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…"