Chapter 14
- 5 Points
His voice choked a bit.
“Do you know what kind of life she was living here? Surviving on a pack of instant noodles a day, so thin she was skin and bones, her face swollen like a balloon. What kind of parents are
you?”
He seemed resigned. “Forget it. Just find her and treat her well.”
Mom and Dad covered their faces, unable to control their emotions as tears streamed down
Mom’s cheeks.
“Stella, she’s gone!”
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“What?”
Their shouting almost filled the entire internet café, and the parents were unceremoniously
kicked out.
They exchanged a look of regret, quickening their pace, eager to know what happened to me before I passed.
What exactly hastened my death?
The convenience store workers exchanged
glances until Mom and Dad showed them a picture.
“The little girl who picked trash?”
Their faces were a mix of distress and pain as they urgently asked, “Picking trash… to sell for
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3
money?”
“Sell for money?”
The cashier scowled in disdain at the parents.
One woman grabbed Mom’s sleeve, dragging her to the garbage bin outside.
Without a word, she shoved Mom’s head toward
the bin.
The stench of rot and sourness made Mom
vomit.
The woman cursed.
“See? She was eating from here, surviving off garbage! And you, where were you as parents?”
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“You’re wearing designer clothes and carrying designer bags, while your daughter lived on trash!”
Mom collapsed, unable to bear it, crying uncontrollably.
“My Stella, why did you suffer like this? Why didn’t you come to us?”
Dad took a long drag on his cigarette, pressing the butt into his hand with a sizzle.
I watched their remorseful expressions with no
pity.
If they could have given me even a fraction of the love they gave my brother, I wouldn’t have lived so miserably.
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y ended up at the convenience store.
The owner faced away, fists clenched.
“We’re closed today. No service!”
Mom and Dad stood in front of the shutter door; Dad nearly begged on his knees.
They said I was dead, just wanting to see where I lived one last time.
Everyone stopped what they were doing. “What did you say?”
After hearing the whole story, the owner laughed bitterly, finding them absurd.
“Do you know how Stella died?”
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Mom sniffled, confused.
“She died of cancer, didn’t she?”
The owner suddenly shouted, losing control, “Cancer didn’t kill her; you did! And your
wonderful son!”
Dad was dumbfounded. “What does Sol have to
do with this?”
At last, they understood the whole truth.
I had resolved to undergo treatment. I could have survived through winter, maybe even longer.
But all hope was buried this winter.
I’d never seen them break down like this, crying
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like heartbroken children.
My soul gazed upon this emotional judgment, finally shedding tears.
But what’s the use?
I’m already dead.
