We returned home at dawn and still had to clean the feces and urine off my dad.
Even so, the money we earned was barely enough for my dad's medical expenses.
The doctor told us to buy a wheelchair and take my dad out for walks, which would be good for his health.
But we had already sold everything we could, and we couldn't come up with any more money.
Desperate, my mom chose to embarrass herself.
One day, when I came home from work, I heard heavy breathing from a man in the house.
I pushed open the door and saw my mom lying on the bed, looking at me with terror and shame.
Afterwards, the man threw down a wad of cash and left hurriedly, pulling up his pants.
My house had only one room. The place where my mom entertained clients was separated from my dad's sickbed by just a curtain.
A week later, my mom finally saved enough money to buy my dad a brand-new wheelchair.
With the remaining money, she bought meat from a street vendor.
The three of us sat at the dining table, eating the meat voraciously.
That day was the happiest day for my family since my dad was crippled.
That night, my dad quietly got out of bed alone, wheeled his new wheelchair to the balcony, and flipped over.