Her Resurrection Cost My Life

After Clara, the sister our entire family had always been so proud of, died unexpectedly, my parents were utterly devastated, their cries tearing through the silence.

But I, Stella, stumbled upon Claras anonymous online post, revealing she had deliberately faked her death.

Just as I was about to tell Mom and Dad the truth, I overheard Mom talking to Dad:

The wrong one died. The most accomplished one just left us.

We finally put a masters student through school, hoping shed help with her sisters never-ending medical bills.

Why did I give birth to such a parasitic daughter with a chronic illness!

I froze outside the door. The wrong daughter she spoke of, the one who was a burden, was me.

I was born with congenital cerebral palsy, and the doctors advised them to give up on me.

But Mom and Dad refused. They sacrificed everything, enduring unimaginable hardships, to raise me.

Because of my cerebral palsy and uncoordinated limbs, classmates mocked me, and I developed depression and anxiety.

Our whole family, struggling to pay for my treatments and medication, never knew a single day of peace.

I was the burden holding our family back.

Watching my parents retreating figures, I whispered to myself:

Mom, youre right. It should have been me.

Ill do as you wish and disappear.

Before I died, I revisited Claras anonymous post.

She had updated it with a new status:

*Faking my death feels like being reborn. I don't have to scrounge for every penny anymore, saving money for my sister's treatments.*

It turned out she faked her death because of *me*!

*Plip*. A tear hit the screen.

Blurring the words.

A wave of guilt washed over me, yet I felt an undeniable sense of relief.

Because of me, her life truly had been miserable.

She never wore new clothes, always wearing things that were too small or too short.

Her outfits were always mismatched, ill-fitting for her age C men's clothes, women's clothes, children's clothes, even elderly attire.

Yet she would smile and ask Mom:

Its almost Christmas, could we please get Stella a new dress?

She never asked for anything for herself, as thoughtful and selfless as an angel sent from above.

Whenever our family rarely had meat,

She'd mimic Mom and Dad, making sure all the lean meat landed on my plate.

Skinny as she was, she would carry me on her back for the long walk to school.

Not just for a day or two.

But for twelve years, through countless springs, summers, autumns, and winters!

When others called me a cripple, Clara, usually so quiet, would fight like a lion to defend me.

The scales of my parents' love had always tipped in my favor ever since I was diagnosed with cerebral palsy.

But Clara never competed for their affection.

She loved me just as much as Mom and Dad did, and beyond that, she studied with fierce determination.

She would say: Stella, Ill definitely get into a great university. Someday, I'll make sure our whole family lives a good life.

In everyones eyes, Clara was Mom and Dads pride.

The sole beacon of hope in our broken home.

I typed a private message to Clara, my hands trembling.

Clara, thank you for loving me all these years.

Im so sorry that you had a sister like me.

Im tired. Im going to another world to rest.

Clara, please come home.

The screen was covered in tears, making the touch unresponsive.

I wiped it for a long time with my sleeve before I could exit.

I opened the drawer, where Id collected sleeping pills for six months, finally gathering a lethal dose.

At the very moment I decided to swallow them, I still chose to leave a final note for Mom and Dad.

Mom and Dad, Im so sorry. Because of me, our whole familys life has been trapped in a never-ending struggle.

I cant hold on anymore. I have to free myself. Please dont cry.

I held back my tears, not letting them fall onto the paper.

A thousand words churned in my heart, but I didn't know where to begin.

This would have to do.

I placed my suicide note in the most conspicuous spot on my bedside table.

Without hesitation, I swallowed half the bottle of sleeping pills.

I lay down, pulled the covers over me, found a comfortable position, and closed my eyes.

Mom, Dad, Clara, goodbye forever.

That evening, my spirit drifted through our home.

The quiet house finally heard the sound of the front door opening.

Stella, are you hungry?

I bought some chicken wings. Ill make your favorite soy sauce chicken wings.

Mom looked utterly drained, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed.

Her spirit was low, but she forced her voice to sound normal.

As usual, she called out to both my room and Claras.

Then she headed straight for the kitchen, bustling about.

Dad had the flu and was coughing incessantly.

He was curled up miserably on the sofa.

My heart ached for him.

I stared at his head full of white hair, his face etched with wrinkles, his body thin and frail, his clothes worn and tattered.

I vaguely remembered that my dad used to be a handsome young man.

Mom poked her head out of the kitchen, her eyes filled with worry, and urged Dad:

Get some medicine. This family relies on you.

You cant afford to collapse.

Dad didnt open his eyes. He shivered, wrapping his arms around his chest and hunching his shoulders.

Im fine.

Suddenly, he found a burst of strength, got up unsteadily, and shuffled into the room.

Ill just go sweat it out under the covers. Ill be fine after a good sweat.

He lay on the old, thin quilt, and since it wasnt warm enough, he piled all the thick clothes in the house on top of himself.

He mumbled softly:

That money it would be enough for Stellas medicine.

Sigh

He let out a heavy sigh.

I stood by his bed, tears streaming down my face with sorrow.

He cried in his sleep, his sobs muffled and low, as if afraid Mom and I would hear.

Clara, such a good, accomplished child, how could she?

Heaven, if you absolutely had to take one of my daughters.

Why did you take Clara?

I patted Dads back, but he felt nothing.

Dad, Im gone.

You and Mom wont suffer anymore.

Clara might even come back.

He heard nothing, hiding under the covers, choking back his grief.

Not until Mom finished cooking and came in to call him for dinner.

He controlled his emotions remarkably well, not letting Mom hear that he had been crying.

I dont feel like eating. You call Stella to eat.

Mom sighed and turned to my room and Claras.

She pushed open the door and saw me lying under the covers.

Stella, dinners ready.

I made your favorite soy sauce chicken wings today.

Seeing no response, no sound from me, she patiently called out twice more.

Still no reaction from me.

Moms temper flared instantly:

Im talking to you!

Are you dead? Why arent you answering me!

Im constantly waiting on you like a maid, and I never get any thanks!

Can you just give me a break? Stop lying in bed all day like a useless lump!

Im talking to you! Do you hear me?!

With everything thats happened to our family, all you do is sleep!

Maybe you should just die! Then I could die with you! We could all be free!

She spiraled into a breakdown as she yelled, tears streaming down her face like pearls from a broken string, constantly wiping them away.

I instinctively reached out to hug her, but my arms passed right through.

I could only watch helplessly, crying again and again:

Mom, Im so sorry.

Im so sorry.

I knew it wasn't that she and Dad didn't love me; it was just that my illness had driven them to the brink of madness for so many years.

Mom stormed out, turning her back, and sat at the rickety old dining table with a broken leg, wiping away tears.

On the table were three bowls of plain rice, two soy sauce chicken wings, and a plate of homemade pickles.

The chicken wings were for me.

Mom only ever bought two.

At first, the produce vendor used to sneer at Mom, saying shed never seen anyone buy just two chicken wings.

Mom would just give an embarrassed smile every time.

Later, the vendor learned about our familys situation and never gave Mom another cold stare.

She started giving Mom free seasoning every time.

When Clara was still here, her eyes would practically pop out with longing, but shed force herself to say:

Stella, you eat them. I dont like them.

I once asked her:

Clara, Mom and Dad are so unfair to me, doesnt it make you sad?

She smiled and said:

No, why would that make me sad?

Mom and Dad treat you better in terms of food and daily life, but they sent me to school, didnt they?

Their sacrifices for me are no less than for you; studying is very expensive.

So, I dont feel its unfair.

Thinking of Claras sweet smile, my heart ached faintly.

If I hadnt had this expensive illness of mine.

Our family could have lived a good life.

Mom and Dad both worked two jobs: construction sites during the day and washing dishes at a restaurant at night.

Their combined income was roughly fifteen hundred dollars a month.

But my cerebral palsy physical therapy cost eight hundred dollars a month.

Actually, there were programs that offered free physical therapy for people with coordination difficulties and walking impairments like me.

I went there for a while, but Mom felt the rehabilitation results weren't good enough.

So she spent money to send me to a private facility every day.

Shed drop me off at noon, then pick me up two hours later.

She drove me for twenty-six years, rain or shine.

Plus, I had depression and anxiety, and an hour of therapy cost eight hundred dollars.

Mom didn't bat an eye, sending me three or four times a week.

I also had to take all sorts of medication.

This meant Clara had no money for living expenses when she went to university and had to work tirelessly to support herself.

Because of me, everyone in our family struggled as if in hell.

Actually, to prevent them from being dragged down by me, I had attempted suicide several times.

Each time, I was rescued.

Thankfully, fate had finally answered my prayers, and this time, I had gotten my wish.

I remember when I was little, my grandmother would take a bus for several hours from her rural home just to bring me fresh farm eggs.

Seeing Mom tormented by me, utterly miserable.

She pitied her own daughter, couldn't bear to watch, and told Mom:

Either abandon Stella, or find a new husband!

Youre still young; your life shouldnt be forever stuck in this quagmire!

If you dont care about yourself, I do! Youre my flesh and blood!

Mom didnt listen and had a huge fight with Grandma.

After that, Grandma never visited again, and Mom had no home to go back to.

My thoughts snapped back. Mom covered the chicken wings.

She had no appetite to eat either.

Before going to bed, she stood at my bedroom door and said:

I left your dinner on the table. Get up and eat if you get hungry.

No response.

She didn't get angry this time, just turned and went back to her room to sleep.

The next day, Dads flu hadn't improved, but he still had to go to the construction site at six in the morning.

Even though he was weak, he forced himself.

I stomped my feet in a panic, bouncing frantically in front of him and Mom:

Dad, Mom, please, lift my blanket and check!

Im gone! You dont have to work yourselves to death anymore!

Please, just look!

Mom glanced at the untouched rice and chicken wings on the table and called from my room:

Stella, what are you upset about now?!

Why didnt you eat dinner last night?!

Your dad and I have to go to work. Get up and eat quickly.

Ill be back at noon to take you to therapy, do you hear me?!