The Caregiver Who Poisoned My Mother's Recovery

I screamed and lunged, catching her by the wrist.

But I was too late. One box of pills was already in the water, and the current swept it away in seconds.

"Gloria? What are you doing here?" She saw me, and there wasn't a flicker of panic on her face. If anything, she frowned like I'd interrupted her good works. "Stop making a scene. I'm releasing these for your mother, earning her merit!"

"Have you lost your mind?" I roared.

"That's my mother's medicine. It costs twenty thousand a box! Who gave you the right to throw it away?"

"Without that medicine the cancer spreads and she dies. Do you understand that?"

She pressed her palms together, her face solemn and full of pity. "Gloria, you don't understand."

"These Western drugs are tested on thousands upon thousands of little white mice. They carry the sin of killing, mountains of it."

"When your mother takes them, it looks like she's buying time, but really she's taking all that killing onto herself. The karma only gets heavier, and she'll never get well."

"I'm giving these to the creatures of the water, letting the fish form a good karmic bond, and turning that merit back to your mother. That is what truly saves a life."

"Clear away the bad karma and the illness heals on its own. It works a hundred times better than any medicine."

I looked at her, standing there so righteous, and my chest heaved.

For the first time I lost my composure and cursed at her. "That's a lie!"

"That was life-saving medicine. You threw it away. That's murder!"

A few people out walking along the river spoke up, one after another, all against me. "What kind of way is that for a young girl to talk!"

"This lady means well. She's trying to earn merit for your mother, and you curse at her?"

"Exactly. People of faith have good hearts. Sure, her method's a bit extreme, but her intentions are good."

"Young people these days, all they think about is money, money, money. Not an ounce of respect for their elders."

At their words, Loretta's eyes went red on the spot.

She dug a crumpled cloth bundle out of her pocket and opened it carefully. Inside was a wad of loose bills, maybe fifty dollars in all.

She held the little bit of money out in both hands, and said to me, pitiful, "Gloria, Auntie knows you're upset about the money."

"This is merit money I saved from collecting bottles for two weeks. Take it. Let it be my payment to you."

"Don't sin with your words anymore. It's bad for your mother..."

Seeing this, the people out walking laid into me even harder.

"Oh, come on, she's giving you her bottle money, and it's still not enough for you?"

"It's just one box of medicine. Buy another one. You've made an old woman cry like this."

"Show some mercy where you can. She meant well."

The accusations rolled in like a tide, and I couldn't breathe under the weight of them.

The familiar suffocation rose up. Just like the time she threw out the fish soup and the neighbors told me to let it go.

Just like when she threw out the skincare products and my father said she meant well.

She was forever standing on higher moral ground, forever merciful, forever right, and I wasn't even allowed to be angry. Even caring whether my mother lived made me petty, unfilial, guilty of sinful speech.

With fifty dollars in loose change, she'd washed herself clean of destroying twenty thousand dollars of life-saving medicine.

I looked at her tear-streaked face, at the accusing eyes all around me, and suddenly I laughed.

There's no reasoning with someone standing on an 'altar.'

This show needed to end.

She liked playing the saint, didn't she? Liked playing the holy woman?

Then I would peel that merciful skin off her myself, one strip at a time.