02
That’s right. I was utterly despondent and wracked with excruciating pain before I died.
I had become nothing more than a wandering soul.
Mom and Dad dismissed the dormitory manager’s explanation with disdain.
They rushed older sister back to the hospital, pulling every string to find a kidney source, desperate to save her life.
If they had devoted even half that effort to me, they could have easily obtained my death certificate:
But they didn’t.
Wasting half a day searching for me, their unfilial daughter.
That was the greatest sacrifice they were willing to make.
Older sister was the apple of their eye, cherished and doted upon, while I was the
unwelcome second child, born in violation of the one–child policy, a jinx who cost them their jobs.
So I’m just supposed to accept the favoritism.
Three years ago, I entered a prestigious high school with excellent grades, and my parents finally started paying attention to me.
Before I could even enjoy it, my older sister had an accident.
She fell down the stairs at my birthday party and broke both of her legs.
“Yulia Wyatt pushed me!”
She nestled in her mother’s arms, sobbing, a glint of cunning flashing in her eyes-
She clearly jumped herself!
No one listened to my explanation. My parents were furious and immediately canceled my enrollment in the prestigious high school.
I was abandoned at a boarding school.
My older sister was seriously injured, and they stayed by her side constantly. I even had to go to school alone for enrollment.
While registering, the teacher made countless calls to my parents.
No one answered.
It wasn’t until half a day later that my mother impatiently called back.
“My daughter needs to rest quietly after her surgery. Stop harassing us with your calls!”
“I only have one daughter, Helen Wyatt. I don’t know any Yulia Wyatt!”
The phone hung up abruptly.
The teachers, looking sympathetic, noted on the registration form that I was “without
parents“.
I wiped away my tears, ready to swipe my card for tuition, but a cold, electronic voice abruptly announced:
“Insufficient funds.”
D
12:34 Thu, 1 May MO.
to school alone for enrollment.
While registering, the teacher made countless calls to my parents.
No one answered.
It wasn’t until half a day later that my mother impatiently called back.
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“My daughter needs to rest quietly after her surgery. Stop harassing us with your calls!”
“I only have one daughter, Helen Wyatt. I don’t know any Yulia Wyatt!”
The phone hung up abruptly.
The teachers, looking sympathetic, noted on the registration form that I was “without
parents“.
I wiped away my tears, ready to swipe my card for tuition, but a cold, electronic voice abruptly announced:
“Insufficient funds.”
No money, and no love.
I struggled to work multiple part–time jobs, finally earning enough for tuition, but my body, weakened by long–term irregular eating habits, gave me a warning sign.
Late–stage stomach cancer requires a large sum for treatment.
But I couldn’t reach my parents no matter how many times I tried.
The teachers assumed I was an orphan, and after a small fundraising effort, they were at a
loss for what to do.
Alone, I huddled in the corner of the hospital room, the pain making every bone ache.
I still have hope. Mom and Dad will definitely come. I can still be saved!
In endless waiting, pain eroded my nerves, and death quietly arrived.
I was squeezed into a crowded hospital room, unattended.
My older sister, however, enjoyed a VIP private room, with doctors regularly checking on her. “My younger sister still hasn’t forgiven me.”
Her eyes were red–rimmed, and her voice trembled with hurt.
“It was my fault, making my younger sister jealous… I don’t blame her for pushing me down the stairs three years ago…”
Dad was heartbroken. He gently brushed her tearless face and said:
“She bullies you so much! And you’re still trying to defend her. You’re just too understanding!” “Don’t worry, Helen. Mom and Dad will find that dead girl and make her donate a kidney.”
After softly comforting his older sister, Dad slowly walked out of the hospital room.
A cold glint flashed in his eyes as he pressed the call button firmly.
The screen lit up with “Yulia Wyatt“-my number.
The automated ringing echoed throughout the corridor-
I’m dead. Who would answer the phone?
୮
D
12:34 Thu, 1 May MO
I’m aeaa. wno would answer the phone?
