They Faked Poverty, But I Died for Real

From the moment I can remember, I knew we were poor. So when I suspected I was seriously ill, my first thought wasn’t fear. It was to ask my parents, my voice barely a whisper, “What if… what if I got cancer?” They laughed and told me not to imagine such things, but their tone was unshakeably firm. “If that day ever comes, we’ll sell everything we own to get you treated.” I tossed and turned all night, and by morning, my mind was made up. I couldn’t be their ruin. But after I swallowed a full bottle of sleeping pills, I “saw” them. They were in a luxury penthouse downtown, laughing and chatting. In that moment, I finally understood. The years of hardship that had forced me to be so desperately “sensible” were nothing but an elaborate play they had staged. They were only pretending to be poor. But I… I was really dead.

1. During a break between classes, my nose suddenly started bleeding. It took half a pack of tissues to finally make it stop. My deskmate, Sarah, looked at my pale face and whispered, “My neighbor’s older 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 laughed and called her a jinx, but a cold dread washed over me. Lately, I’d been feeling so weak. In gym class, I’d be out of breath after just a few steps. A bruise on my knee from who-knows-when had refused to fade for weeks. I tried to convince myself it was nothing, to avoid worrying my parents for no reason, but the panic grew like a weed in my chest. What if… what if it was true? I snuck off to a community clinic for a blood test. After looking at the results, the doctor’s expression turned grim. He said he couldn’t rule out a serious blood disorder and urged me to go to a major hospital for a full workup as soon as possible. My world collapsed. I clutched the flimsy report, my legs feeling like they didn’t belong to me. I don’t even remember how I made it home. Mom was in the kitchen, wearing a faded, washed-out apron. Hearing me at the door, she called out, “Go wash your hands! I made that stew you love tonight.” I quickly crumpled the lab report into a ball and shoved it deep into my backpack. A little later, Dad came home. He looked exhausted, shrugging off his old jacket with its frayed cuffs and slumping into a chair with a long sigh. Mom brought the food to the table. A plate of sautéed cabbage, a bowl of thin meatball stew, and in the middle, a small dish of scrambled eggs—a rare luxury for us. Dad ate quickly, as if he were starving. Mom mumbled about the price of pork going up again. I picked at my rice, the food tasteless in my mouth, the doctor’s words echoing in my head. “Dad, Mom…” I called out softly, putting down my chopsticks. They both looked up. “What if… what if I got really sick?” I stared at the food, not daring to meet their eyes. “Like, with cancer… what would we do?” The table fell silent. Dad’s hand, holding his fork, froze mid-air. Mom’s spoon clinked against the side of her bowl. “Don’t say such things!” Mom was the first to react, her brow furrowed. “A young girl like you shouldn’t be talking about such unlucky things.” “But what if? Just… what if?” I pressed, my eyes starting to burn. Dad put down his fork and ruffled my hair with his rough hand. “Lily, don’t let your imagination run wild. Your only job right now is to study hard. But if that day ever did come…” He paused. “You don’t have to worry. Dad would sell the house, empty our accounts, we’d do whatever it takes to get you treated.” Mom nodded vigorously. “That’s right! We’d spend every last penny on you! Now eat, before your food gets cold.” And just like that, the conversation was over. Dad went back to his meal. Mom put a piece of egg in my bowl. “Eat up. You need to grow.” I listened to their words, looked at their faded clothes, at the meager meal on the table. “Sell the house…” “Every last penny…” I slowly picked up my chopsticks, lowered my head, and buried my face in my bowl. A tear fell, then another, splashing silently into the white rice. I quickly shoveled a large mouthful, swallowing my tears along with it.

2. From the moment I can remember, I knew we were poor. We lived in a run-down apartment with paint peeling from the walls in blotchy patches. Whenever it rained, water would seep in through the corners, leaving fuzzy spots of mold. I never had new clothes, only my older sister’s hand-me-downs. The cuffs were worn shiny and the colors were faded, but Mom always said they were still good enough to wear, that we couldn’t be wasteful. She would stroke my hair and sigh. “Your dad and I work from dawn till dusk at the market. Every penny is hard-earned. That’s why you have to be more grown-up than other kids, understand?” Dad would look at me with serious eyes. “You have to make us proud. Study hard. That’s the only way to make our sacrifices worth it.” I would clutch the worn fabric of my shirt and nod fiercely. And so, life went on, stretched thin. I had no allowance. When other kids bought snacks, stickers, or colorful pens, I just watched. When they talked about having pizza on the weekend or going to an amusement park, I had nothing to say. I would just look down and stay quiet. When my stomach growled, I’d chug glasses of hot water. The warmth and weight in my belly made it feel less empty. I never complained about not feeling well. I just endured it. Last winter, I coughed for a whole month. At night, I’d muffle the sound with my pillow so I wouldn’t wake my parents, coughing until tears streamed down my face. The next morning, I’d get up and go to school like nothing was wrong. My parents always praised me. “Our Lily is the most sensible girl.” Hearing that, I never knew how to feel. The truth was, I wanted to tell them things. I wanted to tell them my throat was so itchy it hurt. That my sister’s old backpack was so worn the strap was about to snap. That for my birthday, all I wanted was a tiny slice of cream cake. But I was scared. I was scared that if I asked for something that cost money, it would just make them more tired. I was scared of the troubled look in their eyes, scared of hearing them sigh. I was scared that my small wishes would be the last straw that broke their backs. That night, I lay in bed, unable to sleep. I stared into the darkness, the doctor’s grave face and my parents’ words—“sell the house,” “every last penny”—swirling in my mind. As dawn approached, I finally made my decision. If treating my illness would bankrupt this family, if it would push them into absolute despair, then I would rather… I would rather disappear. I heard a faint noise from outside my room. My parents were getting up. A few moments later, Mom gently pushed my door open. “Lily, your dad and I are heading to the market. I left breakfast on the stove for you. Eat before you go to school.” I mumbled a quiet “okay” from under the covers, my eyes squeezed shut, not daring to look at her. The door clicked shut, and their footsteps faded away. The apartment was terrifyingly quiet, the only sound my own heartbeat. I slowly sat up and took a pen and paper from my backpack. With careful, deliberate strokes, I wrote a letter to my parents. When I was done, I folded it neatly and placed it under my pillow. I walked to the old dresser, knelt, and pulled open the bottom drawer. It was a mess, but after a moment of rummaging, my fingers found the small, yellowed pill bottle. I remembered when I was little, Mom used to take these when she couldn’t sleep. She had hidden the bottle carefully and told me, her voice serious, “Lily, you must never, ever touch these. If a child takes these… they will leave Mom and Dad forever.” I never forgot those words. Now that I was older, I knew what “leave forever” meant. It meant to die. If I died, they would be free. I went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and returned to my bed. I twisted off the cap and poured the white tablets into my palm. Staring at them, my parents’ smiling faces flashed in my mind. My nose stung, and tears splattered onto the back of my hand. For a second, I was scared. I didn’t want to leave. But then their smiles faded, replaced by the deep, weary lines of their constant labor. I closed my eyes and told myself: You can’t be selfish. Leaving was the last sensible thing I could do for them. I took a deep breath, tossed the pills into my mouth, and washed them down with the cold water. They were bitter, but the taste quickly faded. I placed the empty bottle by my pillow, lay down, and pulled the covers up. The heavy feeling in my chest seemed to vanish. The light outside grew brighter. I could hear birds starting to sing. I closed my eyes. I was so tired. All I wanted was to sleep.

3. After a while, I seemed to “wake up” again. My body felt as light as a feather. I looked down and saw another me, lying peacefully in the bed, looking as if she were simply asleep. So… I was dead? But where was I supposed to go now? I had no idea. Suddenly, I thought of my sister, Ashley. I’d last seen her at Christmas. She’d only stayed for three days before rushing off again. I had called her yesterday, but before I could say much, there was a commotion on her end, and she’d hung up abruptly. Before I left for good, I wanted to see her one more time. The thought had barely formed when the world blurred. Suddenly, I was standing outside a bright, airy café. Through the large window, I saw Ashley laughing with a group of friends. She was wearing a beautiful floral dress, her hair perfectly styled. A delicate piece of cake sat in front of her. My gaze fell on the brand-new designer bag sitting beside her. I’d seen that brand at the mall. I had secretly counted the zeros on the price tag. But how could Ashley… I drifted closer for a better look. Her phone rang, startling me. She walked to a quiet corner to answer it, and I followed. “Mom?” her voice was cheerful. “Why are you calling now?” Mom’s voice came through clearly from the other end. “Have you heard from your sister lately? I have a feeling something’s off with her…” “Oh, she called yesterday,” Ashley said, her tone casual. “Said she needed to buy a textbook and asked to borrow a hundred dollars.” “A textbook?” Mom’s voice shot up, thick with undisguised annoyance. “Why couldn’t she just ask us for it? That girl… I don’t know what she’s scheming.” I instinctively looked down, a bitter taste in my mouth. The truth was… I couldn’t afford the co-pay for the hospital tests. The lie to my sister was an act of desperation. “Don’t worry, I didn’t give her anything,” Ashley said with a sly smile. “I pretended I was super busy and hung up. Made her go to you guys for it.” “Smart girl,” Mom’s voice turned serious, with a hint of a warning. “Remember, you are not to give her any money behind our backs. If I find out you did, you can forget about your allowance from us. And speaking of which, you have a job now, you should learn to be more independent…” “Oh, Mommm,” Ashley whined. “I won’t give her any, I promise. After rent, my salary is barely anything. How am I supposed to go shopping without your help?” “Alright, alright,” Mom sighed, her tone softening. “Just be careful around your sister. Don’t blow our cover. That girl is sharp. If she finds out, it’ll be a huge mess.” “I know, thanks, Mom!” Ashley hung up, a smile on her face, and rejoined her friends, chatting about a concert that weekend. But my mind was in turmoil. They were clearly hiding something from me.