Chapter 2My Husband Chose His Brother Over My Dying Father

The next morning, I went to the hospital. My dad lay in his hospital bed, looking noticeably thinner. "Mina's here?" He offered a weak smile. "Don't keep running over here, you're busy with work."

My mom was peeling an apple beside him. "Where's Aaron? Why didn't he come?"

"He's working overtime."

Mom said nothing, continuing to peel her apple. I sat down, studying my dad's complexion. It was sallow, with dark circles under his eyes. He was sixty-one. He'd worked his whole life as an electrician, his hands thick with calluses.

"Dad, about the surgery—"

"No rush, no rush," he waved his hand. "Insurance will cover part of it. Your mom and I have some savings; it'll be enough." I knew they had no savings. Last year, Mom had knee replacement surgery, which cost over forty thousand, completely draining their nest egg.

"Dad, I'll figure it out."

"No need, no need. Just live your own life well. Is Aaron good to you?"

"Yes," I lied.

"Then that's all that matters."

I sat for an hour. Leaving the hospital, I stood by the entrance for a moment. Then I opened my phone and scrolled through my chat history with Aaron. I scrolled back.

January.

"Mark wants to get a new car this year. Even a used one would be fine. Should we lend him three thousand first?"

"Okay."

March.

"My mom said Mark's wife is pregnant and needs to recuperate. Transfer two thousand to my mom this month."

"Okay."

June.

"Mark opened a small shop and was short on startup capital, five thousand. He'll definitely pay it back by the end of the year."

"Okay."

He didn't pay it back by the end of the year. I kept scrolling. Last January.

"Mark is short on his down payment for a house. Let's lend him eight thousand. He's family; we can't just watch him struggle."

"Okay."

I scrolled through more than twenty screens. Every screen had Mark's name on it. Every time, my reply was "Okay." One word. Always just one word.

I tucked my phone back into my pocket. On my way to work, I passed a stationery store. I remembered my daughter, Lily, saying she wanted a set of markers. I went in and asked for the price: forty-eight. I hesitated in front of the shelf. In the end, I bought a twelve-color set. Eighteen. It would be enough.

Lily is nine this year. She's never had tutoring classes. Not because she doesn't want to learn, but because there's no money to spare. My brother-in-law Mark's son, five years old, is in three extracurricular classes. Aaron had said, "Mark doesn't earn much, but his child's education can't be neglected." He'd never said anything about Lily's education being neglected.

During lunch, my colleague, Ms. Liu, noticed I was distracted. "What's wrong?"

"My dad needs surgery, and we're short on money."

"Did you talk to Aaron about it?"

"I did. He can't spare anything."

Ms. Liu's chopsticks paused. "Then... what about his brother?"

"His brother's renovation is twelve thousand short. That took priority."

Ms. Liu looked at me, opened her mouth, and finally said, "Aaron has it tough too, with elderly parents and young children. Try talking to him again."

Talk to him again. For eight years, every word I've said has been a "talk to him again." And after talking, the money still flows to his brother. I didn't respond, just continued eating.

That night, when I got home, Aaron said at the dinner table, "My mom is coming to stay for a few days tomorrow."

"Why?"

"To help us with Lily. Also, to see if Mark's renovation needs anything more."

"More?"

"Yeah, the budget went a little over."

I put down my chopsticks. "Aaron, my dad's surgery—"

"I know," he waved his hand. "Don't rush me. I'll figure something out once Mark's renovation is done."

"When will that be?"

"Soon, soon." He picked up a piece of food, put it in his mouth. The topic was closed, just like that. Gone with the wind. Lily sat quietly beside me, eating her dinner. She glanced at me, said nothing. A nine-year-old child had already learned to read the adults' expressions.