Chapter 3

Chapter 3

That winter was the busiest and most exhausting year of my life.

I delivered food during the day and worked part-time at nightclubs at night.

I was so tired that I could fall asleep wherever I sat down.

It was exhausting, but the considerable income I earned each month still left me anxious.

Grandma had chemotherapy once every three weeks.

Medical bills and nutrition expenses were costs we could not save on.

The doctor said that if she ate well and kept up her nutrition, the side effects of chemotherapy could be reduced.

During that period, if Grandma ate one more mouthful of food or drank one more sip of soup, I would be happy for a long time.

It was as if what she swallowed was not food, but life itself.

After four rounds of chemotherapy, she needed a routine examination.

While I was out delivering food, I received a call from the attending doctor.

“Your grandmother’s chemotherapy results are not good. The examination shows that the tumor… has already spread to her liver and lungs.”

People flowed endlessly past me. I stood at the street corner, crouched down, and cried helplessly.

Why?

Why did I still have to face this result after giving everything I had?

Could the god of luck really not favor us even a little?

That day, I got off work early.

I secretly went to meet the attending doctor first. The treatment plan he gave me afterward was accompanied by one helpless, pained sigh after another.

The doctor was a young man. He said, “Take your grandmother home, little sister. Do not keep pouring money into the hospital.”

“Give her more of whatever she wants to eat.”

I knew he meant well, but I did not want to hear a single word.

It sounded like the god of death pronouncing a death notice. For me, someone who had always believed a miracle would come, it was unbearably hard to accept.

“If we go home like this, what will happen to Grandma afterward?”

“She will be in a lot of pain. She may also develop a fever, not want to move, be unable to eat, or even develop ascites.” The more the doctor spoke, the softer his voice became.

He no longer wanted to look into my eyes. He lowered his head and pretended to be busy staring at the computer screen.

“What if I insist on treatment?” I was still unwilling to give up.

The doctor looked up at me steadily and lowered his voice. “If you insist on treatment… your grandmother will still go through all of that.”

At those words, my tears could no longer be held back.

I went to the stairwell, wanting to dry my tears before going to Grandma’s ward. But how could such small eyes hold so many tears?

I wiped them for half an hour and still could not dry them.

Beside me, an uncle squatting and smoking also looked full of worry. Seeing me cry, he numbly handed me a wrinkled tissue.

“Your eyes will hurt if you cry too long. Wipe them.”

His weariness and exhaustion made me wonder whether he also had a family member receiving treatment here.

Everyone in this world suffers.

Each person has their own bitterness.

Then… I would find a way to make the final stretch of Grandma’s life a little sweeter.

Perhaps because I returned early that day, I saw the factory manager’s wife, Aunt Li.

There was a thermal container by Grandma’s bedside, and the room was filled with the fragrance of chicken soup.

The smell was familiar.

With a thick nasal voice, I said, “Thank you, Auntie. You do not need to come tomorrow. Thank you for always visiting Grandma during this time.”

This time, my gratitude was sincere.

I was not stupid. I should have realized long ago that those delicate, delicious meals were not takeout.

Takeout would not make Grandma avert her eyes and avoid looking at me.

Takeout would not arrive in an expensive, exquisite thermal container.