I almost laughed at that.
While I was still sitting on the edge of the hospital bed gathering my things, my phone rang. It was my mother.
“We’re at the shopping mall,” she said casually. “We’re getting things ready for your sister’s birthday party tonight. Just take a bus home.”
A bus.
I had just been discharged after surgery, still dizzy from medication, barely able to stand upright without pain shooting through my side. Yet somehow, my condition was less important than balloons, decorations, and cake shopping.
I didn’t argue. I was too exhausted to fight for basic compassion.
