Chapter 1

The year I turned 24, I lost my family completely.

To attend a concert, my sister stole the $60,000 I had painstakingly saved and bought scalped tickets at an inflated price.

She knew full well this was my life-saving money for surgery.

When I confronted her, my biased mother said, "She's your sister. What's wrong with using some of your money? Don't be so calculative in a family."

Later, my sister ran off with my mother's retirement savings, beating her so badly she was hospitalized.

My mother then cursed my sister for being heartless, praising me as the best, saying she would rely on me for her retirement.

I coldly rejected her: "That's your daughter. What's wrong with using some of your money? Besides, I don't have a mother. Don't claim false relationships."

"Early-stage stomach cancer. With timely surgery, it can be cured. Don't worry too much."

"Young lady, don't just work hard. Take care of your health too. You have a long life ahead."

The doctor's advice fell on my dazed ears. My mind was filled with "stomach cancer", "payment", and "surgery". When I came to my senses, I was already drenched in cold sweat.

I knew how I got this illness. One word: poverty.

Because of poverty, I saved desperately, wishing I could stretch one loaf of bread into three meals.

Because of poverty, I worked tirelessly, wishing I could sleep at the office and work overtime every day.

After two years of grueling work since graduation, I had finally saved $60,000 with sheer determination. Now, it was about to vanish, and I'd have to start from scratch again.

My heart was bitter, my mouth sour. I slapped myself hard, forcing myself to stay strong as I called my mother. Surgery was a big deal, and I should at least inform my family: "Mom, I have something to tell you."

"You ungrateful girl! Has your salary been paid this month? If so, send the money home immediately. Your sister wants to buy new clothes. As the elder sister, you should volunteer to pay!"

I swallowed the acid in my mouth, fighting the urge to vomit, and said bitterly, "Mom, I have stomach cancer. I need my savings for surgery. I don't have extra money to send home."

There was a pause on the other end for a few seconds. Just when I thought my mother might show some concern, reality slapped me hard in the face.

"How unlucky! You ungrateful money-pit! Looks like you've saved quite a bit in two years of work, only sending $3,000 home each month. Have you no conscience?"

"Let me tell you, don't expect the family to pay for your treatment. Your sister has been nagging about going to some concert recently but couldn't get tickets. I'm trying to pull strings everywhere to buy tickets. Don't bother the family with your trivial matters."

Then, "click", the call ended.

I forced a bitter smile. As expected, even my cancer surgery couldn't compare to my sister's desire to attend a concert.

What was I hoping for? After all these years, I'm still so pathetic.

I dragged my exhausted body home, collapsed on the bed, and recalled the bits and pieces of all these years. Tears soaked my pillow.

I grew up in a single-parent family. My father died in a car accident early on, and my mother raised my sister and me. Life was tough.

I felt sorry for my mother and was always the most sensible child in the family. But sensible children aren't loved; it's the crying children who get the candy.

My mother could never treat us equally. I was the family's beggar, while my sister was the little princess.

All these years, I struggled, but I was still suffocated more and more by the shackles of so-called family affection.

As I cried, I lost consciousness, seemingly having a beautiful dream where my father was still alive...

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself lying in the hospital with an IV drip. Beside me was my best friend, Yolanda. Seeing me awake, she burst into tears: "You scared me to death, Penny! You had a fever all night. The next day, you didn't go to work or call in sick. Your colleagues called you, but you didn't answer. They went to your house and found you unconscious, so they rushed you to the hospital."

Then, with a trace of reluctance in her eyes, she continued, "Your colleagues called your mom and sister. They said..." She paused, "They said as long as you're not dead, it's fine, and then hung up. They couldn't be reached after that, so they had to contact me based on your contact list."

I gave a bitter smile. My mother and sister were as consistent as ever.

I told Yolanda about my stomach cancer and the need for surgery. She hugged me sympathetically, cursing my mother and sister for being inhuman!

I shook my head. Forget it. After so many years, I'm used to it.

I stayed in the hospital for two more days. Feeling better, I set a surgery date with the doctor and planned to pay the fees.

But when I went to the payment window, I was shocked to find that my bank card linked to PayPal had a zero balance!

This was impossible. I clearly had $60,000 in that card.

I rushed home, but as soon as I arrived, I was dumbfounded. The house looked like it had been robbed, turned upside down. The bank card I kept in the drawer was gone, and even the little cash I had was swept clean.