After My Death, They Went Mad

The year I was diagnosed with severe asthma, I became the family's top priority protection target.

All the flowering plants in the house were removed, even Mom's beloved jasmine was uprooted. Air purifiers ran twenty-four hours a day, emitting a low humming sound.

My parents took turns watching me, afraid of any sign of breathing difficulty.

To take care of my condition, they even forced Sophie, who had just been accepted to Oxford, to defer enrollment and come home to help.

At Sophie's eighteenth birthday party, the house was bustling with excitement.

I sat in a corner of the living room, watching the full house of guests, feeling tightness in my chest, and instinctively said:

"Mom, I... can't breathe. I want to go back to my room."

Mom, who had been all smiles, suddenly turned vicious, snatching the emergency inhaler from my hands:

"If it's this painful, then go die! Stop making a fuss here!"

"Today is your sister's coming-of-age ceremony, and you just have to cause trouble, don't you?"

"Don't want to live anymore? Then you don't need this inhaler! Stop using your illness to blackmail this family!"

She forcefully threw the inhaler to the farthest corner of the room. That little bottle that had saved my life countless times hit the wall hard, making a crisp sound.

Finally, she pushed me away with disgust and turned to pour champagne for Sophie's friends.

I looked at that inhaler and finally smiled.

This was the first time in four years that I saw the inhaler so far away from me.

Too long.

For these four years, my world consisted only of inhalers.

I could only eat allergen-free food,

Sleep with the bedroom door open so they could monitor my breathing at all times,

Even when bathing, the bathroom door was never locked.

And now, this life-saving device was just thrown into a corner by Mom.

The guests were laughing and chatting, toasting each other.

No one was looking at me.

I looked down at my empty hands.

I should walk over there, to the corner of the room, pick up the inhaler. Pretend nothing happened.

My feet lifted slightly, then froze in place.

Outside came Sophie's clear laughter as she took photos with her classmates, radiant with youth.

To watch over me, this "sickly child," she gave up Oxford and missed the best years of her life.

Now she was finally an adult, finally building her own social circle, finally able to get rid of me as a burden.

Looking at this house full of celebration, I suddenly felt so dirty.

I was the only stain in this perfect picture.

Standing here, even the air became thin and oppressive.

Mom was right.

I shouldn't have gotten sick today.

Shouldn't have ruined Sophie's big day.

Shouldn't be alive.

I stopped looking at the inhaler and turned toward the bedroom.

I walked slowly, my chest getting tighter, no one noticing me.

Everyone was immersed in the joy of the coming-of-age ceremony. Who would care about the comings and goings of an asthma patient?

I thought of that framed Oxford University acceptance letter. Sophie cried when she received it, not from joy, but because she knew she couldn't go.

"Sister needs someone to take care of her," she explained to her classmates. "I can't leave her alone."

Eighteen-year-old Sophie gave up Oxford to stay home and care for a sister who could die at any moment.

I thought of Dad's silhouette smoking on the balcony late at night. My medical expenses kept rising - special air purification equipment, regular check-ups, expensive medications.

"Should we take out another loan?" Mom had said.

"The house is almost completely mortgaged," Dad's voice was exhausted. "Emma's illness is a bottomless pit."

I was this family's bottomless pit. I was the stumbling block on Sophie's bright future.

I walked into my room and gently closed the door.

The noise outside was instantly shut out.

I leaned against the bed, my body slowly sliding down along the edge.

My hands began to tremble from lack of oxygen.

Not from fear of death, but from excitement.

It was a kind of physiological euphoria from finally breaking free from shackles and gaining ultimate freedom.

For these three years, I had countless times longed for freedom.

Wanted to go out alone, wanted to gather with friends, wanted to breathe normally.

But every time I was discovered, followed by stricter supervision and more hysterical protection.

"Emma, do you know how many allergens are outside? Do you want to drive Mom to death?"

"Your life isn't your own, it's our whole family's hope! How can you be so disobedient?!"

"Sister, I'm begging you, stop running around, okay? Mom and Dad are getting old, they can't handle you having accidents..."

Today, I would finally be free.

Mom, you told me to die.

You personally threw away my lifeline.

I was being obedient.

My airways began to constrict, like invisible ropes strangling my neck.

"Huff... huff...!"

Sharp suffocation pressed against my throat, my chest felt crushed by heavy stones.

Then, rapid gasping echoed in the room.

I opened my eyes.

My vision began to blur, like looking at the world through frosted glass.

How wonderful.

Strength drained away rapidly with the oxygen.

I collapsed on the carpet, curled up in a ball.

So cold.

So this was what death felt like.

I looked at my purpling fingertips and forced my mouth into a smile.

Sophie's coming-of-age ceremony - I celebrate it with my life.

Mom and Dad's nurturing grace - I repay it with my life.

From now on, you won't have to take turns staying up all night, won't have to worry constantly, won't have to be bent under expensive medical bills, won't have to be embarrassed about my condition in front of relatives.

You're free.

I... am finally free too.

Consciousness began to fade.

The laughter outside became distant and ethereal.

"Wishing Sophie a bright future and dreams come true!"

"Cheers!"

So lively.

At the very end, I seemed to hear Mom's laughter.

The kind of heartfelt laugh she hadn't had in a long time.