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I got cancer and my whole family advised me to give up treatment2
2：510words
Update Time：2026-01-26 09:06:04
James stood firm.“Ellen,I told you,if you spend it all,what’ll we live on?Don’t you care about us?”
His words were like icy daggers, piercing through my heart and leaving me shivering with a cold that went beyond the physical.
In that moment,I saw his true self.
He was like a venomous snake,coiling around me,silently observing my futile struggles.
I grabbed my phone to call the police.
He snatched it,glaring at me with eyes like a venomous snake’s
“Behave,or I’ll make you regret being born!”
Two days passed.No matter how I pleaded with nurses or doctors,James brushed them off.
He spat out that we were penniless and accused me of being delusional, his voice dripping with malice.
The doctor’s gaze, filled with pity, swept over me.“Treat it soon.If you delay,you won’t last two weeks.”
His words soaked my back in cold sweat.
I didn’t want to die!
A turning point came when my parents visited.
They carried fruit,and when they walked in, a flicker of hope flared up in my heart.
But the next second,I was plunged into hell.
My mom sat beside me kindly,peeling an apple.
Tearing up,I told them about James.
They sighed.“Just live well with James.This might be our last visit.”
My mind turned into a chaotic whirlwind, a deafening roar of disbelief and shock filling my ears.
They knew.They were here to see me one last time!
I hadn’t told them I was sick.
The only way they’d know is if James called them.
Devastated,I demanded,“Why?”
My parents said flatly,“You know your brother is getting married soon.We asked you for money,but you said you had none.James offered us $20,000 if we visited you.He’s more sensible than you.Why do you think that is?He gives us money.Do you?”
My dad’s face twisted with rage,like a vengeful ghost.
Because James paid them,they’d let me die.
Maybe even with my own money.
I stared at the ceiling,powerless.“I’m your daughter too!How can you do this?”
They muttered,“We have no choice.Your brother’s wedding matters more.It’s about carrying on the family line.”
There was always no choice.
As a child,“no choice”meant that I had to drop out of school early to work and support my brother’s education.
I resented it but had to accept it—they were family,and we were poor.
I worked hard and sent them money despite their partiality.
I never held it against them.
Even when I started earning,I sent money monthly.
They took it without a word of comfort.
When I married James,they gave me nothing.
But for my brother’s wedding,they demanded $20,000 in dowry (a traditional gift given by the bride’s family to the groom’s family in some cultures).
From me.
I was furious,shouting,“Am I even your daughter?”
They sighed,“No choice.We raised you.Isn’t it fair you give back?”
I broke down,sobbing over the phone.
I cut contact unilaterally.
Before I left for the hospital, my mom said,“You’ve lived a good life in this big city, and James treats you well.Be satisfied and don’t resent us.Every girl in our family has to endure such unfair treatment. Just go peacefully.Don’t come to us.”
His words were like icy daggers, piercing through my heart and leaving me shivering with a cold that went beyond the physical.
In that moment,I saw his true self.
He was like a venomous snake,coiling around me,silently observing my futile struggles.
I grabbed my phone to call the police.
He snatched it,glaring at me with eyes like a venomous snake’s
“Behave,or I’ll make you regret being born!”
Two days passed.No matter how I pleaded with nurses or doctors,James brushed them off.
He spat out that we were penniless and accused me of being delusional, his voice dripping with malice.
The doctor’s gaze, filled with pity, swept over me.“Treat it soon.If you delay,you won’t last two weeks.”
His words soaked my back in cold sweat.
I didn’t want to die!
A turning point came when my parents visited.
They carried fruit,and when they walked in, a flicker of hope flared up in my heart.
But the next second,I was plunged into hell.
My mom sat beside me kindly,peeling an apple.
Tearing up,I told them about James.
They sighed.“Just live well with James.This might be our last visit.”
My mind turned into a chaotic whirlwind, a deafening roar of disbelief and shock filling my ears.
They knew.They were here to see me one last time!
I hadn’t told them I was sick.
The only way they’d know is if James called them.
Devastated,I demanded,“Why?”
My parents said flatly,“You know your brother is getting married soon.We asked you for money,but you said you had none.James offered us $20,000 if we visited you.He’s more sensible than you.Why do you think that is?He gives us money.Do you?”
My dad’s face twisted with rage,like a vengeful ghost.
Because James paid them,they’d let me die.
Maybe even with my own money.
I stared at the ceiling,powerless.“I’m your daughter too!How can you do this?”
They muttered,“We have no choice.Your brother’s wedding matters more.It’s about carrying on the family line.”
There was always no choice.
As a child,“no choice”meant that I had to drop out of school early to work and support my brother’s education.
I resented it but had to accept it—they were family,and we were poor.
I worked hard and sent them money despite their partiality.
I never held it against them.
Even when I started earning,I sent money monthly.
They took it without a word of comfort.
When I married James,they gave me nothing.
But for my brother’s wedding,they demanded $20,000 in dowry (a traditional gift given by the bride’s family to the groom’s family in some cultures).
From me.
I was furious,shouting,“Am I even your daughter?”
They sighed,“No choice.We raised you.Isn’t it fair you give back?”
I broke down,sobbing over the phone.
I cut contact unilaterally.
Before I left for the hospital, my mom said,“You’ve lived a good life in this big city, and James treats you well.Be satisfied and don’t resent us.Every girl in our family has to endure such unfair treatment. Just go peacefully.Don’t come to us.”