The Final Letter to My Family

I passed all the tests and received the invitation letter—yet I hesitated.

Because part of me still couldn’t let go of this family.

But today, my sister made me realize—whether I’m here or not, it makes no difference.

Maybe my bond with them isn’t even as close as the one I have with those two mice.

Buzz!

Just then, my phone vibrated.

Ryan posted in the family group chat:

“Sorry, big brother, hurry back to the hospital to take care of Dad, Auntie, and Emily. I promise I’ll cook the green beans properly next time, so don’t be mad, okay?”

Margaret wrote:

“Stop fooling around and come back to apologize to everyone.”

Robert wrote:

“The hospital is pressing us—get here and pay the bill, and bring me two cartons of cigarettes while you’re at it.”

Emily wrote:

“As long as you admit you were wrong, we’ll forgive you! By the way, the tablet you bought me should have arrived, right? Bring it along!”

Looking at these messages, my chest tightened.

To Ryan: “You can’t take care of Mom and Dad yourself?”

To Mom: “If you think I’m fooling around, then fine—I’m fooling around.”

To Dad: “I don’t have money. Ask your Ryan.”

To Emily: “I already returned the tablet. If you want one, ask Mom and Ryan to buy it for you.”

One by one, I sent my replies.

Then I left the group.

I should’ve left it a long time ago.

That group only lit up when they needed something from me—otherwise, it was quieter than a graveyard.

But keeping it there gave me the illusion I was still part of the family.

A tiny shred of hope.

Margaret sent another message, scolding me for being immature.

This time, I didn’t respond. I tossed the phone aside and buried myself under the blanket.

The next day, after completing my paperwork, I was packing my things at night when Robert burst in.

He reeked of alcohol, jabbing a finger at my face.

“You little bastard, think you’ve grown wings? Won’t pay the hospital bill, won’t buy my cigarettes?”

“You ungrateful piece of trash!”

I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“All these years I’ve been pouring money into this family, and you call me ungrateful? Then what does that make Ryan?”

Hearing that, he flew into a rage, cursing as he started smashing things.

Chairs, tables, lamps—shattered.

Bedding yanked to the floor.

I just stood there silently until he was done.

When he finally stopped, I said, “If you’re done, then leave.”

Instead, he kicked me hard in the stomach.

“You unfilial brat!”

“I’ll kill you!”

“Should’ve never had you in the first place!”

Blood welled up at the corner of my mouth.

I curled up on the floor, letting him beat and curse me.

Not fighting back.

It was the last kindness I could give him.

It only ended when the neighbors called the police.

The whole family rushed to the station after hearing the news.

Margaret ran into the break room where I was resting.

Seeing her anxious face, my heart skipped—thinking maybe she was worried about me.

“Sign the withdrawal statement!” she demanded.

She shoved a document toward me.

The little hope that had just sparked inside me was instantly extinguished, leaving me ice-cold.

“What are you standing there for? Sign it! If you’d just paid the hospital bill, your father wouldn’t have gotten drunk and come after you.”

“It’s my fault again?” I pointed at the bandage on my bleeding forehead, my eyes full of disbelief.

Emily happened to be standing in the doorway. She immediately pouted and snapped,

“If it’s not your fault, whose is it?”

“You’re Dad’s son—beating you to death would be justified! And you actually called the police? You really are ungrateful!”

I was at a loss for words, my throat tight.

“Sign it!” Margaret pressed.

“If your dad goes to jail, he’ll lose his job, and it’ll ruin Ryan’s chances at a government position! Can’t you be sensible? Do you want to drive me to my death?”