ManyWriters

On my birthday of 49, my brain tumor had another attack.
My vision has become blurry, and my brain can no longer think clearly.
I knew that I may not have many days left to live.
The medical staff worked hard to keep me stable, and they picked up my phone to contact my families.
When the nurse dialed the 10th call, I finally heard my wife's voice, which was full of anger: "Why are you so annoying? Why do you keep calling me? I'm going to fly to Florence with Tim - don't contact me unless there's an emergency."
Then my daughter's voice came over, sounding very cold: "Mom, if this man passes away, that would be great. The insurance money can be directly transferred to my account. I have always wanted a new motorcycle."
After hearing this, I have no resentment.
Strangely, I actually feel like the burden on me is disappearing.
Perhaps it's finally time to bid farewell to this unfortunate life.

A Wake-Up Call to Let Me Escape From the Garbage

Julia clutched her face, utterly shocked. It took her a moment to grasp what had occurred, and when she did, tears began to form in her eyes.


"Mom, why did you slap me?" she sobbed, her voice breaking. "You're the one who always complained about Dad—saying you couldn't tolerate him!"


I hovered above them, smirking cynically.


Naturally. Monica loathed me. There was no chance she was mourning my death. She must have been putting on another of her heartfelt displays, attempting to portray herself as the bereaved, devoted spouse.


--- Julia's partner, the punk with bleached hair, couldn't contain himself any longer. He gestured at Monica with a shaky finger and exclaimed: "You deranged old woman! Who do you think you are, striking your daughter like that? Just because you're her mother doesn't mean I won't put you in your place!"


Monica, already enraged, spun around to confront him.


Her chest heaved with fury as she stepped closer, her tone icy and cutting.


Chapter 8