My Brother Passed Away Overseas

My brother passed away while he was abroad.

When Mom and Dad called to tell me, they were heartbroken.

I couldn't say no, so I agreed to cover the 100,000 dollars for the funeral and give them 5,000 dollars a month for support.

But just when I was starting to come to terms with it—

My brother "rose from the dead."

***

"Jess, honey, something terrible happened in Italy... he's gone..."

My mom called me, tears choking her voice.

Three days later, I couldn't get my visa sorted out because of paperwork issues, so I could only drop my parents off at the airport.

My brother's health was always a challenge.

Growing up, Mom would save the yolk for him, claiming it was too fattening for girls but that egg whites were great for the skin.

He always seemed to struggle with each bite, and it often broke my heart to see him like that.

Throughout college, he was constantly in and out of the hospital. Even though we were miles apart, Mom would often hint at how much his medical bills were whenever she called.

After hanging up, I'd send half of my scholarship and grant money back home.

After graduation, I quickly found a job.

But due to his health issues, my brother remained unemployed at home—no company would hire him.

The money I sent home, Dad would always try to send some of it back, but I never took it.

Over the years, my parents were quite attentive to me.

I understood their plight—my brother's illness made them look much older than their peers.

This time, he went abroad for treatment, thanks to a relative's introduction.

They had found a top-notch doctor who might have a cure.

When my brother called from overseas, his voice was soft. He'd ask if I was okay, and if I had enough to get by.

Even when I only had 1,000 dollars left after sending him money for treatment, I'd assure him I was fine, just got a bonus.

But his calls started to become less frequent.

Months would pass without a word from him.

My parents would only mention that his condition was unstable and the doctors advised rest.

His sudden passing seemed to shatter my parents.

Their red, swollen eyes before they boarded the plane tore me apart.

"Mom, don't worry about the money, just focus on getting there."

The cost of funerals abroad was staggering, and when they mentioned it, they seemed embarrassed.

I borrowed 100,000 dollars from a friend and wired it before they landed.

My brother had been away from home for so long; he probably missed it terribly.

Back at work, my colleagues noticed my worn-out look and asked if I was alright.

I smiled and shook my head, "It's nothing. Just burned the midnight oil last night and overslept a bit today."

I received a text from a friend, "Dinner tonight? I want you to meet someone."

Recalling my parents' stern instructions to keep my brother's death under wraps before they boarded, I quickly responded, "Sure, send me the details."

It seemed like my friends were always trying to set me up at the worst possible times—like when I was jobless, when my brother went abroad for treatment, and now, today.

My parents rarely pried into my love life, but my friends were all over it.

I arrived at the restaurant for dinner, and from across the room, my friend beckoned, "Jess, over here!"

Beside her sat a man in a sleek, modern jacket, his silver-framed glasses adding to his cool aura.

"Jess, this is Alex Ravin, a grad student from my project team. He just got back from studying medicine in Italy."

A medical student from Italy, huh?

Is this the new trend over there?

I mustered a smile, which probably looked more pained than pleasant.

Alex glanced over with a hint of disdain and took a casual sip of his water.

"Hi, I'm Jessica Roberts." I reached out my hand, "Sorry for being late, work was crazy today."

Alex touched my fingertips briefly.

"Actually, Jess, wasn't your brother getting treatment in Italy? Alex might know some really good doctors there since he's worked in an awesome hospital." My friend pushed, trying to make a connection.

I nodded, swallowing hard to fight back tears. "No worries, really, it's all good."

"What was his diagnosis?" Alex asked, breaking the ice.

I paused, "Um, something like neuroblastoma, I think?"

"Neuroblastoma."

"Right," I responded, trying to keep my composure.

Alex seemed intrigued, "How long has he been ill?"

"Years now, he had no choice but to seek treatment abroad eventually."

Somehow, I ended up telling him everything.

"Years?" Alex appeared genuinely taken aback.

"Let's drop it, okay? Let's just order some food." My friend quickly intervened, sensing the tension.

After dinner, she persuaded me to add Alex on WhatsApp.

I added him without even bothering to label his contact—just left it as the smiling face on his profile.

Once home, I immediately messaged my parents to call me when they landed for peace of mind.

The local student I had arranged to pick them up was waiting.

As I sat on my bed lost in thought, a knock at the door snapped me back to reality.

It was my landlady.

"Jess, I hate to bother you at this hour, but your rent is two weeks overdue. Could you pay it now?"

She was always understanding, so I quickly paid through my phone.

"Received, thanks. Oh, and, uh, Jess, I have to sell the apartment, so you've got a week to find a new place. I've sent back the extra rent and your deposit."

She smiled sheepishly and left after a few words.

Once the door shut, tears streamed down my cheeks.

My brother was gone, my parents were away, I was swamped with debt, and now I was about to lose my home.

Lying in bed, my phone chimed again.

"Sorry to intrude, but I had to be upfront—neuroblastoma patients usually don't live long. I think your brother might have been misdiagnosed. Maybe consider a second opinion?"

Seeing that he was typing again under the smiley icon, I replied with irritation, "Yeah, thanks. Really intrusive."

I fell back onto my bed, and the next time I opened my eyes, it was already light out.

There was still no word on my phone.

As I packed, my cousin Katie sent me a photo from an overseas site—a secretive party scene with a man in the center wearing only underwear.

His face was the spitting image of my brother.

"Jess, doesn't the guy in the middle look just like John?"

I zoomed in as much as possible. From every angle, he was the image of my brother.

But he was supposed to be dead!

Then I noticed the post date—it was today!

"Impossible!" I shot down my cousin Katie's theory, blown away by the freakiness of genetics.

Could there really be two doppelgängers out there?

Compared to my brother's frail condition before he left, I really hoped he was now in better health.

It wasn't until later that afternoon that I finally received a call from my mom overseas.

Her voice was hoarse, "Jess, sweetie... it's been tough, I feel like I've let you down."

"About your brother, he..."

Mom sniffled, "Your dad and I have handled everything for him, but, honey, I just realized... it's been hard on you these past years."

"It's all good, as long as he can rest easy, I can handle it." I choked back tears.

Mom hesitated, "The thing is, Jess, we're short on the money... we need a bit more..."

Short?

I'd sent them 150,000 dollars already!

"How much more do we need?" My voice shook, "I'll see what I can scrape together."

"Another 100,000 dollars."

"One hundred thousand dollars?" I gasped, "Mom, how do you expect me to pull another hundred grand out of thin air? I've already maxed out what I could borrow."

Mom's tone grew impatient, interrupting me, "Then find a way to borrow more. Can you bear the thought of your brother just lying in a hospital morgue? Don't be heartless, Jess. Didn't he always treat you right when he was alive?"

The call ended abruptly. I buried my face in my hands. 100,000 dollars—where would I get that?

A thought struck me, and I quickly searched "neuroblastoma" online. Most sources said survival was typically just three to six months.

I've known my brother to be sickly ever since I can remember.

And now, after 27 years, besides this illness, he seemed free from any severe complications.

A dreadful suspicion began to gnaw at me, sending a shiver down my spine.

My phone buzzed—it was another picture from Katie, the same wild party scene.

In the center, a guy clutched an ice block, poised to jump into a pool, his face a mask of exhilaration.

"Sis, you really think this guy doesn't look like John?"

"Remember the burn scar on John's ankle from that accident when we were kids? Look, this guy in the picture has one too."

I zoomed in on the man's ankle as Katie suggested. Indeed, there was a scar, adorned with a tiny bat tattoo.

John detested bats; he'd always said they were vile, disease-ridden creatures.

I remembered John always having a gentle smile, despite his pale complexion.

"I said it's not him, Miss Sherlock," I texted back.

Katie replied with a sassy smirk emoji.

After drying off, a friend video-called to ask how my chat with Alex went.

I shook my head at her through the screen, "I'm not feeling it. He was all over my brother's diagnosis right from the start. Who knows his case better than me, after all?"

"You might be surprised. Alex is a big deal in his field. Heard he's even part of a team that developed a new drug saving loads of neuroblastoma patients!"

"He's a specialist in that?" I responded, taken aback.

"Exactly! Why else do you think I set you two up? He's a hot ticket in the medical world."

After the call, I stared blankly at Alex's WhatsApp profile picture for a long while.

Eventually, I typed out a message, "Hey, sorry to disturb..."

No way, you promised... you'd marry me.