{Heyyo! Suicidal thoughts ahead, a little heads up to prepare}
He thought of Junning's voice note, too cheerful to be true.
Of Xiaohe's message: there's a clinic fee. Sorry. It's okay if you can't.
Of his mother's face, serene in a way that had nothing to do with peace.
There was no door.
Only the hand on his wrist.
Only the money he could not stop needing.
Why?
Why does the world take and take until breathing itself becomes a conscious act?
He had done what was asked of him. He had held his family together with bleeding hands.
And still it came. Still it asked for more.
Where was the pause?
Where was the voice that said, enough. Let him breathe.
He had no faith.
Faith was for people who still had something left to spend.
But desperation makes philosophers of us all.
He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, as if he could push the seeing out of himself. When the crying thinned to something dry and hollow, he let his hands fall.
