They Changed My College Dream, So I Cut Them Off

3: 3

Inside the box was an outdated basic phone, the kind made for seniors.

It couldn't do anything except make calls and send texts.

Next to Emma's brand-new smartphone, it was a world apart.

The funniest part was that my parents kept chattering away beside me. “Nora, we've already been more than fair. Can you stop nitpicking every little thing?”

I held the phone up and waved it in front of them. “You really think this is fair?”

My mom said, “Oh, come on, it's still a phone, isn't it?”

“You use your own phone for calls day to day, and if you ever need an app, just go find Emma and borrow hers.”

“You two can share one. No point wasting money on two.”

The sheer absurdity of it left me with nothing to say.

Early the next morning, I went straight to my student's home to tutor.

It was nearly dark by the time I got back.

The moment I walked in, my dad said, annoyed, “Where were you running around all day? I called the electronics factory. You didn't show up for work.”

I took out the report I'd prepared ahead of time. “I haven't been feeling well. I went to the hospital.”

My dad grunted. “If you're not feeling well, go rest early. But you have to go to the factory tomorrow, or there's no money for your tuition.”

Not one person in that house cared what was actually wrong with me, what illness I had.

I took out the test results and handed them over. “You should take a look.”

The results were something I'd edited online and printed out.

Because I couldn't let it go.

I wanted to test, one last time, whether my parents had any love for me at all.

My mom held the report and stared at it for a long time, her face growing paler the longer she looked. “Malignant tumor, what does that mean?”

I said, “It's cancer. The doctor said it was caught early. If we had fifty thousand dollars, there's a chance it can be cured.”

“If it's not treated, I have three or four years at most.”

“Mom, can I get treatment?”

My mom said at once, without hesitation, “Treatment. You're getting treatment.”

I looked at my dad. His brows were knotted tight. “Fifty thousand isn't a small amount. Our family can't come up with that overnight.”

“Nora, you rest first. Your mom and I will go borrow the money.”

“Emma comes too. You've got a sweet tongue. Help me smooth things over with the relatives.”

The three of them hurried out.

The house went empty again, but this time it didn't feel cold. It felt almost warm.

So it turned out that when it came to life and death, my parents wouldn't just abandon me.

They didn't come back all night.

The next morning, I heard a burst of urgent knocking at the door.

I opened it and was startled to find that it wasn't only my parents standing there. There were relatives too.

Seven or eight of them poured in and circled around me.

They clearly already knew I was sick, and they fussed over me, asking after my health.

Once the pleasantries were done, Uncle Raymond spoke first, getting to the point. “Nora, the thing is, as a child, you can't always be so selfish.”

I said, “Sorry?”

Uncle Raymond went on. “Fifty thousand is no small amount for any family.”

“If it all goes to your treatment, how are your parents supposed to live? What happens to Emma?”

“And besides, if the treatment doesn't work, wouldn't it all be for nothing?”

Another relative added, “That's right. If you ask me, just go with palliative care.”

“Have the doctor prescribe something to ease the pain. That's enough.”

“Eat what you want, drink what you want in the time you've got. Set down the burden and pass comfortably.”

So it turned out the relatives hadn't come to help me. They'd come to talk me into giving up my life.

I looked at my parents. “Is what they're saying what you two want?”

My parents' eyes darted away.

But in the end my dad looked at me and said, “Nora, this won't be nice to hear, but I have to say it plainly.”

“We raised you all these years. We're not asking you to support us in old age or pay us back, but you can't keep sucking us dry either, can you?”

“Fifty thousand. Aren't you trying to drive us to our deaths?”

My mom said too, “I looked it up online. An early-stage tumor, even without treatment, you can hold on for three or four years no problem.”

“In those three or four years, you go to school with your sister first. Maybe by then we'll have saved up the money, and you can get treatment.”

Emma hugged my arm and said, “Sis, I won't look down on you for being sick. Mom and Dad just mean we should save up and treat it later.”

I shook my head. “No. If it drags to late-stage, there's no curing it.”

“Last night you promised me you'd pay for my treatment.”

“Or is it that you were gone all night not to borrow money, but to round up backup to talk me out of it?”

My dad blew up, furious. “There's no money for treatment! You really want to bleed the whole family dry? How did I ever raise a debt-collector demon like you? If you're going to be this senseless, then we'll cut ties!​”

I was quiet for a long time, then said softly, “Then let's cut ties.”