Chapter 2

On payday, Anthony had just gotten home from work when he posted on social media:

"Donated $158,000 this month. A small contribution, may kindness spread."

The post included his donation records and certificates from the charity organization.

It quickly garnered a flood of likes and comments:

"Mr. Anthony is such a good person! Not only did he donate his salary, he even donated his year-end bonus!"

"Donating his entire monthly salary without keeping a cent—that's a true philanthropist. Respect."

Anderson and Polo also quickly liked and commented: "Worthy of being our good son. So proud of you!"

I sighed, turned off my phone, and opened my budget book.

This month I had to pay our son's tuition, prepare for my in-laws' medical expenses, the car loan, the mortgage, and pay back last month's credit card overdraft for household expenses...

The total came to over eighteen thousand dollars.

My salary was twelve thousand dollars. We were six thousand short.

It was like this again. Every month at this time, the family bills felt like a knife pressed against my throat, making it hard to breathe.

I took a deep breath and turned to look at Anthony on the couch.

He was still scrolling through Twitter, smiling occasionally—probably because someone had praised him again.

After hesitating several times, I spoke up:

"Anthony, I want to discuss something with you."

He looked at his phone without even lifting his head: "Go ahead."

I paused, then said gently:

"The bills this month are eighteen thousand, but my salary is only twelve thousand. We're six thousand short."

"Could you stop donating all your money in the future and keep a little for the family?"

Anthony's finger stopped scrolling.

He looked up at me like he'd heard something completely unreasonable, and said with displeasure:

"I work hard to earn my money. If I want to donate it, I'll donate it. Do you really think you can control that?"

I explained:

"I'm not trying to stop you from donating. I just hope you can keep a little for the family."

"Dad has heart problems, Mom has diabetes, our son needs to go to school, and we still have car and mortgage payments. The expenses are too high. I can't handle it all on my own salary."

Anthony snorted coldly and said self-righteously:

"If you can't handle it, why don't you work harder?"

"People only think I'm great when I donate all my money. Why are you trying to interfere with my good deeds just because you want to be lazy?"

I looked at Anthony in disbelief. I really hadn't expected him to say something like that.

For this family, to earn more money, I often worked overtime late into the night.

All these years, I hadn't bought myself a single piece of clothing, hadn't slept a full night, and I didn't even dare take sick leave when I was ill.