On a game show, the host asked my mom: “What’s one plus one?” My mom didn’t hesitate: “It equals three.” Everyone froze. My family had joined this show to raise money for my astronomical medical bills. Answer ten questions correctly, and they’d win five million dollars. After struggling through nine questions, the host took pity and asked a softball question. This prize money was my lifeline. But my mom, a PhD in mathematics, deliberately answered it wrong. I bolted upright in my hospital bed, chest tight with pain. The host recovered quickly, plastering on a smile: “Dr. Lily Smith is a mathematics PhD. Perhaps in unexplored mathematical fields, one plus one can equal three.” “However, the question I just asked is very simple. You only need to think like a first-grader!” But my mom blinked and said firmly: “One plus one equals three.” The host’s expression darkened. My brother held up two fingers, waving them frantically in front of Mom’s face. “Mom! Just answer one more question correctly and we can get the prize money for Chloe’s surgery!” “This isn’t the time for jokes!” Dad was sweating bullets too. “Honey, did you mishear the question? Or did you misspeak?” But no matter how Dad and my brother pleaded, Mom stuck to her answer—”one plus one equals three.” The audience exploded: “Is this mother insane?” “This has to be scripted! What mother would want her own child to die?” Each question had a ten-minute time limit. As the countdown neared its end, I begged the doctor to help me video call the show. The production team connected immediately. My pale, weak face appeared on the big screen. The crowd gasped in sympathy. The host’s eyes reddened with emotion. At sixteen, I’d been diagnosed with a malignant heart tumor and was in critical condition every moment. The only hope for my survival was this prize money. The host was frantic: “There are only three minutes left on the countdown.” “If you answer incorrectly, all your family’s efforts will be wasted!” To qualify for this show, my whole family had stayed up for three months memorizing the question bank. They’d barely made it through nine questions, and now Mom was spouting nonsense on the tenth. I spoke carefully: “Mom, the prize is five million dollars. My treatment only costs three million.” “I won’t take a penny of what’s left!” “And when I recover, I’ll work hard and give you every paycheck to show my gratitude!” The crowd murmured sympathetically. Mom’s eyes welled up too. With ten seconds left on the countdown, Mom raised her hand to indicate she wanted to change her answer. I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Mom had just been joking with everyone. “I’m sorry, I misspoke earlier.” “One plus one should equal…” I held my breath. Mom surveyed the room, then suddenly smiled. “One plus one equals one!” The countdown ended. The five million dollars on the screen instantly disappeared!
Then Mom said leisurely: “Sorry, I was careless and said it wrong.” “One plus one should equal two.” But the countdown had ended. My surgery funds were gone. Sharp pain shot through my chest. I nearly blacked out from the agony. My brother lost control, shouting: “Mom! What are you doing?” “Chloe’s going to die!” Mom just calmly pointed at the screen: “Look, isn’t Chloe suffering?” “You know she’s suffering and you deliberately answered wrong?!” My brother’s eyes were bloodshot. “You knew perfectly well that if you answered correctly, she could live!” “This is all your fault…” Mom suddenly raised her voice: “My fault? I didn’t do it on purpose!” “Of course I know one plus one equals two, but I was just careless!” Careless? My eyes widened in shock. How could anyone carelessly answer one plus one wrong? Mom knew perfectly well that without the prize money for surgery, I would die immediately. Why would she… Amid everyone’s confusion and anger, Mom raised an eyebrow and turned to look at my brother. “Carson, do you remember? On your middle school entrance exam, you lost a full five points because you wrote one plus one equals three.” “Because of those five points, you couldn’t get into the top middle school.” “When I criticized you then, you had the nerve to talk back, saying you were just careless and would be more careful next time.” “Today I’m showing you exactly what kind of consequences a moment of carelessness can cause!” Mom pointed at the big screen: “Take a good look and remember what Chloe looks like right now, covered in sweat from pain.” “This is the consequence of carelessness!” “Today I’m using your sister’s suffering to teach you a lesson!” Everyone exploded. I stared in disbelief. My brother was already a college junior! Mom was still holding a grudge about his middle school entrance exam! Dad was furious: “Do you realize Chloe’s about to die?” “If you wanted to teach Carson a lesson, couldn’t you have picked another time?” Mom muttered impatiently: “Doctors always exaggerate. Chloe’s so young, she can definitely hold on longer than other people.” “Carson’s careless habits should have been corrected long ago! Gentle methods don’t work, so I’m giving him a lesson he’ll remember in his bones!” I could barely breathe. The nurse gripped my hands tightly, her eyes full of pity. Dad roared that he’d fight Mom to the death. Mom raised her hand to block him. “What’s the rush?” “Doesn’t the show have one more bonus round?” “If we answer the next question correctly, we won’t get five million, but we can still get three million!” “That’s enough for Chloe’s surgery!” With the host’s intervention, Dad and my brother finally calmed down. Mom looked at the big screen, her gaze tender: “Chloe, hang in there a little longer.” “Mom just wanted to take this opportunity to teach your brother a lesson.” “I promise I’ll answer the next question correctly!” I bit my lip hard, forcing back tears. “Mom, I know you love me, but for the next question… can Dad or Carson answer instead?” Mom’s expression froze. Dad and my brother were afraid Mom would pull another stunt and strongly supported my suggestion. But unfortunately. During the earlier rounds, they’d already used up their chances to answer. So Mom had to go up again. This last question determined whether I lived or died. The studio fell silent. The host was sweating as he frantically searched the question bank, finally selecting the simplest possible question. “Ms. Lily Smith, what’s your birthday?” I relaxed, looking at the host with gratitude. Mom hit the answer button without hesitation. But said: “Host, I’d like to use my lifeline—phone a friend!”
The room erupted. How could someone not remember their own birthday? A wave of panic hit me. Since I got sick, Mom had been getting more and more gray hair. I’d heard that middle-aged people under prolonged mental stress could easily develop dementia. Had Mom’s condition already deteriorated this badly? Tears blurred my vision. My hands trembled. Mom chose Dad as her lifeline. Dad looked helpless: “Your birthday is January 8th.” Mom nodded and pressed the answer button again. But was suddenly stopped by my anxious brother. “Mom, did you hear clearly?” “What date is it exactly? Repeat it!” At my brother’s insistence, Mom repeated “January 8th” three times before being allowed to press the answer button. But Mom still didn’t speak. Seeing Mom’s nervousness, I endured the sharp pain in my heart and tried to comfort her: “Don’t be afraid, Mom. Just answer this one question and it’ll all be over.” Mom smiled at me. But her answer plunged me into ice-cold despair. “My birthday is January 9th!” The air froze instantly. The host immediately tried to smooth things over: “Your husband said your birthday is January 8th.” “Ms. Smith must have misspoken. Please answer again!” But Mom’s gaze was resolute: “I didn’t misspeak. I said it wrong on purpose.” The audience exploded. My heart hurt so badly I couldn’t straighten up. The nurse tried to end the video call, but I stopped her. “Mom… why did you deliberately answer wrong again?” My voice shook with pain. Mom’s eyes filled with tears, but her tone was aggrieved: “It’s all your father’s fault!” Not just Dad—everyone was stunned. Dad had told her the correct answer. What had he done wrong? Under the host’s questioning, Mom wiped her tears and revealed the truth. “A few weeks ago was our twentieth wedding anniversary and my birthday.” “But Sean actually got the date wrong!” “Sean! You said my birthday was January 9th, so now I’m making it come true!” Dad’s veins bulged with anger: “I did accidentally get your birthday wrong.” “But those few days I was working consecutive all-nighters to earn medical expenses for Chloe! I was completely exhausted and confused, so I got the date wrong.” “I apologized afterward, and worked three more weeks of all-night delivery shifts to buy you a gold bracelet to make up for it. Isn’t that enough?” Mom said nothing, just bowed her head and wiped her tears. The countdown kept ticking down. The burning pain in my chest had become unbearable, cold sweat soaking the bedsheets. Dad kept begging Mom to give the correct answer so they could get the money and rush me into surgery. But Mom remained unmoved. I was completely heartbroken. So my life was just a tool for Mom to teach my family lessons. Three minutes left on the countdown. Using all my strength, I personally ended the livestream. The doctors and nurses in the room all had red eyes. My voice was barely a whisper, but utterly determined: “Doctor, I want to sign an organ donation agreement.” “Also, after I die, I want my mom to witness the entire organ removal process!” Mom, don’t you love teaching people lessons? Then today, I’ll teach you one too! The second I finished signing, excruciating pain engulfed my entire body. Everything went black. In the last second before I lost consciousness, I heard Mom roaring on the show: “What are you all panicking about?” “Chloe’s illness isn’t new—how could she suddenly die just like that?” Dad was forced to his knees before Mom in front of a national audience, begging forgiveness and promising never to forget another important date. Mom finally gave the correct answer in the last second before the countdown ended. But it was already too late.
In the emergency room, doctors frantically pressed on my chest. But my heartbeat grew weaker and weaker. The attending physician shouted: “We need to operate now!” But the prize money hadn’t arrived yet. My account only had a few hundred dollars. Hospital policy only allowed standard emergency care. As consciousness faded, I seemed to see Mom. Mom, you knew I could die any second. Why did you keep deliberately answering wrong and wasting time? Mom, don’t you love me? The doctor’s CPR grew more forceful. I could almost hear my ribs cracking. Mom, I really can’t hold on much longer… If you could just come see me one last time, I wouldn’t blame you. But I waited and waited. Shot after shot of epinephrine was injected into my veins, yet my breathing still gradually weakened. The monitor beeped. Hospital policy: no money, no surgery. The doctor called the production team furiously: “Didn’t they answer correctly? Why hasn’t the prize money arrived?” But the production team was helpless too. “We wanted to transfer the money directly to the hospital account, but her mother insisted on cash!” “They’re probably rushing to the hospital with the cash now.” The breath I’d been barely holding onto finally gave out. My heart monitor flatlined. Then I heard my family arguing. “Chloe’s hanging by a thread—why did you insist on cash?” Mom said self-righteously: “Three years ago, you got scammed out of two hundred dollars online!” “Online payments are so dangerous, and you still haven’t learned?” “Cash is safest. Today I’m teaching you a good lesson!” Dad was frantic, rushing forward: “Fine, fine! Cash is safe!” “But what about Chloe? Every second she waits puts her in more danger!” Mom said reluctantly: “Stop talking!” “If Chloe’s in danger, it’s because you cursed her!” “She was fine this morning—how could something happen this afternoon?” In the emergency room, the doctor was pulling a white sheet over my face. Oblivious, Mom pushed open my hospital room door. “Chloe! Mom brought the money!”
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