I was diagnosed with terminal cancer and wanted to ask my wealthy parents for 100 dollars to buy a burial suit, but they scolded me for three hours. 

“Do you know that 100 dollars could support children in poverty-stricken areas for a long time? How did I end up with such a wasteful child?” 

“How could you possibly have cancer, being so pampered your whole life? If you’re really sick, go ahead and die. Prove to me that you’re sick!” 

I sat hopelessly outside the hospital, feeling the two coins left in my pocket—just enough for the bus home. I hadn’t eaten a full meal in days, yet my real parents were spending a fortune to spoil my sister, renting out Disneyland just for her. 

Meanwhile, they left me in a cold, remote basement, calling it “tough love”. 

Back in the basement, I held my only possession, a doll that had been mine since childhood, and I swore I would never go back home. 

Just as I was dozing off, my father called. I shakily answered, only to hear his furious voice on the other end. 

“Where did you get all that money in your account? You thief, did you steal from the family again? I transferred all the money in your account to your sister! She’s not a waste like you!” 

But the 20,000 dollars in my account was from a part-time job I had done last month. 

I clenched my fists, feeling a bitter lump in my throat that I couldn’t swallow. I had hoped they would save me, but it was all a foolish dream. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. 

My father, thinking I was guilty, cursed me a few more times before hanging up. 

Pain shot through my body. The ache, deep in my bones, spread throughout my limbs, making me collapse onto the bed, nausea overwhelming me. 

I glanced at my bank account to find only 30 dollars left. I pushed myself up, determined to buy some painkillers at the hospital. 

But when I walked into the hospital, I saw Yolana Bowen walking toward me. 

She had a fever patch on her forehead, and behind her were my parents, looking at her with pity, along with a group of doctors. 

“Grace, why are you at the hospital? I haven’t seen you at school lately. I heard you’re living with your boyfriend.” Her eyes fell to my stomach. 

Because of my illness, I was more sensitive to the cold than most. I had layered up when I left, making me look heavier than usual. 

Yolana tried to hide her shock, putting a hand over her mouth. “Grace, are you actually pregnant? How could your boyfriend let you come to the hospital by yourself?” 

My parents, hearing this, immediately froze. 

“So that’s why you needed money? You’re going to have an abortion? You liar. You made up a cancer story to deceive me. How could you curse yourself for money!” 

If they had bothered to ask, they would know I’d dropped out of school long ago. How could I be fooling around with other men? 

My father yanked me by the ear, ready to scold me in public. My vision blurred, and I stumbled, nearly falling. 

I wanted to hand them my diagnosis and tell them to stop listening to Yolana’s nonsense, but they didn’t even glance at it. Instead, they crushed the paper underfoot. 

“I don’t know whose child you’re pregnant with. Stay away with me so you won’t dirty my eyes!” 

“I’m not pregnant! I never lied, please believe me.” 

They completely ignored me, taking Yolana’s hand and walking away. 

I used the last of my money to buy painkillers, swallowing several tablets one after another. 

But why did my heart still ache so badly? Why did it feel so cold? 

I dragged my aching body out of the hospital, staring at the gray-blue sky, unsure of where to go from here.