ulivu uuro anyway.
makes her look like she doesn’t care about
her son!”
IC
“Yes, Dad. You’re right.”
Father and son, tag–teaming. Mom listened,
expressionless. Last time, she signed the plea
deal. Did she ever think they’d abandon her,
too?
That night, Dad and Mark pulled me aside. Mom was sick, couldn’t help Helen with the next baby. I, being a doctor, should help Helen, ensure the next nephew survived
Helen’s…unique…parenting style.
Mark, worried I’d refuse, said, “Amy, we know
<
you’re moving assets, trying to leave. But
you’re a Zhou. You can’t escape!”
“Your ID, your diplomas, we have them! We
know where you work!”
Dad glared at him. “Don’t talk to your sister
like that! She loves her nephew! It’s her duty
to care for him until he’s 18! You saying that
hurts her feelings!”
Good cop, bad cop. They thought they had
- me.
They didn’t know. New life, new rules. No
more doctoring, no more scraping by. My
stock portfolio: early retirement. No leverage.
<
I laughed. As they relaxed, I slapped Dad, then
Mark.
“Seriously? Insulting my intelligence?”
Spring. Mom disappeared. Took the cash, the
SUV, ditched her phone. Gone.
Two weeks later: my diplomas, a torn–out
page of my household registration, and a will.
A note: “You’re smart. Don’t end up like me.”
This time, I was on a different path.
…saw Helen again in spring.
Mark caused a scene at the hospital, got me
L
fired. Packing my things, I saw Helen at the
pharmacy. Buying more magic pills from the
same old lady.
Security shooed them away. Helen, frustrated,
saw me. “You killed my son! Serves you right,
getting fired!”
I laughed. “How did I kill Peter?”
Helen’s eyes filled with tears. “People cling to hope. Dying people hold on for one last glimpse of their loved ones.”
“My baby held on…for that Jell–O…if the doctors had come sooner, he’d be alive.”
<
“You said he could have it. He had it. Then he
let go.”
I stared. Helen’s logic: not of this earth. No
matter what I did, she’d hate me.
A coworker called me. “Dr. Zhou, is this…?”
Helen glared at my coworker, backing away
as if she was contagious.
My coworker sighed. We were college
roommates. She was OB–GYN, I was surgery.
After some small talk, she handed me Helen’s
test results. “She refused further tests, a
biopsy. I’m worried it’s uterine cancer.
biopsy. I’m worried it’s uterine cancer.
Convince her to get checked!”
Helen sealed her fate with those pills. I wasn’t
interfering.
