Chapter 2A Debt of Kindness

Mr. Henderson, the factory owner, was a good man. By the time he rushed to the hospital, my hand was already bandaged.

He knelt beside my bed, his brow furrowed with such genuine pain. He reached out, wanting to touch my mutilated hand, but hovered, helpless, not knowing where to put his own.

Finally, all he could manage was a heavy, heartbroken sigh. “Kid… you’re so young. What are you going to do now?”

I turned my head away, unable to meet his eyes.

I wasn’t a good kid.

I didn’t deserve his sincere compassion.

His wife, Anna, came to take care of me personally. She missed nothing. She would gently comb the tangles from my messy hair. She’d cut fruit into small, perfect bites, warm them slightly, and feed them to me one by one.

It was a mother’s tenderness, a gentleness I had never known. It was completely different from the love Nana gave me.

A coworker who came to visit whispered a warning in my ear. “Be careful. This is a classic gentle trap. They’re being nice now so they can pay you less in compensation later.”

A switch flipped in my head. I became guarded, suspicious. I started trying to refuse their kindness.

But they kept on, ignoring my deliberate coldness, tending to my physical needs and trying to soothe my spirit.

When I was discharged, Mr. Henderson and Anna drove me home themselves.

Nana cradled my hand, her palm holding the two stumps where my fingers used to be, and silent tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t speak, her whole body trembling with choked-back sobs.

In that moment, a sliver of regret pierced through me. Maybe this hadn’t been the right way.

The Hendersons were wiping their own eyes, looking around our bare, grim apartment. Nana’s skin had a sickly, yellowish tint; it was obvious to anyone that she was very unwell.

They placed eighty thousand dollars in cash on our small, wobbly table. Neat stacks of bills.

Nana shot up from her chair, her hands flapping in a panic, too flustered to form words. She could only look at me, her eyes wide with a silent, anxious question.

“This is the company’s compensation for Tally,” Mr. Henderson said softly. “Please, take it. We’ll also cover any future medical expenses.”

Shame washed over me, hot and heavy. I stared at the floor.

The amount was far more than I expected. I’d consulted a legal aid lawyer, and the figure he’d quoted was significantly lower. This was a small factory, the kind where the owner himself had to go out every day to drum up business. Every dollar was earned with sweat.

I was desperate for money, but… I couldn't be that shameless. I couldn’t take more than I was owed.

Assuming I had any conscience left at all.

“It’s too much,” I mumbled. “I can’t take all of it.”

Anna stroked my hair. “Don’t feel bad, sweetie,” she said, her voice a balm. “You have a long road ahead. Use this money. Learn a trade, something you can do to support yourself.”

I kept my head down, tears dripping from my chin no matter how fast I tried to wipe them away. I couldn’t speak, just stubbornly shook my head, my neck stiff.

I took thirty thousand dollars. I pushed the rest back toward them, my refusal absolute.

Nana stared at the three stacks of bills I’d left on the table.

Thirty.

Thirty thousand.

A number that was painfully, intimately familiar to her.

Her expression shifted from confusion to shock, and then… a flicker of understanding, of dawning, soul-crushing pain.

No one else understood why she suddenly broke down, her wails echoing in that tiny room.

Only I did. I kept my head bowed, not daring to look anyone in the eye. I was afraid to see my own reflection in their pupils—despicable, shameful, ugly.

In the end, my stubbornness won. I practically shoved them out the door, my face a cold mask. I even threw the remaining fifty thousand dollars after them, the stacks hitting Mr. Henderson’s chest and falling to the floor.

I knew it was rude, unforgivable. But I didn't know how else to refuse a kindness so warm it felt like it was burning me alive.

Nana cried all night.

No one was more heartbroken than her.

My only regret was that I hadn’t hidden my plan better, that she had figured it out so easily.

The next day, we packed our few belongings, left that tiny, broken-down room, and moved into the hospital.

We said goodbye to our home.

The only home Nana and I had ever had.

I had no home anymore. But I still had Nana.

And as long as I had Nana, I had a home.