Chapter 1
"I know you don't love me." Those were my daughter's last words before she died.
She was twenty-six years old. She had stage four stomach cancer.
And yet she'd saved up 60 thousand dollars, bought an apartment, and kept a ledger of every favor anyone had ever done for her.
She left it all to me, the mother who never really cared.
After she was gone, I opened her grudge notebook, page after page of small, bitter grievances.
But on the last page, she had written: [Mom, I wrote down so many grudges, so why can't I bring myself to hate you?]
*****
While searching for tomorrow's breakfast recipe for Ethan Rivers, I stumbled upon a post: [I accidentally spat up blood on the carpet today, and my mom found out. I need an excuse, ASAP.]
The comments were all urging her to go to the hospital, but the OP didn't respond for ages: [It's been over a year. It's stomach cancer.
[My dad's in debt and has a secret kid. There's no way my family can afford my treatment.
[I want to save up as much as I can while I still can. Otherwise, if I die, what will happen to my mom?]
My heart suddenly felt heavy. Because that morning, I'd noticed a bloodstain on the carpet in my daughter's room.
When I asked her about it, she said it was from her period, that she hadn't noticed.
So, I helped her roll up the carpet and took it to be washed.
I stared at the profile picture for a bit. It was a calico cat lying on its back, belly exposed.
We didn't have a cat at home. But there were lots of strays downstairs in our neighborhood.
When Yuri Rivers, my daughter, had some spare time, she'd go down and feed them.
I exited the post and went back to searching for recipes. But I was too uneasy to focus on anything.
I usually went to bed at ten, but that night, I tossed and turned until dawn.
When I heard the door unlock, I clutched my phone and rushed out of my bedroom.
Yuri froze for a second when she saw me.
"Was this you?" I asked, holding out my phone.
She took it and stared at the screen for a long time. "What are you even thinking, Mom? How could that be me?"
I looked into her eyes. She was completely calm; nothing seemed off at all.
I took my phone back and breathed a sigh of relief. Good, it was not her. "If you ever get sick, you have to tell me, okay?"
Yuri frowned, not really caring, and said, "What's the point? Do you even have the money to pay for my treatment?"
I was stumped by her question.
My throat was tight. I wanted to say "yes," but the word wouldn't come out.
David Rivers's debts, Ethan's tutoring fees, and the 1,000 dollars for living expenses that I only managed to pay half a month late, all of it choked me up, and I couldn't say a thing.
"If you really get sick," I finally found my voice, "your dad and I will figure something out."
She gave me a half-hearted smile. "Go to bed, Mom. I've got work in the morning."
She went into her room and shut the door.
*****
The next day at noon, I asked David, "If Yuri got sick, would you pay for her treatment?"
He was sprawled out on the bed, scrolling through his phone, not even bothering to look up. "That heartless freeloader, she's been working for years and hasn't given her old man a single dollar.
"I'm drowning in debt. Where am I supposed to find money for her medical bills?
"She's already in her twenties, still living at home, eating my food, using my stuff, and she actually expects me to pay for her treatment? Where does she get the nerve?"
I stood there, listening to him curse me out.
The year David lost all his money in a failed investment, Yuri was still a sophomore in college.
From then on, she never asked us for a single dollar.
She balanced classes and part-time jobs, heading out before sunrise and not getting back until eleven or midnight.
After she graduated, the bank was ready to take our apartment.
She struck a deal with David that she'd take over the mortgage payments, but only if the place was put in my name.
David was so desperate back then that he agreed without a second thought.
She made over 3,300 dollars a month, but after covering the mortgage, what was left for her?
She worked overtime every day, picked up side gigs on weekends, and during the New Year, she couldn't afford a new outfit.
We all knew this. And yet here he was, calling her an ungrateful brat, saying she was mooching off him.
I thought about saying something, but in the end, I bit my tongue.
David rolled over and said he was going to take a nap.
I left the room and closed the door behind me.