They Faked Poverty to 'Build My Character'—Now I'm Dead

Not long after, Mom called.

"Ellie, why did you send so much money? Do you have enough for yourself? Don't push yourself too hard—your health is what matters."

"It's enough. The company's benefits are pretty good."

I kept my voice light.

Her voice caught. "Come home for dinner tonight, okay? I'll make your favorite braised pork."

When I got home, my face was deathly pale. I pulled out the cheap makeup I'd prepared and made myself look as normal as possible.

Sure enough, there was a bowl of braised pork on the table when I walked in—glossy, bright red.

Dad's complexion looked better than before. When he saw me, a rare smile crossed his face. "You're back? Go wash your hands."

Mom bustled around, piling meat into my bowl. "Eat more. Look how thin you've gotten. Work must be exhausting."

I smiled and shook my head.

The meat kept stacking up in my bowl while theirs held nothing but greens. Something bitter twisted in my chest.

I picked up a piece—it tasted exactly like my childhood.

But I didn't dare eat much. Afraid I'd lose control. Afraid my body couldn't handle it and my condition would worsen.

"Dad, Mom, you eat too."

"My stomach's been off lately. Doctor said to keep it light."

I moved most of the pork into their bowls.

Mom froze, then picked up some greens for me. "No matter how busy work gets, you have to eat on time. Don't go picking up bad habits."

I kept my head down, not daring to meet their eyes.

When I left that night, she stuffed three hundred dollars into my hand. "Don't shortchange yourself out there. Spend what you need to spend."

I clutched the warm bills, my throat too tight to speak.

My body grew heavier by the day.

The persistent low fever, the stabbing pain in my bones and nerves—it made life unbearable.

I had no choice but to go back to the hospital.

The exam room was quiet, only the sound of the doctor flipping through reports.

He removed his glasses. His gaze was heavy with regret.

"It's progressing faster than we expected."

"If you don't have surgery soon, I'm afraid…"

He didn't finish. He didn't need to.

I knew there wasn't much time left.

Surgery was impossible. What I needed was money.

I needed to pay off my parents' debt. I needed to make sure that after I was gone, they could live without worry.

Even ten more dollars. Twenty more dollars. Anything.

My phone buzzed.

Ellie, Uncle Gabriel asked again. We're still short $30,000.

Mom knows it's hard for you. Don't stress. We'll figure something out.

Thirty thousand. It didn't seem like much anymore.

But how long could I hold on?

I reached into my bag. Inside was a bank card—this month's salary plus what I'd earned from side jobs.

A little over eight thousand.

It was meant for medicine. But what was the point now?

That was several hundred I could save. And with my body like this, there was no reason to keep taking it.

I transferred everything to Mom. Kept nothing.

Back in my room, I pulled open the drawer and took out paper and a pen.

Writing my will, I was calmer than I'd expected.

There wasn't much to say. Just that they shouldn't be sad. That I was simply too tired.

On the last line, I paused.

This way, things should be easier for you.

I put on the cleanest coat I had and walked out the door.

When I stood by the bridge, my phone buzzed again.