I struggled to swallow the pasta, my eyes stinging with tears. In that moment, I felt like a total failure, unable to even raise my own son properly.

Just as my son stepped out the door, my phone rang.

“Chloe, do you have any money left? Your brother’s business is struggling, and we need to pay for Finn’s class. Can you help out?” It was my mom.

“Mom, didn’t I just send you five thousand a while ago? Why do you need money again so soon?” I frowned, tightening my grip on the phone.

“That was for Finn’s tutoring classes! It’s not the same! Why are you so clueless? Hurry up and transfer the money; the teacher is waiting!”

“Did my brother gamble again...?” I barely finished the question before my mom hung up, immediately messaging me to transfer the money.

Thinking of what Margaret said earlier, I felt my heart sinking.

“Mom, I don’t have any money left. This month, Jacob just gave me some, and I sent it to you. The finances aren’t my responsibility – ask my brother to figure something out.”

Less than two minutes later, I got a message: [If you don’t have money, just ask Jacob for some! Why are you whining to me about being broke? Is it my fault I raised you?]

I sighed as I read the message, then transferred my last five thousand.

My son had just started first grade and would be moving up to second grade in the fall. That evening, when I went to pick him up from school, his teacher pulled me aside. “Mrs. Sullivan, has something been going on at home? Kevin’s been really unfocused in class lately, and he’s been using bad language. He’s not getting along with the other kids; he either pulls girls’ hair or fights with boys. Can you please talk to him about this?”

I nodded repeatedly, apologizing to the teacher and promising to communicate with Kevin when we got home.

The teacher also informed me about a parent-teacher meeting this Friday.

Once I got home, I intended to discuss this with my son, but before I could start, he shouted, “I don’t want you to go to the meeting! I want Grandma to go! You’re so embarrassing; you don’t even act like my mom! It’ll be humiliating if you show up!”

He ran to his room and locked the door. I looked down at my outfit.

Over the years, I had prioritized the family and hardly had time to take care of myself. My clothes were from years ago, and I wore them as long as they weren’t falling apart.

In contrast, Margaret had no household chores to deal with; her days were spent hanging out with friends or at the salon, and she refreshed her wardrobe every season.

Thinking about what the teacher said, I knew there was a serious problem with Kevin’s education. I had to attend that parent-teacher meeting. But at dinner, my suggestion was immediately shot down. Not only did my son oppose me, but my husband joined in too.

“With you going, he’ll just be embarrassed. Let Mom go instead,” he said nonchalantly, and my heart felt like it was being crushed.

“Why? Kevin is my son; I have the right to be involved in his education. I have to go to this meeting.”

“What’s the point? My grandson wants me to go. Just give it up,” Margaret shot me a glance. “I’ll buy some new clothes this week to make sure I don’t embarrass Kevin.”

“Mom, do you know what the teacher told me today? Kevin can’t focus in class and isn’t getting along with the other kids. I think as his mother, I have the right to intervene.”

“When you were in first grade, did you always pay attention in class? Do you even know how much pressure kids are under these days? It’s easy for you to talk as a stay-at-home mom,” Margaret said, looking at me with disdain.

Just as I was about to respond, a wave of dizziness hit me.

When I woke up, I found myself in a hospital bed, the rhythmic beeping of machines echoing around me. There wasn’t a soul by my side.

The doctor informed me that my husband had brought me to the hospital, paid the admission fee, and then found an excuse to leave.

My heart sank. The test results would be out the next day, and I learned I was in the late stages of chronic liver failure, requiring a family member for a donor match.

Hearing this news shattered me. After working hard all these years, I had never done anything wrong. And now life had dealt me such a cruel blow.

Once the results were in, I called my mom, asking when she and Dad could come for a matching test. The doctor said that relatives had the highest compatibility rates.

“Chloe, your dad and I aren’t in great shape ourselves. We’re getting older, and if something happens...”

“Can my brother come instead? He’s young and recovers quickly.”

“Your brother is even less suitable! He’s the backbone of this family; we rely on him. Can’t the hospital do anything else?”

“The doctor said it’s already at an advanced stage; a liver transplant is the fastest and most effective option.”

“I think the hospital just wants to milk you for money. Anyway, your dad and I are busy. I’ll talk to you later.”

Her words sent a chill through me. I couldn’t believe my mother could be so heartless.

A nurse looked at me with pity. “Why not ask your husband’s family to see if they can help with a match? The chances may be slim, but it’s worth a shot.”

Thinking back on my miserable life, with parents who favored sons and never considered my feelings, and my time at my in-laws’ where I was treated like a servant, I realized I had no one to care for me even now that I was ill.

In desperation, I called my husband, but each time I got through, he hung up immediately.

After several attempts, I had no choice but to call Margaret. As soon as she heard I needed a donor match, she hung up on me.

For the next few days, I couldn’t reach them. Finally, after another bout of unconsciousness, they decided to show up.

My son walked in and flopped down in a chair, “This is so annoying! You’re such a burden. Why don’t you just die?”

Margaret quickly covered his mouth and said to the others, “Kids say the funniest things.”

For the sake of appearances, my husband, the university professor, went for the matching test. On the day the results came back, Margaret and her family were all there.

To my surprise, my husband was a match.

Just when I was filled with hope, listening to the doctor discuss the treatment plan, Margaret pulled him aside.

“Son, you can’t donate to her. What if something goes wrong? What would I do? This woman can be replaced, but you’re essential to this family!”

My husband nodded, taking her words in.

“Doctor, my son has always had a weak immune system. The transplant might not be viable. My daughter-in-law’s hospital bills will still be on him. Oh, he has a business trip coming up – can’t you help find another liver?”

Margaret glanced at her phone and suddenly looked panicked. “We’re running out of time! Doctor, I’m counting on you for my daughter-in-law. We have to go now!”

She pulled my son and pushed my husband out the door.

In that moment, my heart turned to ash. I could see the pity in the nurses’ eyes as I forced a brave smile.

After that day, my husband didn’t reach out, and my mom never called to check on me.

Perhaps this was for the best. At least in my final moments, I could enjoy some peace and quiet. It was only at the end of my life that I saw the true faces of those around me, and it left me feeling bitterly resentful.