Ever since elementary school, my breakfast was always covered in plastic wrap. Beside it lay a worn-out note that said, "Sorry, please heat this up and eat it." By middle school, that note had turned into cash. We ate dinner together, but they always seemed so tired that we barely spoke. Every time I heard others talk about their parents, envy and loneliness tangled together inside me. —But there were moments of joy. When I caught a fever at school, they left work early just to rush to my side and worry over me. When I came home injured, they stopped preparing dinner immediately to give me first aid.

...Ah, I see. I finally figured it out. If I'm suffering, everyone pays attention to me, right? Look, I tripped and fell. Look, I'm hurt. So... you'll look at me, won't you?