Chapter 4

My right eye's vision dropped to near-total blindness within two weeks.

The doctor said that with orbital decompression surgery combined with anti-inflammatory treatment, I might be able to preserve light perception.

John asked, "How much?"

"About eighty thousand dollars initially."

John said nothing.

Mary said, "Where would we get that kind of money? We borrowed the money for Stella's cornea surgery."

"We still haven't paid it back."

She glanced at Lily, then at me.

"Stella, get discharged for now. Rest at home. Every day we can save counts."

I was discharged.

Standing at the hospital entrance, it was raining.

I couldn't tell if what was ahead was a road or stairs. I stepped out and immediately missed a step.

I fell hard on the ground.

I got up, walked less than ten steps, and crashed into a trash can.

My knees and palms were covered in scrapes.

My parents left right after dropping me at the hospital entrance. Lily didn't come.

I crouched in the rain, suddenly remembering many things.

In high school, I worked part-time while studying.

With my bad eyes, I couldn't find normal part-time work, so I went to help at a massage parlor for the blind off campus.

I washed towels and mopped floors.

Lily came to pick me up from school once.

The next day, she went around telling everyone with a smile.

"Stella works at one of those massage parlors off campus. You know what I mean, right?"

My classmates started avoiding me. The way the boys looked at me completely changed.

The homeroom teacher called me into the office.

In front of other teachers, she asked me.

"Stella Smith, are you engaged in inappropriate work after school?"

I said no, I was just helping with odd jobs at a massage parlor for the blind.

The teacher said, "That's not what Lily says."

Later, I had my first boyfriend.

The boy knew about my bad eyes. Every day after school, he held my hand and walked me home.

He said it was okay — he could be my eyes.

After Lily found out, she asked the boy out for coffee.

She stirred her straw.

"That massage parlor where Stella works doesn't just do massages — they provide special services."

"Plus, her eye condition is hereditary. Your future children will go blind too."

The next day, the boy blocked me on everything.

I begged him to let me explain. I sent him dozens of messages. All of them went unanswered.

I went crying to confront Lily.

She rolled her eyes. "I just said it casually. If he believed it, is that my fault?"

"Bottom line is he didn't love you enough."

Mary tossed the vegetables she'd picked into a basin.

"Lily's not wrong. If he was truly committed, would a few words break you up?"

"You're so grown up and still dating? What about your studies?"

Every time, they told me to be magnanimous, blamed me — a blind person — for caring about these things.

I got up from the rain and felt my way home through the darkness.

From that day on, I never mentioned my eyes to anyone again.

And I stopped holding expectations of anyone.

I put on sunglasses and went to work at the massage parlor for the blind.

Three thousand dollars a month. I kept fifteen hundred and gave the rest to my family.

My parents actually thought I'd finally matured.

Lily occasionally came to the shop to see me and mock how little I earned.

I smiled and agreed.

I was waiting.

One year and three months later, Lily suddenly collapsed at home.

She was rushed to the hospital and diagnosed with bilateral kidney failure, late stage. She needed a transplant.

Mary cried in the hospital hallway, calling everyone to borrow money.

She went through every relative and friend in her contacts.

John sold the family car, then listed our small two-bedroom apartment with a realtor.

They scraped together just enough for compatibility testing and preliminary treatment.

Then came the wait for a kidney donor.

They waited three months.

During those three months, Lily's temper grew worse and worse.

She smashed a water glass in front of the attending physician.

"What kind of garbage hospital is this! I'm dying and you can't find one faster?"

My parents always stood beside her. Mary hugged her with heartache.

"Sweetheart, I know you're suffering."

And every day after work, I took a two-hour bus ride to the hospital.

I brought her meals, stayed overnight, wiped her down.

Sometimes Lily would look me over.

"Stella, do you think this is all your life will ever be?"

"Eyes gone blind, massaging people's feet — what's the point of you being alive?"

I smiled faintly.

"Yeah, there's no point, so you have to get better."

"The family's counting on you."

She was satisfied with my answer.

She had no idea that every time I came to the hospital, I wasn't just bringing her meals.