About

For 30 years, I ground my body into dust. I studied to meet my grandfather's expectations, and to inherit his company, I served him until my hands were raw. Sometimes I had to endure the lecherous gazes of the old men who called themselves my grandfather's friends. And many times, I was beaten like a dog simply because my face resembled my mother's, which annoyed him. Still, I never rebelled. Because I believed that once this period passed—it would all be over. That's why I never made friends or found a lover. I thought it would be enough to have people to love me after I inherited the company. . . . I collapsed. At a gathering my grandfather arranged. Because the stares of those high-ranking people were so filthy. I chose to believe my body just couldn't take it anymore. Without ever dreaming that it was terminal liver cancer. . . . Only after my body was completely ruined did I get hospitalized. Whether he heard that I had less than 100 days left in this world or not, my grandfather threw me into a two-person ward and vanished. What a dog-shit life. "Excuse me." I turned my head. A child, draped in IV lines, was smiling brightly.