They Faked Poverty to 'Build My Character'—Now I'm Dead

The day I was diagnosed, I folded up the lab report and stuffed it into the very bottom of the drawer.

On the bus ride home, I thought of Mom sighing on the phone last week, saying they still hadn't scraped together enough for this month's payment.

Dinner was plain noodles in clear broth. I picked the poached egg out of my bowl and placed it in my father's as he lay in bed.

I didn't dare tell them I was sick.

I sold my waist-length black hair and quietly went to the hospital for treatment.

I worked three jobs at once, and at the end of the month I earned the first 0-00,000 of my life.

I transferred all of it to my parents so they could pay rent and debts.

Mom sent a hug emoji.

"Sweetheart, you've worked so hard. Come here, let me hold you."

But little by little, my body dragged itself into the late stage.

Before I died, not wanting to burden them, I went alone to the bridge and jumped.

But right before I hit the water, I received a $20 million transfer from my parents.

Ellie, actually our family is very rich.

The reason we never told you was to build your characterto teach you to remember hardship and appreciate sweetness.

Listening to the voice message, the corner of my mouth twisted into a bitter smile.

So my family was rich all along.

But I was already dying.

On the lab report, the words "chronic myeloid leukemia" stabbed into my eyes like needles.

The doctor's voice was calm. And cruel.

"Long-term treatment is required. Prepare yourselfmentally and financially."

I thanked him, stuffed the paper into my bag, and pretended it didn't exist.

It wasn't until I walked out of the hospital that my head started buzzing.

The treatment costs were astronomical. Impossible for me to bear alone.

For Mom and Dad, they'd be devastating.

I pulled out my phone. On the screen was a WeChat message Mom had sent half an hour ago.

Ellie, coming home for dinner this weekend? Your dad keeps asking about you.

I stared at that line, and my nose stung.

Go home? How could I go home?

Tell them I was seriously ill and needed treatment?

I didn't dare. I really didn't dare.

I was so afraid that Mom and Dadwho had already worked themselves to the bonewould suffer because of me.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and typed a reply.

Mom, I have to work overtime. Everything okay at home? Do you have enough money?

The reply came almost instantly.

Don't worry about us. Just focus on work.

It's just that money your dad borrowed from Uncle Gabriel for the hospital forget it, don't stress. We'll figure it out.

Dad's illness two years ago had emptied our savings. We still owed tens of thousands.

Mom always said it was almost paid off.

But I knew that was just something she said to comfort me.

She barely made anything running her street stall, and Dad couldn't work.

Even pinching every penny, paying it off seemed impossible.

So I reminded myself constantly.

The weight of this family could only rest on my shoulders.

I started frantically hunting for part-time work. Days at the design company. Nights at the convenience store. Delivery runs squeezed in between. Sleep compressed to almost nothing.

My body was breaking down, but whenever I thought of the debt Mom and Dad carriedwhenever I pictured that lab report buried in my drawerI couldn't stop.

I went to the hospital quietly and chose the most conservative treatment plan.

The doctor disagreed, but I insisted.

Dialysis was out of the question for now; the cost was too high.

I got only the most essential medication, using the money from selling my hair to cover the basics.

It was fine. I told myself I could hold on.

At the end of the first month, I received my wages from the design company and convenience store. 0-00,000 total.

Looking at the number that appeared briefly in my bank account, I didn't hesitate.

I transferred all of it to Mom.

Mom, I got a bonus and project allowance. Use it to pay off the debt. Don't skimp on yourselves.

Not long after, Mom called.

"Ellie, why did you send so much money? Do you have enough for yourself? Don't push yourself too hardyour health is what matters."

"It's enough. The company's benefits are pretty good."

I kept my voice light.

Her voice caught. "Come home for dinner tonight, okay? I'll make your favorite braised pork."

When I got home, my face was deathly pale. I pulled out the cheap makeup I'd prepared and made myself look as normal as possible.

Sure enough, there was a bowl of braised pork on the table when I walked inglossy, bright red.

Dad's complexion looked better than before. When he saw me, a rare smile crossed his face. "You're back? Go wash your hands."

Mom bustled around, piling meat into my bowl. "Eat more. Look how thin you've gotten. Work must be exhausting."

I smiled and shook my head.

The meat kept stacking up in my bowl while theirs held nothing but greens. Something bitter twisted in my chest.

I picked up a pieceit tasted exactly like my childhood.

But I didn't dare eat much. Afraid I'd lose control. Afraid my body couldn't handle it and my condition would worsen.

"Dad, Mom, you eat too."

"My stomach's been off lately. Doctor said to keep it light."

I moved most of the pork into their bowls.

Mom froze, then picked up some greens for me. "No matter how busy work gets, you have to eat on time. Don't go picking up bad habits."

I kept my head down, not daring to meet their eyes.

When I left that night, she stuffed three hundred dollars into my hand. "Don't shortchange yourself out there. Spend what you need to spend."

I clutched the warm bills, my throat too tight to speak.

My body grew heavier by the day.

The persistent low fever, the stabbing pain in my bones and nervesit made life unbearable.

I had no choice but to go back to the hospital.

The exam room was quiet, only the sound of the doctor flipping through reports.

He removed his glasses. His gaze was heavy with regret.

"It's progressing faster than we expected."

"If you don't have surgery soon, I'm afraid"

He didn't finish. He didn't need to.

I knew there wasn't much time left.

Surgery was impossible. What I needed was money.

I needed to pay off my parents' debt. I needed to make sure that after I was gone, they could live without worry.

Even ten more dollars. Twenty more dollars. Anything.

My phone buzzed.

Ellie, Uncle Gabriel asked again. We're still short $30,000.

Mom knows it's hard for you. Don't stress. We'll figure something out.

Thirty thousand. It didn't seem like much anymore.

But how long could I hold on?

I reached into my bag. Inside was a bank cardthis month's salary plus what I'd earned from side jobs.

A little over eight thousand.

It was meant for medicine. But what was the point now?

That was several hundred I could save. And with my body like this, there was no reason to keep taking it.

I transferred everything to Mom. Kept nothing.

Back in my room, I pulled open the drawer and took out paper and a pen.

Writing my will, I was calmer than I'd expected.

There wasn't much to say. Just that they shouldn't be sad. That I was simply too tired.

On the last line, I paused.

This way, things should be easier for you.

I put on the cleanest coat I had and walked out the door.

When I stood by the bridge, my phone buzzed again.

Probably the transfer confirmation.

I looked toward the other side of the bridge, at the brilliantly lit luxury villa neighborhood.

Their lives must be comfortable, right?

No daily panic over debt. No lying awake wondering how to pay for treatment. No rationing meals, never sure where the next one would come from.

I looked down againdozens of yards to the waterand felt nothing.

Just relief. Just numbness.

I climbed over the guardrail. In the deserted dead of night, I let go.

The icy lake swallowed me whole.

At the instant I released the railing, WeChat notifications pinged from my pocket, one after another.

But I didn't have the strength to think anymore.

I just wanted to sink. To disappear forever.

"Ellie, what I'm going to say next might surprise you, but everything Mom says is true."

"Our family isn't short on money. Your dad and I own a publicly listed company."

"Your dad wanted to build your character. Make you understand the value of hardship."

"The test is over now. You passed. You're very filial."

"Remember all that money you transferred to us? Twenty thousand total? We've decided to give you twenty million."

"Buy a house, a car, designer bagsspend it however you want."

When I opened my eyes again, everything looked wrong.

I was floating above the bridge. The night wind passed through my body, but I felt nothing.

Below, the river flowed in silence.

No commotion. As if nothing had happened.

Headlights cut through the darkness, approaching fast.

A Maybach. I recognized the logo from the mall where I worked.

The window was half-open. The young man in the passenger seat made me freeze.

Zachary Abbottthe one Dad hadn't shut up about six years ago.

He said sponsoring that mountain orphan was the best thing he'd ever done.

Said he was smart, sensible, had excellent grades.

And the middle-aged man in the back seat, chatting and laughing

That was my father.

Not the father from my memory, crushed by illness and debt, his brow permanently creased.

His complexion was rosy. His expression relaxed.

He was smiling, patting Zach's shoulder, saying something I couldn't hear.

Zach smiled back. Easy. Natural. Close.

The car sped past, leaving me frozen in the cold air.

I followed.

The Maybach crossed the bridge and pulled into the villa neighborhood I'd envied before I jumped.

It stopped in front of an elegant three-story home.

As Dad and Zach stepped out, the front door opened.

A middle-aged woman emerged.

Elegantly dressed. Every gesture polished, refined.

I stared at the rich lady.

That was my mother.

She wore an easy, happy smile. Warm and natural, she reached up to straighten Zach's collar.

"Chloe, add a squirrel mandarin fish. Zach loves it."

"He got into such a prestigious universitywe have to celebrate properly."

Her voice carried clearly. Every word sliced through me.

The three of them walked inside, chatting and laughing.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I saw the spacious living room. A crystal chandelier. A dining table loaded with exquisite dishes.

They sat down. Raised their glasses. Laughed.

"Zach, you're incredibleworthy of being Mom's good son."

"Getting into such a competitive school! Tell me, what reward do you want? I'll agree to anything."

Dad's laughter followed.

"I told you our Zach would make it. You've made us so proud."

"How about thisbefore school starts, I'll get you a sports car."

"Pick whatever brand you wantdon't you dare try to save us money!"

I stared blankly at the family portrait in the dining room, emotions tangled into knots.

It hit me then: I was the expendable one.

From childhood to adulthood. From being sensible to being obedient. Silently walking every path they'd designed after faking poverty.

Making me an outcast as a kid, too scared to speak up.

Making me hide my illness as an adult, too scared to burden them.

Making me choose death over dragging them down.

So all of it was just... an act they'd constructed on purpose.

And for what? To temper me?

Dinner ended.

Mom picked up her phone and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. She pressed the voice-message button, a faint trace of happiness still lingering on her face.

"Ellie, I'm guessing you're still busyyou haven't seen the voice message I sent."

"It's nothing urgent. I just wanted to let you know."

"Your dad and I are at Lakeside Manor, Building 3. Whenever you get off work, just come straight here."

I watched her quietly and tugged a bitter smile from the corner of my mouth.

I wanted so badly to tell her: Mom, I can never come back.

I sat on the massive crystal chandelier in the living room, silently watching from above.

After dinner, my parents and Zachary were still chatting. The fruit on the table had been replaced twice. The black tea had been refilled more times than I could count.

The conversation drifted from choosing college majors to future career plans.

"Zachary, after you graduate, come straight to the company. Start as your dad's assistantlet him mentor you personally."

"We're family. The company will be yours and the younger generation's eventually."

Mom peeled an apple, her tone gentle as always.

"Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad." Zachary sat up straighter, cheeks flushing pink. "I'll work hard. I won't let your faith in me go to waste!"

"Listen to this kid'faith.'" Dad chuckled and waved his hand, voice warm with affection.

"Once you're properly settled, you should start thinking about marriage too."

"A family like ours doesn't need perfect social standing, but we have to know their background. Good character. And sensible."

Mom and Dad exchanged a knowing look, then turned their gaze gently back to Zachary.

His face went redder.

He lowered his head but didn't refuse.

As if he'd silently accepted whatever match they were hinting at.

Then again, he was an orphanof course he longed for a home where he truly belonged.

I watched the three of them calmly, and slowly, a smile crept onto my face.

Zachary Abbotthe really was my type.

Tall. Fair-skinned and clean-cut, with a scholarly air about him.

And more importantly, every interaction we'd had proved his character was beyond reproach.

The last time we met, some old man tried to take advantage of me. Zachary rushed over without hesitation to confront him.

Even when it landed us both at the police station, he didn't show a hint of regret.

Afterward, he'd comforted me and bought me milk tea.

Watching the warm scene beneath the lights, an uncontrollable thought surfacedillusory, aching.

If I hadn't gotten sick. Or if the illness had come just a little later.

They'd probably planned my whole life out, hadn't they?

Join the company. End up with Zachary.

Get married. Live close by. Help run the business. Have a child.

On weekends, the family of five would gather for dinner in this spacious villa while the kids played in the garden.

Such a blissful picturedelicate as a dream.

And cold reality had smashed it to pieces.

A self-mocking smile escaped me. I was fully aware that I was already dead.

Dead in that freezing lake. Dead on the road of paying off their debts.

Their plans have nothing to do with me anymore.

And that fantasy just now was only a wishful hope that could never be realized.

At 3:00 a.m., the living room finally fell quiet.

Zach returned to his room on the second floor.

The one next to histhat should be the one prepared for me, right?

The decorating style was exactly my taste.

And all those cartoon characters I'd mentioned from childhood to adulthood had become plush toys.

They surrounded the entire bed, waiting quietly.

Mom picked up her phone, brows furrowed slightly, and sent me another voice message.

"Ellie, why haven't you replied yet?"

"You're not answering your phone eitherare you mad at Mom and Dad?"

Her tone softened, a little helpless. "Mom and Dad are doing this for your own good."

"Since you were little, we made you feel like things were hard at home because we wanted you to understand the value of hardship, so you'd properly cherish the life you have now."

"But it's okay. After you wake up, reply to Mom, okay?"

She put down her phone and sighed.

"This kidshe used to be so sensible. Why is she being so stubborn this time?"

Dad leaned back on the couch and rubbed between his eyebrows.

"I thought she'd really grown up and could understand our good intentions. Looks like we still haven't disciplined her enough."

At 10:00 a.m., Mom checked her phone again.

My chat window was still silent.

She dialed several calls in a row. All unanswered.

"That's not right. Ellie's never been like this."

She was uneasy.

"What else could it be?" Dad's face darkened. "Her wings have hardened!"

"With twenty million in hand, she probably thinks the bitter days are over and the sweet days have cometoo busy enjoying herself to bother!"

"No way, right?"

Mom hesitated and started flipping through her contacts.

She called my team lead at the company.

"Hello, is this Gabriel? I'm Eleanor Abbott's mom. Would it be convenient to let her answer the phone?"

Gabriel gave a bitter smile. "She didn't come in today, and she didn't ask for leave. We've been wondering too. Can't get through no matter how many times we call."

After hanging up, Mom's expression turned ugly.

She and Dad exchanged a look; suspicion and disappointment spread through the air.

"Didn't go to work?"

Dad sneered, confirming his own guess.

"Looks like she was dazzled by that twenty million and doesn't even want her job anymore. She really is my good daughter!"