My Death Was Known Three Years Later

Three years after I died, my mother sent me twenty dollars for living expenses.

Three years before that—the first time I ever asked my family for money—she said to me, offhand, "Sometimes I think you're just putting on an act. What's so unsanitary about a thirty-cent boxed meal? And why can't you wear a five-dollar down jacket? Face it, you're just more high-maintenance than your little brother."

Later, when I needed twenty dollars to buy some cheap medicine for my stomachache, she blocked me immediately and cut off all contact—along with every relative we had.

"Don't contact me anymore. I'm clearly not a good mother. I can't afford to give my son a life of luxury."

But for my younger brother, who had just started high school, she spared no expense—renting him a three-bedroom apartment. Even the family dog got its own room.

In the end, on the day my brother became the top scorer in the state, she finally remembered me. She took me off her block list and transferred twenty dollars.

"It's only twenty dollars. Was it really worth giving your family the silent treatment for three whole years?"

What she never knew was this—

On the night my stomach ruptured, three years ago, I had already died. I couldn't afford to go to the hospital. I froze to death in the snow.

At that moment, my mother was being swarmed by reporters outside our front door, all because my younger brother had become the top scorer in the state.

If no one had mentioned me, she probably would have forgotten she even had another son.

So, after three years, she finally deigned to remove me from her blacklist and symbolically transferred twenty dollars for my living expenses.

When no reply came from the other side, her expression instantly darkened. Her fingers hammered against the phone, the sharp tapping echoing her irritation.

[Say something. Don't act like you're dead.]

[If you don't want it, then return it.]

Those cold, cutting words dragged me back to that bone-chilling night in the snow.

I wanted to tell her that I was already dead—that I had frozen to death in the cheap down jacket she bought me.

Winter in the north is brutally cold. So cold that, after failing to secure a hospital bed, I merely closed my eyes for a moment—and never opened them again.

But now, no one could hear my voice anymore.

Having lost patience, my mother finally dialed my number.

The next second, she froze in disbelief.

My phone had long since been deactivated due to unpaid bills. As the automated, emotionless message played on the other end, a flicker of panic crossed beneath her tightly furrowed brow.

She immediately sent me a message, demanding an explanation.

[Oh, so now you've even changed your number without telling your family?]

[All for the sake of twenty dollars?!]

Her furious outburst instantly piqued the reporters' curiosity.

But before any microphones could be thrust forward, my sharp-eyed younger brother stepped in to interrupt.

Facing the camera, he pressed his lips together and spoke, "My brother has a stubborn temper. Because my mom didn't give him pocket money one time, he's been at odds with the family for three whole years.

"In all that time, he hasn't come home once. He hasn't even made a single phone call to our parents."

At the height of his performance, he sniffed hard, then slowly lifted his head at just the most pitiful angle.

"If possible… I'd like to apologize to my brother on my mom's behalf."

My mother stared at him for a moment, stunned—then immediately caught on, her eyes reddening on cue. She took the blame upon herself without hesitation.

"If anyone's at fault, it's me for being incapable. I couldn't give your brother a life above others. It's all because I'm useless."

With that, she burst into loud sobs in front of millions of viewers.

Her grief-stricken display instantly filled the livestream with a flood of insults—all of them directed at me.

But in the face of it all, I felt nothing. After all, ever since that snowy night three years ago, I had been bound by some unseen force to this mother and son—forced to watch as my mother used the tuition she claimed she couldn't afford to rent a three-bedroom apartment.

With the twenty dollars she had saved from me, she bought my brother a pet dog.

She even worried the dog wouldn't have enough space to run in the living room, so she converted one of the bedrooms into a room just for it.

After that, she took on three jobs at once, all so my brother could eat crab and lobster to "build his health."

And all the suffering she endured because of it… somehow became my fault.

Time and again, she would sigh to my brother, "If only your brother were more sensible, I wouldn't have to work so hard."

That night, I cried until I had no tears left.

Only then did I understand that no matter how much I scrimped and saved, no matter how I tried to use what little I had to make her happy, in her heart, I would never measure up to a simple fruit-peeling knife my brother had given her over a decade ago.

By now, I was utterly disappointed in them. Nothing they did could hurt me anymore. All I wanted was to be reborn soon—to sever this twisted, unbearable bond of family once and for all.

But before the nausea festering in my heart could even settle, my mother did something even more shocking next.