Chapter 2

Just after the sixth day of the New Year holiday, Carrie Lambert hurried back to work at the supermarket.

While everyone else was still visiting relatives and friends, she had to be up before dawn and out late scrubbing floors, because there were still two mouths at home waiting to be fed.

Her husband, Kenneth, was a plain, honest security guard who didn't make much either, and the two of them still had their younger son, Toby, to put through middle school.

That afternoon, while Carrie was mopping the floor at the supermarket, a wave of dizziness hit her all at once.

She touched her forehead—it was frighteningly hot. She coughed several times in a row, her throat feeling like she'd swallowed a razor blade.

"Carrie, you don't look right. Have you come down with a fever?" the supervisor asked, coming over with concern.

"It's nothing. I probably caught a chill yesterday. I'll just have some hot water." Carrie forced a smile through it.

"Don't push yourself. You're getting on in years. Go on home and rest for half the day—I'll sign off on the leave for you." The supervisor waved a hand.

Carrie thanked her over and over, took the leave, and dragged her heavy feet toward home.

The whole way, she felt chilled to the bone, an ache in every joint.

She told herself that once she got home she could have some hot soup and lie down for a while, and she'd be fine.

She pushed open the door, and a strong smell of spicy snail noodle soup hit her in the face.

The coffee table in the living room was piled with takeout boxes and empty drink bottles, and there were a few wads of tissue thrown on the floor.

Eileen was curled up on the couch, headphones on, yelling at her phone screen.

"Go in! Heal me! Are you blind or what?!"

Looking at the wreck of the room, Carrie felt exhaustion wash over her in an instant.

"Eileen, honey, Mom's sick, I've got a high fever. Could you get Mom a glass of hot water?" Carrie said weakly, holding on to the door frame.

Eileen's eyes stayed glued to the screen, her fingers tapping frantically.

"Ugh, if you're sick then go take some medicine! What's the point of telling me? I'm not a doctor!"

Carrie's heart sank. Fighting off the dizziness, she walked over to the water cooler herself and filled a glass.

"I need to rest at home for a few days. Could you tidy up the living room? Throw out the takeout boxes?" Carrie swallowed the pills and tried to reason with her daughter.

"Later! Can't you see I'm in the middle of a team fight? You're driving me crazy!" Eileen shouted, utterly annoyed.

Looking at this thirty-five-year-old daughter of hers, thinking back over the bitter thirteen years she'd endured, Carrie couldn't hold back her tears any longer.

"Eileen! Are you dead or something?!" Carrie suddenly exploded, slamming the glass down hard on the table.

"I've supported you for thirteen whole years since you graduated! You've never worked a single day!"

"I come home with a high fever, and not only won't you pour me a glass of water, you won't even clean up the place—just how long are you planning to freeload in this house?!"

Eileen jumped at the sudden roar, and her game character died on the screen.

She yanked off her headphones and glared furiously at Carrie.

"What's gotten into you?! It's just being sick—do you have to make such a scene?"

"You take grief from people out there all day, and all you know how to do is come home and take it out on me!"

Carrie was shaking with anger, and she pointed her finger right in Eileen's face.

"Who am I scrubbing floors for? Isn't it to raise you, you ungrateful brat!"

"Look at the state of yourself—you're barely even a person anymore! Have you got no shame?"

"Me, no shame? I say you're the one killing yourself over your precious pride!" Eileen leapt up, giving no ground, jabbing a finger back at Carrie.

"You elders keep pressuring me to find a job—it's not for my sake at all!"

"You're just afraid the relatives and friends will laugh! Afraid people will laugh at you! All you care about is your own pride!"

"So I never amount to anything, so I live off my parents—what business is it of anyone else's! If I annoy you so much, you shouldn't have had me in the first place!"

Hearing these outrageous, unforgivable words, Carrie felt a violent, wrenching pain in her chest, so bad she couldn't catch her breath.

"You... you..."

Carrie clutched her chest with both hands, her face gone bluish-purple.

"Don't play dead with me! I've seen this poor-me act plenty of times!" Eileen snorted coldly and turned to go back to her room.

Carrie tried to cry out, but no sound came. Her vision went black, and she toppled straight down onto the cold living room floor.

There was a muffled thud.

Eileen glanced back—and instead of going to help her, she irritably kicked the takeout box next to her.

"What a faker! I couldn't be bothered with you!"

Just then the security door opened, and Kenneth, just off work, and Toby, just home from school, walked in.

Seeing Carrie lying unconscious on the floor, Kenneth was so terrified he dropped the groceries in his hands.

"Carrie! What happened to you!" Kenneth rushed over and scooped her up into his arms.

"Quick! Toby, call 911! Hurry, save your mom!" Kenneth shouted into the apartment, sweat pouring down his forehead.

By the time Carrie opened her eyes again, it was already night.

The sharp smell of disinfectant brought her partway back to her senses.

Beside the hospital bed, Kenneth stood holding a long stack of billing slips, his brow knotted as he counted the crumpled bills in his wallet.

Toby lay slumped against the edge of the bed, his eyes red and swollen from crying.

Carrie looked around the empty ward—the one person missing was that biological daughter she had raised for thirty-five years.

Her heart was completely dead.