Chapter 2

I stayed in the hospital for three days.

During those three days, Mom never came to see me once.

But Greg did show up—carrying a basket of rotten apples.

He wore dust-covered work clothes and stood at my hospital room door with a simple, honest expression.

"Ethan, Uncle came to check on you."

He set the apples on the bedside table and rubbed his calloused hands together.

"Jacob doesn't know his own strength, that kid."

"I already scolded him."

"Look, your mom got Jacob off the hook, so we're even now, yeah?"

Even?

I looked at that basket of apples—probably picked from some roadside stand—and laughed bitterly.

"My leg is worth this basket of rotten apples?"

Greg's expression flickered, but he quickly plastered on a smile again.

"Hey, Ethan, you can't put it like that."

"When your mom was in college, I scraped together that tuition from my own teeth."

"People need to have a conscience. Look how sensible your mom is."

"Besides, your family's loaded. You're not hurting for medical bills, right?"

"My Jacob still needs to get married. Can't have him saddled with debt."

In that moment, I finally understood the saying: "When people have no shame, they're invincible."

This whole family were vampires.

And my mom was the idiot who willingly offered her neck, complaining the blood wasn't flowing fast enough.

"Get out."

I pointed at the door.

"Take your rotten apples and get out."

Greg's smile froze.

"What kind of manners do you have, kid?"

"No wonder Jacob beat you up. You deserved it."

He stormed out cursing, carrying his apples.

Before leaving, he spat on the floor.

I rang the nurse's bell and asked someone to disinfect.

Disgusting.

Absolutely disgusting.

That afternoon, the head nurse came in with a billing statement.

She didn't look pleased.

"Ethan, your account is overdue."

"If you don't pay soon, we'll have to stop your medication."

I froze.

"Overdue? My mom... didn't Ms. Sullivan pay?"

The nurse shook her head.

"Ms. Sullivan came yesterday and withdrew the $50,000 deposit."

"She said... she said the other party's family is struggling, and she's lending them the money temporarily."

"She told you to figure it out yourself."

A thunderclap in my brain.

The last thread snapped.

She withdrew my life-saving medical funds to give to the assailant who beat me?

What kind of mother does this?

My hands trembling, I borrowed the nurse's phone to call Mom.

It rang for a long time before she picked up.

"Hello? Who's this?"

"It's me."

Silence on the other end.

Then came Mom's impatient voice.

"Ethan? Where's your phone? Why are you calling from a strange number?"

"Sullivan, did you withdraw my medical funds?"

I called her by her first name.

"How dare you talk to your mother like that?"

Mom's voice rose several octaves.

"Greg's family is buying a house in the city. They're short on the down payment."

"I figured you wouldn't spend much in the hospital anyway, so I lent it to them for emergencies."

"Don't you still have birthday money in your account? Use that."

"People can't be so selfish. You need to know gratitude."

Gratitude?

She was taking my bones apart to show gratitude to someone else!

"That's my surgery money!"

I screamed into the phone.

"The doctor said I need a second reconstructive surgery next week, or I'll be disabled for life!"

"You gave the money to Jacob's family for a house? Are you insane?"

Greg's voice came through the phone.

"Oh, if Ethan really needs it urgently, we can hold off on the house..."

Then came Mom's firm voice.

"Greg, don't listen to this kid's nonsense."

"Doctors just like to scare people. It's not that serious."

"Buying a house is a big deal. Jacob's about to get married—how can he do that without a house?"

"Ethan, figure it out yourself. Stop bothering me."

"Beep beep beep..."

She hung up.

I held the phone, frozen.

The head nurse looked at me sympathetically.

"Ethan... why don't you call your dad?"

My dad?

That man who had to ask for cigarette money?

I shook my head.

"No need."

"Please help me with the discharge paperwork."

"But your leg..."

"I'm not treating it anymore."

Since this world was rotten to the core—

I didn't need to pretend to be a good son anymore.

I went home once.

While no one was there, I packed everything that belonged to me in that so-called "home."

Except for that severance agreement. I left nothing.

My sneaker collection, limited-edition figures, and the gold bars I'd saved since childhood.

I listed everything on resale platforms.

Fire sale prices.

Cash only.

With that money, I rented a small apartment with an elevator in the neighboring city.

Then I went to a private orthopedic hospital.

Though I'd missed the optimal treatment window, the doctor said that with enough money, I still had hope of walking normally again.

Just no more intense physical activity.

I used to be captain of the school basketball team.

Now I was a cripple who could barely walk straight.

But I didn't cry.

I'd run out of tears that afternoon.