Chapter 4: The Convenient Daughter

Two years ago, my dad was diagnosed with mid-to-late stage lung cancer. The doctor told us it was treatable, but the medical bills would be steep. A single round of chemotherapy cost over twenty thousand, and the targeted therapy that followed would run nearly ten thousand a month.

Ma sat outside the hospital room for a while before calling Thomas.

"Your dad is in the hospital," she told him. "Give him a call and check in on him."

Next, she called Chloe.

"Your dad is in the hospital, but don't worry too much. Your sister is here."

Your sister. Of course, the "sister" she meant was me.

Thomas was out of town on business. He did make a phone call, telling him, "Dad, get plenty of rest." The entire conversation lasted one minute and forty seconds.

Chloe was in the state capital, having just given birth to her second child. She sent a MessageNet text that read, "Dad, you need to get well soon," followed by a hugging sticker. That was the extent of her involvement.

During his three months of chemotherapy, I woke up at six every morning to make oatmeal. I would pack it in a thermos and take a forty-minute bus ride to the hospital. My days consisted of feeding him, sponging him down, and emptying his bedpan. I was the one communicating with the doctors, reviewing medical reports, and signing consent forms.

I took three months off work, losing over twenty thousand in salary and performance bonuses. Even after coming home, I still had to cook, do the laundry, and help Mia with her homework. My husband helped share the burden at home, but at the hospital, I was entirely on my own.

When the first round of chemo ended, Ma invited our relatives to the ward to visit my dad. Uncle Henry Henry came, Aunt Martha Martha came, and all my cousins showed up.

"Thank goodness for Thomas," Ma announced to the room. "He's always calling to check on his dad. Chloe is so thoughtful too, sending messages every single day."

I stood quietly in the corner of the room, holding a bowl of freshly made soup. No one mentioned me at all.

Uncle Henry Henry finally glanced my way. "Clara has worked hard, too."

Ma froze for a second, as if suddenly remembering I was there. "Oh. She just lives close by, so she conveniently lends a hand."

Conveniently. Lends a hand. I had spent three months waking up at five-thirty every day, yet to her, I was just conveniently lending a hand.

I placed the soup on the nightstand. "Dad, drink it while it's hot."

My dad looked at me, his lips moving as if trying to speak, though no words came out. Still, the look in his eyes was entirely different from everyone else's in that room.

Then there was the money for the chemo. The first round cost twenty-four thousand, which I transferred directly to Ma. The second round was twenty-six thousand, and I transferred that as well. The third round cost eighteen thousand, and once again, I covered it. On top of that came three months of targeted therapy, running between eight and twelve thousand a month.

How much did I transfer in total?

According to Ma's version of events: "Thomas sent a lot of money back home."

She even sent a voice message to the Family MessageNet Group. "Even though Thomas is so busy out there, he's the one paying for his dad's medical bills every time."

When I heard that voice message, my finger hovered over the screen for a long time.

How much did Thomas actually give? Five thousand. Yes, just five thousand. He transferred it to Ma in one lump sum, claiming it was "to help Dad recover."

Meanwhile, I had already paid out over sixty thousand.

I didn't say a word in the group chat. I simply put down my phone and went to the kitchen to make the chicken noodle soup I would take to the hospital the next day.