12
After returning to school, I cut contact with
my parents.
Not intentionally.
College life was fulfilling and happy. I ate well,
saved money, and had no reason to contact
them.
Except at the end of each month, I received
two thousand dollars from Dad.
I always returned it.
Every time I thought of Lily, I felt heartache
and regret.
She was my sister.
But my wounds were too numerous.
The pain had numbed me.
During winter break, I went home to visit Mrs.
Davis.
On the second day of the New Year, I arrived
with gifts and $8,000, knocking on her door.
She was surprised and invited me in.
I noticed her home was cold and sparsely
furnished, the kitchen was empty.
“Sweetie, sit down, I’ll cut some fruit.”
the kitchen.
I was focused on returning the money, not
noticing her actions.
When I hid the money, she already had the
stew cooking.
I agreed to stay for lunch.
While I said, “I’m troubling you again,” I was
happy.
She was talkative and warm, the meal was
relaxing.
We talked a lot, and she mentioned my
parents.
Lily’s death had devastated Mom, who
constantly held Lily’s photo, calling her name
at night. Everyone said Mom had gone crazy.
Dad had changed too, closing his company,
selling the house, traveling with Mom to seek
medical treatment. He didn’t even come
home for the holidays.
L
She sighed regretfully, wishing Dad had done
this sooner, focusing only on money, his
family broke, his children suffered.
Yes, if Dad had done this earlier.
But there are no second chances.
We can only move forward.
Happy times are short.
I planned to leave after visiting, with an
afternoon bus ticket.
Mrs. Davis held my hand, full of concern and
reluctance.
She insisted on seeing me off, watching me
board the bus.
Only after waving goodbye did I notice my
coat pocket was bulging.
It was the money I hid.
Mrs. Davis had lost her son and divorced,
working as a cleaner, earning only a few
thousand a month.
I held the slightly thicker envelope.
L
I cried and laughed.
