Dad beckoned me over for breakfast. I nodded and sat down.

“Work going well lately?” he asked.

“It’s the same as always,” I said. “So busy I barely have time to eat.”

Mom sighed gently. “Girls shouldn’t work themselves to death. Health matters more than money. It’s our fault as parents—we weren’t capable, so our precious children have to suffer.”

Her flawless act made my chest tighten until I could hardly breathe. I lowered my head, forced a slow breath, and said evenly, “If you have no one to rely on, you can only rely on yourself. That’s true for everyone.”

Her face flickered, and she glanced nervously at Dad. He stayed silent, while she let out another practiced sigh.

“Yes, yes. These days, you can only rely on yourself. You’ve always been independent, Maria. Unlike your brother—we worry about every little thing with him, never knowing when we’ll get a break.”

Once, those words would have filled me with guilt, making me think I hadn’t done enough, hadn’t eased her burdens. I used to ache with sympathy for her.

But now? Even faced with my possible cancer, she had no sympathy for me. Only excuses. Anger, grief, confusion—all of it swelled up inside me, burning behind my eyes. I clenched my teeth to hold the tears back.

Without answering, I picked up my phone and stood. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

I splashed water on my face, steadied myself, then walked back to the table. Placing the electronic medical report down, I flipped through the pages.

“Mom, Dad,” I said evenly, “your results look good. Aaron’s fine too. Now let’s check mine.”

The words suspected stomach cancer glared up at me again. My chest tightened. After a long silence, I raised my head. They were both eating, as if they hadn’t heard.

“My report says suspected stomach cancer.”

Only then did they look up, slow, reluctant.

“What? That clinic must’ve messed up,” Mom said quickly. “You should call and ask.”

Dad chimed in, “Yes, maybe it’s just a mistake.”

I held their gaze and replied, “That medical center is reputable. If the report says this, it’s likely accurate. I’ll need a follow-up exam to be sure.”

Then, turning to Mom, I said calmly, “So, give me the money you’ve been saving for me.”

She froze, caught off guard. “Maria… what money? I don’t recall anything like that.”

I didn’t blink. “When I first started working in Texas, you said you’d open a savings account for me. I deposited money into it every month.”

Her eyes darted to Dad, feigning confusion. After a pause, she forced a sigh.

“When did that happen? Mom really doesn’t remember.”

Dad’s face darkened. “Don’t tell me you’ve been treating the money Maria sent as if it were just a gift to us.”

My mother startled, then rushed out in a panic: “Maria, I’m sorry! I thought the money was for us. It’s all gone now. Your dad and I—we don’t have anything left.”

I studied them quietly. I’d expected this answer, but the sting still cut deep. “All spent?”

She nodded, already beginning her litany of excuses. “Well, life is expensive, and your brother—he hasn’t been doing well…”

I cut her off, my voice steady but sharp. “But you still saved enough for Aaron’s wedding, didn’t you?”

My parents froze. Then Mom forced a strained smile.

“Not yet. I just… haven’t managed to save enough.”

I looked at her. “If I really am diagnosed with stomach cancer, will you give me some money?”

The room went silent. Maybe out of shame, maybe out of pride—they didn’t say what they really thought: that I wasn’t worth saving.

Just then, my brother’s door creaked open. He shuffled out, rubbing his eyes.

“Who’s raising money for cancer? I already said, once you’ve got cancer, treatment’s useless. Why waste the money?”

His words stung, though I’d overheard worse the night before. I studied him—tall, thin, still half-asleep.

“It’s me, Aaron,” I said quietly. “I’m the one with cancer. So treatment’s a waste of money, too. Right?”

He froze, startled. “Sister—you’re back? I thought it was some shameless relative here to borrow money.”

Then he muttered, “How could we lend money?”

I didn’t answer. I just looked at him until he squirmed. At last, Dad cleared his throat.

“Maria, go get a proper checkup first. We’ll talk after that.”

I nodded. “Fine. I’ll make an appointment this morning. Will you two come with me?”

The three of them exchanged a look. Finally, Mom spoke:

“Your dad will go. I’ll run to the market, buy some of your favorite dishes.”

I almost nodded—until Dad clicked his tongue.

“Didn’t we have that meeting with Mr. Thompson, the manager who arranged your brother’s job today? It took ages to set it up. We can’t cancel now.”

I asked, “Why are you meeting him?”

“To thank the man who arranged your brother’s job,” he said briskly. Then, as if it were settled, “Why don’t you go this afternoon? We’ll all go with you then.”

I shook my head. “Specialist appointments are only available this morning. I’ve already booked one. Go about your business. I’ll go alone.”

No one argued. The matter was dropped.

Mom turned to my brother. “Aaron, eat your breakfast.”

He waved her off impatiently. “No appetite. I’ve felt nauseous, bloated these past few days.”

Her voice turned anxious, motherly. “Didn’t I tell you to stay up less late? It’s probably indigestion again. Take some stomach medicine later.”

I stared at him. Since the moment I said I might have cancer, he hadn’t shown the slightest concern. Not even pretended.

But why would he? They’d all already said it themselves: cancer treatment is useless, a waste of money.

So I left as if for the hospital—only to circle back. Two taxis later, I was trailing them.

Instead of a clinic, they picked up Aaron’s girlfriend and drove straight to a housing sales center.

I paid the driver and waited across the road, watching. Not half an hour passed before Mom called.