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.

Probably the transfer confirmation.

I looked toward the other side of the bridge, at the brilliantly lit luxury villa neighborhood.

Their lives must be comfortable, right?

No daily panic over debt. No lying awake wondering how to pay for treatment. No rationing meals, never sure where the next one would come from.

I looked down again—dozens of yards to the water—and felt nothing.

Just relief. Just numbness.

I climbed over the guardrail. In the deserted dead of night, I let go.

The icy lake swallowed me whole.

At the instant I released the railing, WeChat notifications pinged from my pocket, one after another.

But I didn't have the strength to think anymore.

I just wanted to sink. To disappear forever.

"Ellie, what I'm going to say next might surprise you, but everything Mom says is true."

"Our family isn't short on money. Your dad and I own a publicly listed company."

"Your dad wanted to build your character. Make you understand the value of hardship."

"The test is over now. You passed. You're very filial."

"Remember all that money you transferred to us? Twenty thousand total? We've decided to give you twenty million."

"Buy a house, a car, designer bags—spend it however you want."

When I opened my eyes again, everything looked wrong.

I was floating above the bridge. The night wind passed through my body, but I felt nothing.

Below, the river flowed in silence.

No commotion. As if nothing had happened.

Headlights cut through the darkness, approaching fast.

A Maybach. I recognized the logo from the mall where I worked.

The window was half-open. The young man in the passenger seat made me freeze.

Zachary Abbott—the one Dad hadn't shut up about six years ago.

He said sponsoring that mountain orphan was the best thing he'd ever done.

Said he was smart, sensible, had excellent grades.

And the middle-aged man in the back seat, chatting and laughing—

That was my father.

Not the father from my memory, crushed by illness and debt, his brow permanently creased.

His complexion was rosy. His expression relaxed.

He was smiling, patting Zach's shoulder, saying something I couldn't hear.

Zach smiled back. Easy. Natural. Close.

The car sped past, leaving me frozen in the cold air.

I followed.

The Maybach crossed the bridge and pulled into the villa neighborhood I'd envied before I jumped.

It stopped in front of an elegant three-story home.

As Dad and Zach stepped out, the front door opened.

A middle-aged woman emerged.

Elegantly dressed. Every gesture polished, refined.

I stared at the rich lady.

That was my mother.

She wore an easy, happy smile. Warm and natural, she reached up to straighten Zach's collar.

"Chloe, add a squirrel mandarin fish. Zach loves it."

"He got into such a prestigious university—we have to celebrate properly."

Her voice carried clearly. Every word sliced through me.

The three of them walked inside, chatting and laughing.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I saw the spacious living room. A crystal chandelier. A dining table loaded with exquisite dishes.

They sat down. Raised their glasses. Laughed.

"Zach, you're incredible—worthy of being Mom's good son."

"Getting into such a competitive school! Tell me, what reward do you want? I'll agree to anything."

Dad's laughter followed.

"I told you our Zach would make it. You've made us so proud."

"How about this—before school starts, I'll get you a sports car."

"Pick whatever brand you want—don't you dare try to save us money!"

I stared blankly at the family portrait in the dining room, emotions tangled into knots.

It hit me then: I was the expendable one.

From childhood to adulthood. From being sensible to being obedient. Silently walking every path they'd designed after faking poverty.

Making me an outcast as a kid, too scared to speak up.

Making me hide my illness as an adult, too scared to burden them.

Making me choose death over dragging them down.

So all of it was just... an act they'd constructed on purpose.

And for what? To temper me?

Dinner ended.

Mom picked up her phone and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. She pressed the voice-message button, a faint trace of happiness still lingering on her face.

"Ellie, I'm guessing you're still busy—you haven't seen the voice message I sent."

"It's nothing urgent. I just wanted to let you know."

"Your dad and I are at Lakeside Manor, Building 3. Whenever you get off work, just come straight here."

I watched her quietly and tugged a bitter smile from the corner of my mouth.

I wanted so badly to tell her: Mom, I can never come back.

I sat on the massive crystal chandelier in the living room, silently watching from above.

After dinner, my parents and Zachary were still chatting. The fruit on the table had been replaced twice. The black tea had been refilled more times than I could count.

The conversation drifted from choosing college majors to future career plans.

"Zachary, after you graduate, come straight to the company. Start as your dad's assistant—let him mentor you personally."

"We're family. The company will be yours and the younger generation's eventually."

Mom peeled an apple, her tone gentle as always.

"Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad." Zachary sat up straighter, cheeks flushing pink. "I'll work hard. I won't let your faith in me go to waste!"

"Listen to this kid—'faith.'" Dad chuckled and waved his hand, voice warm with affection.

"Once you're properly settled, you should start thinking about marriage too."

"A family like ours doesn't need perfect social standing, but we have to know their background. Good character. And sensible."

Mom and Dad exchanged a knowing look, then turned their gaze gently back to Zachary.

His face went redder.

He lowered his head but didn't refuse.

As if he'd silently accepted whatever match they were hinting at.

Then again, he was an orphan—of course he longed for a home where he truly belonged.

I watched the three of them calmly, and slowly, a smile crept onto my face.

Zachary Abbott—he really was my type.

Tall. Fair-skinned and clean-cut, with a scholarly air about him.

And more importantly, every interaction we'd had proved his character was beyond reproach.

The last time we met, some old man tried to take advantage of me. Zachary rushed over without hesitation to confront him.

Even when it landed us both at the police station, he didn't show a hint of regret.

Afterward, he'd comforted me and bought me milk tea.

Watching the warm scene beneath the lights, an uncontrollable thought surfaced—illusory, aching.

If I hadn't gotten sick. Or if the illness had come just a little later.

They'd probably planned my whole life out, hadn't they?

Join the company. End up with Zachary.

Get married. Live close by. Help run the business. Have a child.

On weekends, the family of five would gather for dinner in this spacious villa while the kids played in the garden.

Such a blissful picture—delicate as a dream.

And cold reality had smashed it to pieces.

A self-mocking smile escaped me. I was fully aware that I was already dead.

Dead in that freezing lake. Dead on the road of paying off their debts.