Chapter 4

After Philip comforted Mom for a while, he left. Sophie and Dad also went to rest, leaving only Mom alone in the living room.

Mom turned off the Bluetooth speaker and began cleaning up the party aftermath.

When she passed my bedroom door, she stopped.

On the door was that familiar warning sign: "Asthma Patient's Room - Do Not Enter Without Permission."

Mom stared at the door handle, her hand frozen in mid-air.

"Emma..."

She softly called my name, her voice trembling slightly.

Mom took a deep breath and pressed her voice low against the door: "Emma, Mom went... a bit overboard today."

"Sophie's eighteenth birthday party, all her friends were watching. You suddenly saying you couldn't breathe really killed the mood."

"But Mom shouldn't have treated you like that. Shouldn't have thrown away your inhaler."

She paused, her voice becoming gentle: "Tomorrow I'll drive you to the conservatory at the city botanical garden. You've always wanted to go there, haven't you? We'll wear masks and just stay for an hour."

The conservatory.

I remembered that place. Last year when we drove past, I begged Mom to take me inside to see.

"Too dangerous, Emma. The pollen could kill you." Mom had sternly refused then.

Now she was voluntarily offering to take me.

"As long as you cooperate with treatment and stop using 'breathing difficulties' to scare Mom, I'll agree to anything." Mom pressed against the door, her voice full of pleading.

Seeing Mom's reddened eyes, I nodded frantically: "Mom, I'll be good! I'll never scare you again!"

I reached out to touch Mom's cheek, but my hand passed right through her body.

Mom waited outside the door for my response. But all she could hear was the mechanical sound of the air purifier.

After waiting a while, Mom sighed disappointedly: "This child, so stubborn."

She turned to leave, then suddenly rummaged for something.

A few custom organic energy bars and a brand new backup inhaler.

Mom gently placed these items on the floor in front of my door.

"Eat some energy bars if you get hungry." she said softly, "And here's a backup inhaler... I'll make your favorite French toast in the morning."

I knelt on the ground, staring at that inhaler.

This tiny device had saved my life countless times.

But now I would never need it again.

I reached out to touch it, wanting to feel that familiar texture.

I could still feel the sensation from my suffocation earlier—airways constricting, lungs burning, every breath like swallowing razor blades.

Before dawn, sounds came from my parents' master bedroom.

Dad and Mom sat on the bed with a pile of credit card bills and medical expense lists spread before them.

Under the bedside lamp light, those numbers looked particularly harsh.

"Emma's imported inhaler medication costs $800 a month, regular check-ups $150 each time." Mom pointed at a medical bill, her voice weary.

"Tonight's party cost $3,000." Dad picked up another receipt, "Emma's medical insurance deductible still has $5,000 to go."

I floated to their bedside, looking at these dense numbers.

Behind every number was the burden my existence brought to this family.

"Sophie's tuition is $50,000 a year." Dad rubbed his temples, his voice carrying undisguised exhaustion, "If Emma's medical costs could be controlled..."

He didn't finish the sentence, but I knew what he wanted to say.

"Without Emma as this medical black hole, Sophie wouldn't have to give up studying abroad."

The room fell into silence.

I stood by the bed, watching Dad's hunched figure with bitter eyes.

Mom suddenly looked up, her gaze sharp: "Emma didn't want to get sick either! She's our daughter, and as long as I'm alive, we can't abandon her!"

Dad wearily massaged Mom's shoulders, "It's just... if this continues, we'll eventually be crushed."

Dad continued, "I'm not saying we should abandon her, I just feel the pressure is overwhelming..."

He moved closer, gently massaging Mom's tense shoulders: "Here, let me rub your shoulders. Taking care of Emma for so long, you've been through a lot too."

"If you know I'm tired, then stop saying things like that." Mom closed her eyes, the anger in her voice gradually fading.

Dad's technique was gentle and tender. For four years, they had supported each other like this, comforting one another under pressure.

Mom's tense shoulders trembled under Dad's hands. Four years of high-pressure caregiving had pushed her nerves to the breaking point.

I wanted to touch Mom's shoulder, but my hand passed through her body again.

"Don't worry anymore, Mom." I said, "You'll be relaxed from now on."

"I won't need imported medications anymore, won't need doctor visits. Sophie can go to school."

I virtually embraced my parents, imagining giving them warmth.

"I've saved you money. I'm no longer a burden."

At six in the morning, sounds of pans clashing came from the kitchen.

Mom was making French toast—the breakfast she had promised me last night.

Mom plated the French toast and walked to my bedroom door with it: "Emma, breakfast is ready! Your favorite French toast!"

Her voice carried a pleading tone.

But Mom noticed the energy bars and inhaler by the door were still untouched.

"Emma?" She knocked on the door with some concern, "You didn't eat anything last night?"

Still no response.

"Emma Miller!" Mom's voice became impatient, "You need to get up! Stop being stubborn with Mom!"

Dead silence from inside the room.

Mom waited for a while, finally losing patience.

She forcefully pushed open the door.

"Emma Miller, you need to get up—"

Her voice cut off abruptly.

The plate slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor.