Chapter 2Faking Poverty, Dying From It

From the moment I could remember, I knew my family was struggling.

The house we lived in was dilapidated, with peeling paint on the walls.

Whenever it rained, the corners would leak, and fuzzy mold spots would grow.

There wasn't a single new piece of clothing in my closet; everything was hand-me-downs from my sister.

The cuffs were shiny from wear, the colors faded from countless washes, but Mom always said they were still good and shouldn't be wasted.

She'd often stroke my head and sigh, "Your dad and I work tirelessly from dawn till dusk at our stand; every penny we earn is hard-won. So you need to be more sensible than others, okay?"

Dad would also look at me with a serious expression. "You need to make us proud, study hard, so you can make all of Mom's and my sacrifices worthwhile."

I clutched the frayed hem of my shirt, nodding firmly.

Life was always tight.

I never had pocket money. When my classmates bought snacks, stickers, or colorful pens, I'd just watch from the side.

When they talked about eating pizza or going to the amusement park on weekends, I couldn't join in, so I'd just lower my head and stay silent.

When I was hungry, I'd chug hot water.

My stomach would feel heavy and warm, and it wouldn't feel so empty anymore.

If I felt unwell, I never said anything, just endured it myself.

Last winter, I coughed for a whole month. At night, I'd cover my mouth to avoid disturbing my parents, coughing until tears streamed down my face, but the next day, I'd still pack my backpack and go to school as usual.

Mom and Dad always praised me, "Our Luna is the most sensible child."

Listening to those words, I couldn't quite describe the taste in my mouth.

Actually, I wanted to tell them things too.

To say how itchy my throat felt, or that my sister's old school bag was so worn out the strap was about to break.

To say I also wished for a small slice of cream cake on my birthday.

But I was scared.

Scared that if I mentioned needing money, Mom and Dad would become even more tired.

I was afraid to see the troubled look in their eyes, afraid to hear their sighs, afraid that my small wishes would become the final straw that broke them.

At night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

In the darkness, my eyes wide open, the doctor's grave face and my parents' words about "losing everything" echoed repeatedly in my mind.

As dawn approached, I finally made up my mind.

If curing me meant completely ruining this family, pushing them to desperation, I would rather... rather disappear myself.

Faint sounds came from outside the door; Mom and Dad were getting up.

A moment later, Mom gently pushed the door open.

"Luna, your dad and I are heading to the stand. Dinner's warming in the pot; eat it before you go to school."

I lay in bed, murmuring a low "Mhm," my eyes tightly shut, not daring to look at her.

The door was gently pulled shut, and their footsteps gradually faded away.

The house was terribly quiet, with only the sound of my own heartbeat.

I slowly sat up, pulled out paper and a pen from my backpack, and carefully, meticulously wrote a letter to Mom and Dad.

After finishing, I carefully folded it and tucked it under my pillow.

I walked to the old cabinet, knelt down, and pulled open the bottom drawer.

It was messy inside. I rummaged for a while before finding a small, yellowed pill bottle.

I remembered Mom taking these when she couldn't sleep when I was younger.

Back then, she'd hidden the bottle carefully, stroking my head and earnestly warning me, "Luna, children absolutely must not touch these pills. If you take them... you'll leave Mom and Dad forever."

I always remembered those words.

Now that I was older, I knew "leaving forever" meant dying.

If I died, they would be free.

I went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, then returned to my bed and sat down.

Twisting open the cap, I poured all the white pills into my palm.

Looking at those tiny pills, Mom and Dad's smiling faces suddenly appeared before my eyes.

My nose stung, and tears splattered onto the back of my hand.

Suddenly, I felt a little scared, and a little reluctant.

But their smiles quickly faded, replaced by their perpetually tired faces from working day and night.

I closed my eyes and told myself—

I couldn't be so selfish.

Leaving was the last sensible thing I could do for them.

I took a deep breath, shoved all the pills into my mouth, and gulped them down with the cold water.

It was a little bitter, but soon, I felt nothing.

I placed the empty bottle by my pillow, lay down, and pulled the covers over me.

That heavy feeling in my heart seemed to vanish completely.

The light outside the window grew brighter, and birds began to chirp.

I closed my eyes, feeling so tired, wishing for a deep, peaceful sleep.