Chapter 2

I curled up on my bed and lay there motionless. It felt as if my heart was being torn apart.

"Was my birth and existence a grave mistake?" I thought bitterly.

After I was born, Mom and Dad started splitting every expense evenly. Each of them paid for half of the household costs. They hated each other, and they hated me.

By comparison, Zara was the apple of their eye. She had been born when they were in love, so she had always been the child who carried the family's hopes.

Unfortunately, my arrival had shattered all of that. So, Zara came to hate me too.

I didn't know how long I had slept before the rumble of thunder woke me.

Just then, the bedroom door opened.

A moment later, Zara's voice broke the silence. "Wilbur, how can you sleep? Oh, how I wish you'd never existed. Before you were born, Mom and Dad never fought. This house was filled with laughter every day."

She paused for a bit before saying hatefully, "You destroyed this family. Why don't you just die?"

Tears slid down the corners of my eyes. I bit down hard on my lower lip, not daring to make a sound. I even kept my breathing slow and steady to give the impression that I was still fast asleep.

Thankfully, it was dark, so Zara couldn't see my tears. Otherwise, she would have hated me even more.

After a long while, her footsteps faded away. The bedroom door closed again.

Sleep abandoned me completely at that point. I stared at the moldy attic ceiling, thinking about my family's past. As I went down memory lane, my heart ached bitterly.

The year Mom was pregnant with me, Dad had an affair.

The other woman came to our house and demanded that Dad make her his wife. Mom was so infuriated that she went into premature labor and gave birth to me early.

Dad ultimately chose his reputation and family. He returned to us and cut things off with that woman completely.

Even so, the crack in their marriage remained forever. Their relationship fell apart, but they stubbornly refused to divorce, and they were unable to see past the hatred that consumed them.

Hence, they poured all of that hatred onto me—the child born during Dad's time of betrayal.

After so many years, I'd gotten used to it. I even thought that life couldn't get any worse. But sadly for me, fate hadn't shown me any mercy either.

I was diagnosed with cancer. The doctor said that if I didn't begin treatment as soon as possible, I wouldn't even live another six months.

When I came home, there were no hugs, nor were there any words of comfort.

Dad frowned deeply and said, "I've done the math. Putting money into this would only generate a negative return. Bone cancer has a high recurrence rate. Even if he's cured, he'll still end up disabled or inconvenienced in some way."

"So you're saying we should give up? How's that going to sound if word gets out? People will say we deliberately neglected our son," Mom responded, raising an eyebrow.

Right away, Dad shot back, "Then you pay for it! Don't you have 50,000 dollars?"

"That's Zara's education fund for studying abroad. Nobody's touching it!" Mom argued defensively.

I lowered my head and looked at the pale white mass on the diagnosis report. My heart hurt so much that I was trembling.

When I was eight years old, I wanted to eat an apple. Dad had taken out an apple and placed it on a digital scale to weigh it.

Then, he had turned to Mom and said, "This apple costs 1.20 dollars. If Wilbur wants to eat it, you'll have to transfer me 60 cents."

Mom frowned and countered, "Why should I? I've gone over this month's fruit budget. He's your son. If you want him to have it, pay for it yourself."

Dad let out a cold laugh. "Fine. If you won't pay for his share, then he doesn't get to eat."

Right in front of me, he cut the apple in half. He ate one half himself and gave the other half to Zara, who had just come home from dance practice.

Zara finished it in a few bites and asked eagerly, "Dad, is there any more? It's delicious."

"There is. I'll peel another one for you. Eat as many as you want," Dad said, smiling at her with fatherly affection.

But the moment he turned to look at me, his face darkened instantly. "What are you staring at? If you want one, buy it yourself. Useless brat!"

In the end, all I could do was sneak into the kitchen and fill my empty stomach with cold water to quell my hunger.

Those memories overlapped with the present.

The argument in the living room finally came to an end. Mom stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Dad shot my room a resentful glare before saying one last sentence in annoyance, "If your mother won't pay, neither will I!"

As they walked away yet again, I understood something.

The eight-year-old me never got that apple that merely cost 1.20 dollars. And now, I wouldn't even get that tiny chance to stay alive either.