep? Oh, how I wish you'd never existed. Before you were born, Mom and Dad never fought. This house was filled with laughter every day." She paused for a bit before saying hatefully, "You destroyed this family. Why don't you just die?" Tears slid down the corners of my eyes. I bit down hard on my lower lip, not daring to make a sound. I even kept my breathing slow and steady to give the impression that I was still fast asleep. Thankfully, it was dark, so Zara couldn't see my tears. Otherwise, she would have hated me even more. After a long while, her footsteps faded away. The bedroom door closed again. Sleep abandoned me completely at that point. I stared at the moldy attic ceiling, thinking about my family's past. As I went down memory lane, my heart ached bitterly. The year Mom was pregnant with me, Dad had an affair. The other woman came to our house and demanded that Dad make her his wife. Mom was so infuriated that she went into premature labor and gave birth to me early. Dad ultimately chose his reputation and family. He returned to us and cut things off with that woman completely. Even so, the crack in their marriage remained forever. Their relationship fell apart, but they stubbornly refused to divorce, and they were unable to see past the hatred that consumed them. Hence, they poured all of that hatred onto me—the child born during Dad's time of betrayal. After so many years, I'd gotten used to it. I even thought that life couldn't get any worse. But sadly for me, fate hadn't shown me any mercy either. I was diagnosed with cancer. The doctor said that if I didn't begin treatment as soon as possible, I wouldn't even live another six months. When I came home, there were no hugs, nor were there any words of comfort. Dad frowned deeply and said, "I've done the math. Putting money into this would only generate a negative return. Bone cancer has a high recurrence rate. Even if he's cured, he'll still end up disabled or inconvenienced in some way." "So you're saying we should give up? How's that going to sound if word gets out? People will say we deliberately neglected our son," Mom responded, raising an eyebrow. Right away, Dad shot back, "Then you pay for it! Don't you have 50,000 dollars?" "That's Zara's education fund for studying abroad. Nobody's touching it!" Mom argued defensively. I lowered my head and looked at the pale white mass on the diagnosis report. My heart hurt so much that I was trembling. When I was eight years old, I wanted to eat an apple. Dad had taken out an apple and placed it on a digital scale to weigh it. Then, he had turned to Mom and said, "This apple costs 1.20 dollars. If Wilbur wants to eat it, you'll have to transfer me 60 cents." Mom frowned and countered, "Why should I? I've gone over this month's fruit budget. He's your son. If you want him to have it, pay for it yourself." Dad let out a cold laugh. "Fine. If you won't pay for his share, then he doesn't get to eat." Right in front of me, he cut the apple in half. He ate one half himself and gave the other half to Zara, who had just come home from dance practice. Zara finished it in a few bites and asked eagerly, "Dad, is there any more? It's delicious." "There is. I'll peel another one for you. Eat as many as you want," Dad said, smiling at her with fatherly affection. But the moment he turned to look at me, his face darkened instantly. "What are you staring at? If you want one, buy it yourself. Useless brat!" In the end, all I could do was sneak into the kitchen and fill my empty stomach with cold water to quell my hunger. Those memories overlapped with the present. The argument in the living room finally came to an end. Mom stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Dad shot my room a resentful glare before saying one last sentence in annoyance, "If your mother won't pay, neither will I!" As they walked away yet again, I understood something. The eight-year-old me never got that apple that merely cost 1.20 dollars. And now, I wouldn't even get that tiny chance to stay alive either. Chapter 3 The pain grew worse in the middle of the night. I felt the ache deep in my bone marrow. I writhed on the bed in agony, my fingernails digging into the bedsheet until they left long tears in the fabric. I couldn't take it any longer. Forcing myself to stay on my feet, I slowly made my way to the living room, one step at a time. The living room was brightly lit. A noisy reality TV show was playing on the television, and bursts of laughter filled the air. Mom sat on the couch peeling an orange. Dad was peeling an apple for Zara. She was telling funny stories about school, which made both of them laugh out loud. In that brief moment, they looked like a happy family of three. I, on the other hand, was completely out of place. I was an eyesore that didn't belong here. The moment I realized that, my heart ached even more. Upon hearing the shuffling of my footsteps, all three of them turned toward me at the same time. The smiles disappeared from their faces instantly, replaced by indifference. "Why aren't you asleep yet when it's already so late? Are you trying to scare us by wandering around like a ghost?" Dad questioned impatiently with a scowl. I clutched the hem of my shirt tightly, my voice trembling with pain as I spoke. "Dad… I'm in pain… It hurts so much that I can't stand it. I need some medicine…" "Medicine? What medicine?" Dad slammed the fruit knife onto the coffee table. "Do you think we've got medicine lying around? Painkillers cost money, you know! Today you're in pain; tomorrow you're hurting. Why don't you just die already?" Annoyed, Mom interrupted, "Enough. Stop scolding him. He's already in this state. Go buy him some painkillers." Dad responded defensively, "Why should I go? Why don't you go? Besides, who's paying for the medicine?" "You pay for it first. I'll transfer you my half later," Mom said. "I'm not going! If anyone's going, it's you! Who knows? Maybe you'll refuse to pay again later," Dad replied hatefully. An argument broke out between them once again. Their shrill voices were mixed with the sound of Zara clicking her tongue in annoyance. I lowered my head and quietly returned to my room. Just when I thought I would have to endure the night on my own, my bedroom door suddenly flew open. Mom walked in carrying a large plastic bag. She dropped it onto my nightstand. "Get up and take your medicine," she said in a stiff voice. I opened my eyes with difficulty. And when they finally focused, I saw what was inside the bag. It was full of medicine. There were painkillers, anti-inflammatory medication, and several other prescriptions the doctor had ordered. My eyes reddened instantly. "Mom…" I called out in a choked voice as a wave of emotion welled up inside me. Seeing my expression, Mom rolled her eyes. "What are you crying for? Hurry up and take it. I spent so much time and effort raising you. If you died now, wouldn't all of that go to waste? I don't get into deals that won't pay off." Even though her words were still cruel, I was happy. At least I could keep myself alive. With trembling hands, I unscrewed the pill bottle. I poured out the tablets and swallowed them without even taking a sip of water. The bitter taste spread through my throat, but at the same time, it filled me with an overwhelming sense of relief. Mom turned and walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar. From the living room, I vaguely heard her say to Dad, "I bought the medicine. Here's the receipt. Hurry up and transfer me your half." The next day, I was admitted to the hospital. The surgery was far too expensive. Neither of my parents was willing to pay such an enormous sum. After discussing it, they decided on conservative treatment instead. Even without surgery, the daily hospital bills, caregiver fees, and medication costs still piled up. Every time a new bill arrived, another round of fierce arguments erupted in my hospital room. "Why is the caregiver charging another 200 dollars this week? Can't he move around by himself? Is he crippled already?" "Why is this imported medicine so expensive? Can't they switch him to a domestic one? It's not like he's going to recover anyway. Just keep him alive." Meanwhile, Zara grew to hate me more with each passing day. Pointing at me angrily, she yelled, "You're nothing but a parasite! If it hadn't been for your treatment, Dad would never have touched my education fund! You ruined my future!" I felt even more guilty. Not knowing what else to say, I could only apologize over and over. "I'm sorry, Zara... I'm sorry..." To lessen their burden and not let them feel that the money had been wasted on me, I did my best to cooperate while undergoing treatment. The side effects of chemotherapy left me vomiting constantly. My hair fell out in handfuls, and the pain deep in my bones became almost unbearable. Still, I never cried out in pain or shed a single tear in front of them. I forced a smile onto my face and said, "It doesn't hurt. The doctor said I'm recovering well. I'll be discharged soon." Chapter 4 Alas, cancer treatment was a bottomless pit even if I was discharged and brought back home. As my parents watched the money go down the drain while my condition showed no signs of improving, the flimsy and tightly stretched thread holding the family together finally snapped. Another argument broke out. It was fiercer than any before. "We've already spent half of the 50,000 dollars! If this goes on, we'll burn through our retirement savings too!" Dad hurled the bill onto the floor. "He's your son too! What do you want to do, pull the plug?" Mom shot back. She let out a cold snort and added, "If you want to pull it, you do it. Don't expect me to take the blame for such an outrageous act." "Fine! Neither of us is going to do anything, right? Then we'll just leave it at that!" Dad roared, giving the coffee table a forceful kick that flipped it over. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Mom was trembling with rage. She pointed at me and cursed, "You good-for-nothing burden!" Then, she snatched up her purse and left in a fury as well. For three whole days, neither of them came back. The pill bottle on my nightstand had long since run empty. I had swallowed my last painkiller the day before. However, I didn't dare call them. I didn't dare ask them for money to buy more medicine. It would most likely only end in them cursing each other and pushing the responsibility onto the other. So, I endured it. I curled into myself. Then, I bit my lip until it cracked and bled. I lied to myself over and over in my mind, "Just endure it a little longer. If I just hold on a little longer, it won't hurt anymore…" This was just like the time when I was seven and came down with a high fever. Mom and Dad had been angry at each other and hadn't come home for an entire week. Running a high fever and barely conscious, I had survived by drinking tap water and eating some stale buns. I had endured it back then, and I could endure it again now. But this time, my body refused to cooperate. The pain grew more and more intense, making it feel as though countless needles were piercing every inch of me. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes and dried from my body heat, leaving the damp fabric clinging to my skin. I was about to reach my limit. Dragging my heavy legs, I climbed out of bed. "Zara… Medicine…" Zara was changing her shoes in the living room. She was meeting her friends at a bar that day. When she saw me, she frowned and asked impatiently, "What do you want now, Wilbur? What's with that dreadful look? Are you mourning at a wake or something?" I replied with difficulty, "Medicine… I need medicine… It hurts…" "When Mom and Dad fought, they knocked over all the medicine bottles and mixed them all up. How am I supposed to know which one is yours?" She halfheartedly rummaged through the bottles on the table before casually picking one up. It happened to be my bottle of painkillers. She glanced inside and saw that it was empty. Without a second thought, she pulled a handful of colorful things from her pocket and stuffed them into it. "Here, take it. Once you eat these, it won't hurt anymore," Zara said flippantly. She tossed the bottle into my arms, her voice dripping with disgust. "Stop pretending you're dying and keep dragging everyone down. Just looking at you annoys me. Hurry up, eat them, and go to sleep. I'm late for my gathering!" I unscrewed the cap with trembling hands. What came out wasn't white tablets. It was piece after piece of colorful, chewy candy. They were the imported candies Zara loved to eat. At that moment, my heart hurt even more than my body. Even so, I put one of the sickeningly sweet candies into my mouth and chewed it hard. The artificial flavor spread through my mouth, mixing with the taste of blood in my throat until it became utterly nauseating. "Well? It doesn't hurt anymore, right?" Zara asked impatiently as she tied her shoelaces. Suppressing the unbearable pain, I forced a smile that looked even uglier than if I were crying and nodded. "Yeah… I feel much better. Thanks, Zara… You should go meet your friends." She couldn't wait another second. Right away, she grabbed her keys and rushed out the door. As I chewed that piece of candy, my tears finally burst free. Since all of them hated me so much, and since my existence brought them nothing but pain and burden… I would disappear, then. With my departure, I would no longer owe them anything. Dragging my terminally ill body, I left home on a stormy night when the rain poured relentlessly. … On the first day after I left, no one noticed. On the second day, no one noticed either. Mom thought I was with Dad, and Dad thought I was at the hospital. Zara thought I was lying in my room pretending to be dead. Each of them lived their own lives, enjoying the peace and quiet of being free from their burdensome family member. It wasn't until the evening of the third day, when a teacher from my school called to ask about me, that they realized something was wrong. They finally pushed open my bedroom door, only to find the room completely empty. The quilt had been folded neatly, as though no one had ever lived there. Only then did they panic. They hurried to report me missing to the police and searched for me frantically. A week later, a police officer suddenly came to the house. "Are you Wilbur Johnson's family? We discovered an unidentified young man's body beneath a bridge on the west side of the city."