From the moment I could remember, I knew my family was struggling. So when I suspected I had a serious illness, my first reaction wasn’t fear. Instead, I carefully asked Mom and Dad, “What if… what if I have cancer?” They chuckled, dismissing it as my wild imagination, yet their voices were firm. “If that day ever comes, we’ll sacrifice everything to get you cured.” I tossed and turned all night, finally making up my mind—I couldn’t be a burden to them. But as I swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills, I saw them laughing and chatting in their luxurious downtown mansion. In that instant, it all clicked. All these years, the “hard life” that forced me to be desperately “sensible” was nothing more than an elaborate act they had meticulously staged. They were just pretending to be poor. And I, I was truly dead… During a break between classes, my nose suddenly started bleeding. It took half a pack of tissues to finally stop it. Chloe, my deskmate, looked at my pale face and whispered, “My neighbor’s brother used to get nosebleeds like that. Turned out to be leukemia… His family spent all their money, but they still couldn’t save him…” I forced a smile, calling her a “jinx,” but my heart sank with a chilling thump. Lately, I’d been constantly exhausted. I’d be out of breath after just two steps in PE, and I had a bruise on my knee that appeared out of nowhere and wouldn’t go away. I desperately tried to tell myself not to overthink it, not to needlessly worry my parents, but the fear deep inside me was growing like wildfire. What if… what if it was real? I secretly went to the community clinic and had my blood drawn. The doctor’s face grew serious after reviewing the lab results. He couldn’t rule out a malignant blood disorder and urged me to get a comprehensive check-up at a larger hospital as soon as possible. My heart plummeted to the bottom. Clutching that flimsy lab report, my steps felt weightless, and I couldn’t even remember how I staggered back home. Mom, wearing a faded apron, was busy in the kitchen. Hearing the noise at the door, she called out, “Go wash your hands quickly! I made your favorite pizza today.” I frantically crumpled the lab report into a ball and shoved it deep into my backpack. A little later, Dad also came home. He looked utterly exhausted, taking off his old, threadbare jacket with frayed cuffs and slinging it over the back of a chair, letting out a long sigh. Mom brought the dishes to the table. A plate of salad, a pizza, and some roasted chicken – it was a rare feast. Dad ate quickly and hungrily, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Mom ate while grumbling that pork prices had gone up again. I picked at my food, small bites, tasting nothing. The doctor’s words echoed in my mind, refusing to fade. “Dad, Mom…” I quietly called out to them, putting down my knife and fork. They both looked up. “What if… what if I get a very serious illness,” I stared at the food on the table, not daring to meet their eyes, “like cancer… what then?” The dining table fell silent. Dad’s hand, holding a forkful of food, froze in mid-air. Mom’s spoon “clinked” against the rim of her bowl. “What nonsense are you talking?!” Mom was the first to react, her brows tightly furrowed. “Children shouldn’t say such unlucky things!” “I mean, if… what if it happens?” I pressed on relentlessly, my eyes starting to sting. Dad put down his fork, his rough hand ruffling my hair. “Luna, don’t overthink things. Your job right now is to study hard. If that day ever truly comes…” He paused, then continued, “Don’t worry, Dad will sell everything we own, even bankrupt ourselves, to cure you.” Mom quickly nodded in agreement. “Yes, we’ll lose everything to cure you! Now eat, the food’s getting cold.” After they spoke, it was as if the topic was closed. Dad resumed eating, and Mom put a piece of egg on my plate. “Eat more, you need to grow.” I listened to their words, looking at their faded, old clothes and the simple meal on the table. “Sell everything we own…” “Lose everything…” I slowly picked up my forks, lowered my head, burying my face in my bowl. Tears suddenly welled up, dripping into my food. I quickly scooped a large mouthful of rice, swallowing it with my tears.
From the moment I could remember, I knew my family was struggling. The house we lived in was dilapidated, with peeling paint on the walls. Whenever it rained, the corners would leak, and fuzzy mold spots would grow. There wasn’t a single new piece of clothing in my closet; everything was hand-me-downs from my sister. The cuffs were shiny from wear, the colors faded from countless washes, but Mom always said they were still good and shouldn’t be wasted. She’d often stroke my head and sigh, “Your dad and I work tirelessly from dawn till dusk at our stand; every penny we earn is hard-won. So you need to be more sensible than others, okay?” Dad would also look at me with a serious expression. “You need to make us proud, study hard, so you can make all of Mom’s and my sacrifices worthwhile.” I clutched the frayed hem of my shirt, nodding firmly. Life was always tight. I never had pocket money. When my classmates bought snacks, stickers, or colorful pens, I’d just watch from the side. When they talked about eating pizza or going to the amusement park on weekends, I couldn’t join in, so I’d just lower my head and stay silent. When I was hungry, I’d chug hot water. My stomach would feel heavy and warm, and it wouldn’t feel so empty anymore. If I felt unwell, I never said anything, just endured it myself. Last winter, I coughed for a whole month. At night, I’d cover my mouth to avoid disturbing my parents, coughing until tears streamed down my face, but the next day, I’d still pack my backpack and go to school as usual. Mom and Dad always praised me, “Our Luna is the most sensible child.” Listening to those words, I couldn’t quite describe the taste in my mouth. Actually, I wanted to tell them things too. To say how itchy my throat felt, or that my sister’s old school bag was so worn out the strap was about to break. To say I also wished for a small slice of cream cake on my birthday. But I was scared. Scared that if I mentioned needing money, Mom and Dad would become even more tired. I was afraid to see the troubled look in their eyes, afraid to hear their sighs, afraid that my small wishes would become the final straw that broke them. At night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. In the darkness, my eyes wide open, the doctor’s grave face and my parents’ words about “losing everything” echoed repeatedly in my mind. As dawn approached, I finally made up my mind. If curing me meant completely ruining this family, pushing them to desperation, I would rather… rather disappear myself. Faint sounds came from outside the door; Mom and Dad were getting up. A moment later, Mom gently pushed the door open. “Luna, your dad and I are heading to the stand. Dinner’s warming in the pot; eat it before you go to school.” I lay in bed, murmuring a low “Mhm,” my eyes tightly shut, not daring to look at her. The door was gently pulled shut, and their footsteps gradually faded away. The house was terribly quiet, with only the sound of my own heartbeat. I slowly sat up, pulled out paper and a pen from my backpack, and carefully, meticulously wrote a letter to Mom and Dad. After finishing, I carefully folded it and tucked it under my pillow. I walked to the old cabinet, knelt down, and pulled open the bottom drawer. It was messy inside. I rummaged for a while before finding a small, yellowed pill bottle. I remembered Mom taking these when she couldn’t sleep when I was younger. Back then, she’d hidden the bottle carefully, stroking my head and earnestly warning me, “Luna, children absolutely must not touch these pills. If you take them… you’ll leave Mom and Dad forever.” I always remembered those words. Now that I was older, I knew “leaving forever” meant dying. If I died, they would be free. I went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, then returned to my bed and sat down. Twisting open the cap, I poured all the white pills into my palm. Looking at those tiny pills, Mom and Dad’s smiling faces suddenly appeared before my eyes. My nose stung, and tears splattered onto the back of my hand. Suddenly, I felt a little scared, and a little reluctant. But their smiles quickly faded, replaced by their perpetually tired faces from working day and night. I closed my eyes and told myself— I couldn’t be so selfish. Leaving was the last sensible thing I could do for them. I took a deep breath, shoved all the pills into my mouth, and gulped them down with the cold water. It was a little bitter, but soon, I felt nothing. I placed the empty bottle by my pillow, lay down, and pulled the covers over me. That heavy feeling in my heart seemed to vanish completely. The light outside the window grew brighter, and birds began to chirp. I closed my eyes, feeling so tired, wishing for a deep, peaceful sleep.
After a while, I seemed to “wake up” again, my body as light as a feather. Looking down, I saw another me lying peacefully on the bed, her face calm, as if she were just sleeping. Was I… already dead? But where was I supposed to go next? I didn’t know. I suddenly remembered Scarlett, my sister. The last time I saw her was during the holidays; she only stayed home for three days before rushing off. Yesterday, when I called her, I had barely said a few words before I heard a commotion on her end. Before I could finish, she abruptly hung up. Before I left, I wanted to see her one last time. As the thought formed, my surroundings blurred, and I found myself standing outside a bright coffee shop. Through the floor-to-ceiling window, I saw Scarlett laughing and chatting with a few friends. She wore a beautiful floral dress, her hair impeccably styled, a delicate cake sat before her, and her smile was radiant. My gaze fell on the brand-new designer bag beside her. I’d seen that brand at the mall and secretly counted the zeros on its price tag. But how could Scarlett… I leaned closer to get a better look when her phone suddenly rang, startling me. She walked to a quiet corner to take the call, and I followed. “Mom?” Her voice was cheerful. “Why are you calling at this hour?” Mom’s voice came clearly from the other end. “Has your sister contacted you recently? I feel like she’s been a little off these past two days…” “Oh, she called yesterday,” Scarlett’s tone was casual. “Said she wanted to buy some study guides and asked to borrow a hundred bucks.” “Study guides?” Mom’s voice sharpened abruptly, with unconcealed displeasure. “What books can’t she just tell us about? That child… I wonder what she’s really up to.” I instinctively lowered my gaze, a bitter ache in my heart. Actually… it was because I couldn’t afford the hospital check-up, so I was forced to lie to Scarlett. “Don’t worry, I didn’t give it to her.” Scarlett gave a sly smile. “I pretended I was swamped and hung up after a couple of sentences. Told her to ask you guys.” “Smart girl!” Mom’s tone immediately became serious, with a hint of warning. “Remember, absolutely do not give her money behind our backs. If I find out, you can forget about your family allowance! But speaking of which, you’re working now, you should learn to be independent…” “Oh, Mom—” Scarlett whined, drawing out her words playfully. “I won’t give it to her, alright? My salary barely covers rent, how am I supposed to buy things without the family allowance…” “Alright, alright.” Mom sighed helplessly, her voice softening. “Just be clever around your sister, and whatever you do, don’t give away the secret. That child is very perceptive; if she finds out, it’ll be a huge mess.” “Got it, thanks, Mom!” Scarlett grinned, hanging up the phone, then turned back to her friends, laughing as she chatted about a concert that weekend. My heart, however, was in turmoil. They were clearly hiding something from me. A thought flashed, and the scene before me instantly changed. The spacious living room was blindingly bright, the polished floor reflecting the fragmented light of a crystal chandelier, and a huge floor-to-ceiling window offered a panoramic view of the entire city. Where was this? How did I end up here? I looked around blankly, then saw a woman comfortably reclined in a massage chair, fiddling with a brand-new foldable phone. A man walked over, carrying two glasses of freshly squeezed juice, dressed in comfortable loungewear. I stared at their faces, and my mind exploded with a buzzing sound—wasn’t this my Mom and Dad? At this hour, shouldn’t they be at their market stand, busy beyond words? “Scarlett has always gotten everything she wanted since she was little, spoiled by us. Her mind was never on the right track. Now, Luna is also getting rebellious…” Mom complained, frowning. “She actually called her sister to ask for money, saying she wanted to buy some study guides. She didn’t even dare to ask us directly, she must be lying, afraid we’d expose her!” Dad set down the juice, comforting her. “Luna has always been sensible enough. Maybe she genuinely wanted something to buy; a small lie is understandable. Under our watchful eyes, nothing major can go wrong.” “That’s true,” Mom massaged her own shoulders. “It’s just that we have to go back to that dilapidated house for this act; it’s truly uncomfortable…” “For Luna’s future, let’s just keep going a little longer,” Dad stepped forward, massaging her shoulders, his voice gentle. “Once she gets into a good university, we’ll tell her the truth. She’ll be so happy.” Mom sighed heavily. “I hope so… As long as she doesn’t betray our hard work and good intentions, all this suffering will be worth it…” “You’re working so hard, my dear wife! I’ll cook dinner myself later, make you a few of your favorite dishes to reward you properly.” Dad dotingly offered the juice, and both of them smiled widely. Every single word pierced my ears, yet it carried an indescribable eeriness that I couldn’t process for a while. It was a long time before I slowly came back to myself. So, they were pretending to be poor. But I, I was truly dead…
I floated in the center of the opulent living room, staring blankly at them, my heart aching faintly, as if something was gently squeezing it. So all that tireless exhaustion, all that hardship of struggling for a living, had been nothing but an act they performed. And all the suffering I’d endured since childhood was just a calculated ploy, “for my own good.” In a daze, I remembered the designer belt I’d found under Dad’s bed, which he’d hastily snatched away and hidden, claiming it was a high-quality replica from a street vendor. I remembered the expensive face cream I’d seen behind Mom’s vanity mirror, which she’d said was a trial sample from a friend, not worth much. I remembered the large, floor-to-ceiling window that flashed by in the background during a video call with Scarlett; I’d asked if she’d moved into a bigger house, but she’d laughed it off, saying it was a colleague’s place and she was just visiting. It turned out that all those moments that had subtly felt off were clues to this elaborate deception. In this family, only I was like a fool, kept in the dark, living out their fabricated poor life, treading carefully. That sadness swelled like a tide, then slowly receded. What’s done is done. A stubborn illness like leukemia, perhaps even if they spent all their money, it wouldn’t be curable. Then, they truly would be forced to live that precarious, poverty-stricken life. At least now, they didn’t have to genuinely work tirelessly at a market stand, didn’t have to haggle over pennies. They lived so decently and comfortably, not struggling at all. I had nothing left to worry about. Thinking this, my heart felt much more at peace, and I began to float around the bright, large house with curiosity. Soft carpets, a huge balcony, all sorts of high-end appliances—things I’d only ever seen on TV. I floated into a room. The vanity was covered with bottles and jars, the closet door half-open, revealing racks of beautiful clothes. I recognized it at a glance; this was Scarlett’s room, as it was often in the background of her video calls. Then, I discovered another room. The walls were a soft pink, the curtains white with lace trim, and the bed was covered with a floral-patterned sheet. On the bedside table, there was a photo frame. The photo was of me, perhaps seven or eight years old, wearing that red plaid jacket my sister had passed down, smiling shyly at the camera. This room… it was prepared for me. My heart felt gently warmed by something. I lay on that floral-patterned bed. Although I couldn’t feel its softness, I imagined that if I could sleep here, it would be as comfortable as lying on a cloud. Sunlight streamed through the window, bathing the entire pink room in warmth. I lay there, watching, and my heart grew sad again. I knew I would never get to live in this perfect room, prepared just for me. Time passed, bit by bit. Suddenly, a phone rang in the room—Mom’s old phone. I floated over to see. The screen displayed “Ms. Davis,” my homeroom teacher’s name. Mom took a deep breath, answered the phone, and her voice instantly switched to that familiar, weary tone. “Hello, Ms. Davis? Oh, yes, I’m busy at the stand. What’s up?” Ms. Davis’s anxious voice faintly carried from the other end. “Luna’s mom, I’ve called several times! I’m glad you finally picked up!” “Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” Mom’s voice dropped a bit lower, with just the right amount of apology. “This old phone always runs out of battery; I just turned it on. Is there something happening at school?” “Luna didn’t come to school today and didn’t ask any teacher for leave. Is she home now? Is she feeling unwell?” Mom’s grip on the phone visibly tightened. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, and her voice involuntarily rose. “What? Luna didn’t go to school today?”
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