Chapter 2

I didn’t say anything.

"Mom said you live with Grandma because the apartment in the city is too small for all of us."

I still kept my mouth shut.

She reached into her pocket, pulled out a piece of candy, and held it out to me.

"Here."

I looked down at the candy.

It was a Werther’s Original. I recognized the shiny gold wrapper.

I had seen them in the glass display case at the town's small convenience store. I had never tasted one.

I reached out, took it, and clutched it tightly in my fist.

"Why aren't you eating it?" she asked.

"Saving it," I muttered.

She gave an "oh," watched me for another moment, and then ran back inside the house.

That night, I carefully unwrapped the candy and took a tiny lick.

It was so sweet. So sweet that tears nearly welled up in my eyes.

But I couldn't bear to finish it. I wrapped it back up in the gold foil and tucked it deep into my pocket.

I kept that candy for a very long time. I kept it until it melted, sticking to the wrapper so badly that it could never be opened again.

When I was nine, the town's elementary school opened a new term.

Grandma took me to register. When the teacher asked for my name, Grandma said, "Patience. Patience Evans."

The teacher finished writing it down, looked at me, and sighed. "This child is too thin. She needs more nutrition."

I lowered my head and remained silent.

School became the happiest part of my life.

The classroom was warm, there were chairs to sit on, and I didn't have to do chores.

When the teacher spoke, I listened with all my might, refusing to miss a single word. Those letters, those numbers—they were like treasures to me. Once they entered my mind, they never left.

At the end of the school year, I ranked first in the entire district.

Grandma was overjoyed. She practically bowed to my teacher in gratitude.

The teacher called me over, patted my head, and said, "This girl is brilliant. Make sure she stays in school, she’ll go far."

Grandma nodded eagerly, her face lighting up. "Yes, of course. I'll make sure of it."

But when the next term started, we couldn't scrape together enough money for the school fees and book costs.

Grandma had to sell five of her chickens and borrow twenty dollars from a neighbor just to pay the fees.

That night, Grandma sat by the fireplace and let out a long sigh.

"Your mother didn't send any money this month."

I said nothing.

"She said the city is expensive right now. She asked us to wait a little longer."

I watched the flames flicker in the hearth. The light cast deep shadows over Grandma's face, making her wrinkles look even deeper.

"Grandma, I don't need to go to school anymore."

Grandma immediately smacked my shoulder.

"Stop talking nonsense! If you don't go to school, what will you do? End up like me, digging in the dirt for the rest of your life?"

I shut my mouth.

But in my mind, I wondered—was Serena going to school?

Of course she was.

She went to a private bilingual school that cost thousands. My mother didn't hesitate to spend money on her.

I went to a run-down public school that cost eighty dollars a term, and Grandma had to sell her livestock for it.

That was the difference.

From the very beginning, we were never the same.

When I was twelve, Grandma fell ill.

She coughed constantly. A deep, hacking cough that kept her awake all night.

When I came home from school, I found her lying in bed, her face pale and yellow, her lips completely white. The stove was cold, and there was no food in the kitchen.

I ran to the neighbor’s house, and they helped me call my mother.

When the call went through, I could hear loud noises on the other end—the sound of a TV playing, and Serena’s bright laughter.

My mother's voice came through the line, sharp and impatient.

"What is it?"

"Grandma is really sick," I said.

There was a brief silence on the other end.

"I’m too busy right now, I can't make it down. Take care of her for now, I'll mail some money in a few days."

The line went dead.

I stood by the neighbor’s phone, holding the receiver, listening to the dial tone for a very long time.

That night, I lit the stove myself, boiled some broth, and helped Grandma take her medicine. After she drank it, she held my hand, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Patience... I'm so sorry. I've failed you."

I shook my head.

"Grandma, don't talk. Just sleep."

She fell asleep. I sat by her bed, looking at her pale face and her thin, bony hands. It felt like something heavy was slowly sinking to the very bottom of my chest.

My mother's "few days" turned into two weeks.

By the time the money arrived, Grandma was already able to get out of bed.

I went to the post office to collect it. Fifty dollars. The clerk looked at me and asked, "Is this all?"

"Yes, that's all," I whispered.

I stuffed the cash into my pocket and walked home. Halfway there, I stopped outside the convenience store.

Through the glass counter, I saw the gold-wrapped candies. They were cheap, but I stood there for a long time before finally walking away without buying any.

Grandma needed that money for her medicine.

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