Bullet Comments Said Family Gave Brother Money, Me Love; I Chose Another

The day I was diagnosed with cancer, before I could even tell my parents, a childless tycoon said he wanted to adopt me.

I looked around our home, where you couldn't find a single decent piece of furniture, at my sister lying paralyzed in bed.

Life was already hard enough for this family. It couldn't be dragged down by a dying son on top of everything else.

Just as I was about to agree to the tycoon's adoption, rows of floating notifications drifted past my eyes.

"Don't agree. Your parents are worth hundreds of millions. This is only a test."

"Poor guy. He didn't want to burden his family, so he agreed to the adoption, and then his parents decided he was greedy, that he loved money over them."

"Sad part is, nobody believed a word he said. They threw him out, and he died sick and alone in the snow."

"He doesn't even know he has a younger brother. The family gave all the money to the brother and played poor with him, just to see which kind of upbringing turns out the better person."

I stared at the notifications hanging in the air, my eyes slowly filling.

Every day before dawn I got up to wash my sister. After school I collected bottles and picked up odd jobs to ease the load on my parents.

I only ever let myself eat expired food, and it gave me stomach cancer this young. And all of that was just my family's test?

Seeing me say nothing, my family pressed me. "Do you want to be adopted or not?"

...

The sheer weight of it hit me until my head spun. My throat closed up, and for a long moment I couldn't force out a single word.

I looked at my parents, gray creeping in at their temples, and wanted to demand, right then and there, whether everything the notifications said was true.

I wanted to ask my sister, Eunice Wiley, whether the legs she'd lost saving me in that car accident were fake too.

But the words reached my lips and I choked them back down.

I had no proof. All I had was what I'd seen in those notifications. My family would either deny it or decide I'd lost my mind.

Watching me stall and stumble over nothing, my father lost his patience and slammed his hand down on the table. "What is it you actually want?"

I flinched on reflex, the way I always did. He saw me cringing and shrinking.

That set him off. "Say something. Are you mute? You can't hold a candle to" A useless thing like you, no comparison to

He caught himself before the rest came out. But the notifications finished it for me.

"To his little brother, right!"

"But they raised him from the start telling him the family was poor, don't compare yourself to others. The younger son never wanted for a thing. How was he supposed to compare?"

I looked at my mother and my sister sitting there watching it happen, and my heart dropped like a stone.

Then Lee Rodriguez, the man who'd said he wanted to adopt me, spoke up.

"Never mind. If the boy's hesitating, then his family clearly means something to him. We won't push."

He'd given me a way out. He folded up the adoption papers.

Lee and his wife stood and said their goodbyes.

The notifications were still celebrating, cheering that I'd passed my parents' test.

They said it was only a matter of time before I got my rich young heir's identity back.

But inside I felt myself going cold, inch by inch.

My parents were still studying me with those measuring eyes.

And Eunice came right out and asked, "When you hesitated, was it because you couldn't bear to leave us, or were you weighing what you'd get out of it?"

Their eyes, their tone, sent a crawling numbness across my scalp.

The notifications panicked on my behalf.

"Uh oh, uh oh. Every time they decide he doesn't cherish the family enough, they pull something."

"Last time the sister faked getting hurt saving him in a crash. Now what are they cooking up?"

I dropped my head so I wouldn't see the notifications, forced a smile, and said, "I just felt bad that you let them in at all. When someone says they want to adopt your child, wouldn't any normal parent shove them straight back out the door?"

A few words, and my parents' faces went awkward.

They laughed it off. "Benjamin Wiley, we only do it for your own good. All right, all right, let's drop it."

I pressed a hand over my throbbing stomach and said nothing more.

With what strength I had left, I barely managed to get myself into bed.

I gripped the blanket, worn so thin the threads were pulling loose.

And I swore to myself, silently: first, I would find proof that my family was faking the poverty. Second, I would find a way to cure my illness.

By the moonlight I looked at my parents, snoring now, and at the wall covered in certificates and awards.

Deep down I still couldn't believe none of it was real.

Because poor as this house was, there had been too many warm moments in it.

For my school fees, my mother would go door to door begging to borrow money.

Sometimes people sneered at her. "Kids from poor families are lucky to make it through junior high."

And she would only smile awkwardly and explain, "This boy of mine is smart. We're his parents. We can't be the ones to hold him back."

To make my daily walk to school a little easier, my father took the whole family through half a year of scraping and saving before he had enough to buy me a bicycle.

To celebrate my coming of age, my sister, paralyzed in bed for years, still got someone to bring back a little rabbit for me as a birthday present.

I slept badly that night, and by the time school let out the next day I was still fogged and heavy all over.

Then one line in the notifications snapped me wide awake, and cold shot straight up my spine.

Oh no. They're starting a new test on the male lead.

The moment I read that comment my heart skipped hard, and a helpless, panicked feeling spread from my chest out into my arms and legs.

Last time, to see whether I loved my family, my sister had a car accident.

Everyone said it was my fault, that I'd run a red light, that she'd been left paralyzed because she pushed me out of the way.

I explained over and over that someone had shoved me from behind.

But no one believed me. I told my parents.

They only looked at me, disappointed Your sister just got in a car accident, and all you can do is defend yourself?

In that moment it was like a bucket of cold water poured over my head, and my hands and feet went bitterly cold.

Two voices kept pulling at me inside.

One said: I only wanted to explain.

The other said: I only thought about explaining and didn't care about my sister. Was I really that selfish?

That guilt reached its peak once I saw that from then on she could only lie in bed.

So I took on everything to do with caring for her, feeding her, giving her water, washing her.

For her medical bills, I went out every day before dawn to collect bottles.

I couldn't bear it if they tested me again.

I ran home as fast as I could, my heart pounding so hard I kept gagging.

And before I even got through the door, a thick smell of blood hit me in the face.

Something dropped in my chest. I fumbled at the lock for a long time before the key finally went in.

The second I pushed the door open, my legs gave out and I collapsed to the floor.

The rabbit I'd spent a whole year raising was gone.

Its head and some fur were still in the cage, and beside it were the greens I'd fed it that very morning before I left.

Greens I'd gone all the way to the farmers' market for, picking the leaves that were still fresh out of the trash bins.

I'd washed them carefully, dried them off again and again, and only then set them down for it to eat.

It had only eaten half of them today. Its teeth marks were still on them.

And from the kitchen came the sound of my parents chopping meat.

Thud, thud, thud, one after another, each stroke like it was falling on my heart.

My stomach, my heart, my head, there wasn't a single part of me that didn't hurt.

My mother, blood still bright red on both her hands, smiled at me and said Benjamin, you're home?

The comments were all trying to calm me down.

Don't get angry, don't get angry. They're only testing you.

My parents pointed at that pot of soup and asked me The doctor said your sister needs more meat to build her strength. You wouldn't be stingy over one rabbit, would you?

My eyes went wide. I forgot even to breathe or blink.

Tears rolled down one after another, and seeing me like that, my mother pressed me again for an answer Say something! Do you mind or not?

I didn't answer. I went to the kitchen and picked up the cleaver.

Fur and blood were still on it.

I couldn't hold it back anymore and broke into wrenching sobs.

It wasn't just a rabbit. It was the one bit of light in my miserable life.

I would stroke it and pour out everything that troubled me.

But now I'd gotten it killed.

Just because my parents wanted to confirm whether I loved my family more.

Nineteen years of buried hatred and pain surged up in that moment.

I gripped the handle, one thought only in my mind: if there were going to be this many tests, then we could all just die together!

But the instant I thought it, a comment caught my eye.

The little brother's coming-of-age party is in three days. The male lead has to hold on!

Once the little brother is an adult too, the family will stop faking being poor.

I clenched my fist. Three days from now?

In three days I could verify whether the comments were true or not.

I looked up at my parents. They were watching me, and again they asked So do you mind or not?

I forced down the bloody-sweet taste at the back of my throat.

Even with my composure about to shatter, I squeezed out two words I don't.

My nails dug into my palm, and only one thought filled me: even if I died, I would die knowing the truth, whether this family was really faking being poor.

They ate that meal very happily.

I only gathered up the little rabbit's remains afterward and buried it in the dirt outside the front door.

Tears dripped down one after another onto the back of my hand, as if to wash the dirt off it.

The male lead really can endure. Almost there! In three days the parents will stop faking poverty.

I pulled my feelings back in and walked slowly toward the house.

For the next three days, my family and I got along without incident.

Until the day the comments had named finally came.

It's finally here. Today is the male lead's little brother's birthday.

Ever since Eunice's legs were paralyzed, Mom and Dad set aside one week every month to take her to a big hospital in the state capital.

I never once doubted it. This morning they said goodbye to me and left.

They'd left two hundred and twenty dollars on the table, my living expenses for the week.

The whole family's grocery money for a month was only five hundred.

Two hundred and twenty was what Mom earned washing dishes for three days in town.

I won't pretend it didn't move me, in that moment.

It happened to be the weekend, so I lay in bed pretending, and waited until they'd gotten far enough away.

Then I quietly followed behind them.

First the five-dollar bus to town, then a rattling city bus.

Only when I watched with my own eyes as my parents wheeled my sister into the hospital

did I finally feel like I could breathe again.

Thank God. There was no faking poverty at all. The notifications were probably just something my mind had invented.

And just as I let out that quiet breath of relief, a line appeared in front of my eyes.

Look up, quick.

I looked up on instinct, and saw Dad in a sharp suit, Mom dripping with jewels.

And my sister Eunice, paralyzed in bed for years, was wearing three-thousand-dollar red-soled heels, laughing and giggling with her arms linked through Mom's and Dad's.

In that moment, my whole world came crashing down.

By the time I came back to myself, my face was already wet with tears, and the twisting pain in my chest and stomach told me one thing.

This was real. I wasn't dreaming.

I stared, wide-eyed, as they climbed into a car carrying several gift bags.

I didn't recognize the emblem on it, but the notifications said it was a two-million-dollar McLaren.

The two hundred-some dollars they gave me this morning couldn't have bought a single small part of that car.

I watched like a fool as Eunice, paralyzed for years, worked the steering wheel with practiced ease.

If I shouted right now to everyone around me that these people were my family,

they'd drag me straight into a psychiatric ward on the spot.

Because I was in a school uniform washed until the threads were coming loose, gray and shabby from head to toe.

The car slowly disappeared from my sight, and I followed the notifications' guidance, step by step, all the way to a gated mansion district.

I looked up, and my eyes went red.

My family walked into a beautiful house I had never seen before.

Behind the floor-to-ceiling glass sat a boy about my own age.

He wore silk pajamas, dropped himself lazily onto the bench of a Steinway, and played a few bars.

My parents' eyes were full of pride, and Eunice wore a look of approval I had never once seen her give me.

I used to not understand why, when we were both supposed to be poor kids, Eunice always looked down on me from some higher place. Once she let it slip: "You can't even play the piano?"

I'd stared at her then, stunned, since we couldn't even afford a keyboard.

Now I understood all of it.

Because she really did have a little brother who could play the piano.

Mom took a box out of a gift bag. Inside was a pair of sneakers, and the floating notifications on my screen told me they were worth around a hundred thousand.

My mother's eyes were tender as she pinched the boy's cheek. "Happy birthday, little birthday boy."

Eunice elbowed Mom aside and held out a set of car keys to the boy like she was presenting a treasure. "Luke Wiley, that car you've always wanted, it's only two million. You deserve it."

Luke shrieked and threw his arms around Eunice. "Sis, you're the best sister in the whole world."

I looked at everything inside that room, my eyes slowly burning, my chest so tight I couldn't breathe.

Two million? That was a number I had always thought belonged to another universe.

The early stage of my stomach cancer treatment cost only two hundred thousand, and I still hadn't dared tell my family.

I was afraid of dealing our already destitute home a more fatal blow.

But it turned out all of it was fake.

I gagged. The cramping pain in my stomach reminded me I didn't have much time left.

Through the glass and the white gauze curtains lifting in the wind, I watched my father pull a velvet box from his pocket.

He opened it. A green-dial Rolex Submariner lay inside. He handed it to Luke. "The poor play with cars, the rich play with watches. Dad's getting you a Rolex."

Luke shook my father's hand off in distaste. "Dad, you're so tacky. Who gives a Rolex for a coming-of-age gift? If not a Vacheron Constantin, it should at least be a Jaeger-LeCoultre!"

My father flushed red under the scolding, and quickly coaxed him with one soft "good boy" after another until Luke let him fasten it on.

I stood there dazed, staring at that famous watch like a thief peeping in on someone else's happiness.

My bare wrist had once had a watch too.

My parents gave it to me on my coming-of-age day. I was so excited I didn't sleep all night.

They'd said, "Every boy needs a watch. We can't afford an expensive one, but a few-hundred-dollar watch we can still manage."

I'd cried right then, moved to tears.

But the next day, they told me my sister's legs had gotten worse and there was no money for her medicine.

I hesitated for only a second before handing over the watch I'd worn for a single day.

Back then, along with the tenderness in my parents' eyes, there had been smugness.

My watch. My rabbit.

In their eyes, they were nothing but tests of how much I loved my family.

My parents told Luke to go change into his formal clothes and get ready for tonight's banquet.

They walked from the villa out into the garden, and I quickly slipped into the flower beds to hide.

"More than a decade of hardship wasn't wasted on Benjamin. The boy's learned to think of his family. That rabbit the other day, I heard him cry his heart out and he still didn't make a scene."

My father finished, but my mother didn't quite agree. "I always feel that boy carries too much inside him. Let's test him a while longer!"

Eunice nodded too. "Benjamin's always been a bit small-minded. Let's wait until he graduates college, then we'll tell him!"

"That's right. We'll just have to suffer through playing poor a few more years. But for the child, it's all worth it."

In three sentences, they extended my testing period.

I clutched my aching stomach, drowning in bitterness and hatred. But Mom, Dad, I don't have time to wait for you.

"And that boy is a little too cold-blooded."

My mother's voice carried displeasure. "A rabbit he raised for a whole year, and one good cry and it's like he's forgotten it."

"Last time Luke saw someone gutting a fish, he came home and cried for ages. So kindhearted!"

Listening to my mother, I nearly couldn't hold back the sound of my crying.

But my kindness was built on their testing.

They wanted me to be kind, and they wanted me to love my family.

Only after Luke called them away did I dare to cry out loud.

The sky slowly began to drizzle, the rain mixing with my tears and washing down my face.

By the time the Wiley banquet began, the sky had opened into a downpour.

Inside, glasses clinked, everyone polished and glowing, a sharp contrast to me, soaked through outside.

My parents and Eunice were leading Luke around, introducing him to one person after another.

At the center of the party sat a cake a full half a person tall.

My own coming-of-age day, in that cramped little room, had been a cheap cream-filled roll with a candle stuck in it while I made a wish.

I looked at that cake in front of me, half a person tall, then at the dazzling spread of imported food.

I closed my eyes in despair. All the suffering and hardship of these past ten-odd years felt, in that moment, like a joke.

The rain came harder. I gripped the hem of my shirt, drenched and wretched.

I watched that bright, glowing Luke, and the inferiority and hatred inside me grew wild like weeds.

Trembling, I pulled out my old push-button phone and first took a few photos.

Then I placed a call. Choking on my words, I asked, "Lee, could you adopt me?"