During my college years, I paid for all my expenses through part-time jobs.
When I graduated and returned home, I found my father lying on a filthy bed, coughing violently, his chest rising and falling rapidly, surrounded by the mess of his sickness. That was when I learned Jessie had borrowed all our money, claiming she needed it for my cousin’s college tuition.
What had my father and I done to deserve this? We were only trying to be kind, trusting someone who didn’t deserve it.
Does being a good person mean you deserve to die?
I refuse to believe that!
I pressed the shard harder against Jessie’s throat, causing a thin line of blood to appear.
In a cold, menacing tone, I said,
“Pay it back! I want every cent you owe us, right now!”
Jessie shrugged and sneered, “No money here. If you want my life, take it! But killing me will ruin yours. Remember, I’ve already died once – I’m not afraid to die again.”
My father coughed into a tissue, which came away stained with bright red blood.
Her words were a grim reminder.
If I killed her, what would happen to my father?
His illness couldn’t wait. I needed to get him treatment immediately.