I Saved My Parents with Lottery Winnings

As the sharp scent of disinfectant pierced my nostrils like needles, I stood in the corridor on the second floor of the City Hospital. The corridor's tiles gleamed with a cold white light, sapping all warmth from the propaganda posters on the walls. Mother clenched two pathology reports tightly in her hands, her knuckles whitening from the strain, her voice trembling, out of tune: "Child's father, this illness... what are we to do?" Father lowered his head, his shoulders sagging slightly. His Adam's apple moved for a long moment before he forced out from his tight throat: "What else can we do? We take it slow, treat it slowly." That sentence was like a rusty key, heavy with years of dullness, suddenly prying open the floodgates of my memories. Scenes from my previous life surged forth—the pale face of my father upon his leukemia diagnosis, my mother's silent tears after learning she had uremia, the pages of dense medical records, and the astronomical treatment fees crushing us like unbearable numbers. Even clearer is the memory of clutching the crumpled medical records, standing before the mansion of the wealthy man Mike Young, and knocking on that heavy wooden door. The dull creak of the door hinge struck my heart like a blow, each sound dripping with humiliation. My name is Willow Lynn. I am twenty-two years old and a recent graduate of an ordinary city university. I should be wearing my graduation gown and taking photos three months from now, then finding a nine-to-five job to help make our family's life a little better. But now, fate feels like a merciless hand, forcibly pushing our family into an endless abyss. "Mom," I stepped forward and took my mother's icy hands in mine. I felt the uncontrollable trembling beneath my fingertips, and that tremor spread from my fingers deep into my heart. "Don't panic. We will find a way with the money. There is always hope." No sooner had the words fallen than a sharp, cheerful exclamation suddenly came from behind, the voice piercing like a needle, stinging the eardrums: "Dad, Mom! You really are ill! That's wonderful!" I whipped around and saw my sister, Whitney Lynn, holding the pathology report she had just snatched from Mother's hand; her eyes shone brightly, devoid of any worry, filled only with an excitement she could not conceal. Everyone walking in the corridor stopped in their tracks, all turning their eyes toward us at once, filled with astonishment and curiosity; those gazes pricked into us like tiny needles. Mother's face flushed red instantly, then quickly turned pale. Her voice was sharp, edged with disbelief: "Whitney, what nonsense are you talking about? What child would ever hope for their parents to fall ill?" Only then did Whitney realize her mistake. She quickly wiped the smile from her face and put on a coquettish expression instead. Linking arms with her mother, she gently shook her and said, "Mom, that's not what I meant! I just think that if someone falls ill, we can find a way to raise money for treatment! Don't worry, this time I'll make sure both of you stay healthy and strong!" She spoke, then turned to look at me, a barely perceptible cruelty flickering in her eyes—a gaze like a poisoned needle silently piercing through me: "Sister, this time don't you dare compete with me for the credit." I will find a way to cure Mom and Dad's illness. My heart suddenly sank, as if struck by a massive stone. In my previous life, Whitney Lynn was exactly like this, always believing that being the "Canary" meant living a spoiled and privileged life, never once seeing the grief and humiliation I endured behind the scenes. She used the money I painstakingly collected for Mom and Dad's treatment to buy luxury handbags and the newest phones, drove away the expert doctors I had arranged through connections, and in the end blamed Mom and Dad's deaths on me, accusing me of not doing my best. Even when I had completely lost faith in her and sought to leave Mike Young, she herself shoved me into a bathtub filled with chemical corpse fluid, watching me writhe in agony, her eyes shining with cruel satisfaction. Now, in this very form, it is evident that she has also been reborn. Indeed, the next moment Whitney Lynn came over, clasping my hand with an overly sweet voice, though beneath that sweetness lay cunning: "Sister, trust me—I have a way to get the money." Until I manage to gather the money, you must absolutely not try to earn it yourself, so you won't have to endure hardship. Her words seemed caring, but in truth, she feared I would rush to find Mike Young before her. In my previous life, it was because I was utterly desperate and had no other choice that I gritted my teeth and became Mike Young's canary — living every day under his mood swings, enduring his bad temper and disrespectful behavior. But in Whitney Lynn's eyes, I was the one who took a tremendous advantage — getting money without working, living a life of ease and comfort. Before I could speak, Father suddenly pulled me behind him, his brows tightly furrowed, the wrinkles on his forehead all knotted together: "Whitney, do whatever you want, just don't pay attention to your sister." You don't need to concern yourself with her affairs. Mother also nodded, her eyes full of worry and a lingering fear: "Yes, Willow, you must not do anything foolish." Even if we have to sell everything in the house, down to the last pot and iron, we will never have to beg anyone. I was stunned, unable to stop my lips from trembling, and my eyes immediately filled with tears. After my parents died in my previous life, I saw them countless times in my dreams, always holding my hand and earnestly telling me not to go to Mike Young anymore, urging me to live my life properly. But now, they have also been reborn. They still remember the matters of the previous life, still remember the suffering I endured. "Dad, Mom, you..." I opened my mouth, but my voice choked, tears falling uncontrollably. "Foolish child," Mother reached out and gently touched my face. The warmth of her fingertips passed through my skin and into my heart, making my nose sting and my tears fall even harder. "How could our whole family let you bear this burden alone?" We all remember the things from our previous life. In this life, no matter what, I will never let you suffer injustice again. Whitney Lynn was stunned by her parents' sudden change in attitude. She stood frozen, her smile stiffening, likely thinking her parents were only cold because they were ill and in a bad mood. She curled her lips, a trace of dissatisfaction in her voice: "Fine, then I'll figure it out on my own." Just wait, I'll bring back the money soon. After saying that, she turned and walked away. Her high heels clicked sharply against the smooth tile floor, the crisp and piercing sound trailing behind her like a declaration of her determination. Watching her retreating figure, I tightly grasped my mother's hand; the warmth in my palm gave me strength: "Mom, don't worry. This time, I won't let her destroy our family again."