As the doctor said yesterday, today would be my final check-up before being allowed to go home. The morning light filtered through the curtains, illuminating almost the entire room—it was proof that all of this wasn't just a dream.
Back when I worked at a store owned by a Chinese man, I spoke with An elderly man once. He told me, "If, before death comes, you manage to do good—even something as small as a peanut—then in your next life, that kindness will be repaid."
Death is something that no one can escape. When that moment arrives, all you can do is accept it quietly.
Perhaps this peaceful life I have now, is the reward I was given.
My legs still feel weak, leaving me no choice but to sit on the bed. For breakfast this time, my meal is finally a bit different—there's chicken meat! Even though it's only been a day without eating any meat, for some reason, it feels like five whole months have passed. To think that just a day before I died, I even managed to eat some beef, though it was cheap in quality.
***
My body felt a little stronger after eating some meat. After finishing breakfast, my father tidied up the table and put it back in its place. All I could do now was wait for the doctor to arrive for the final check-up.
Not long after, the doctor came in. He examined a few things while jotting down notes on my medical record.
After a brief check, he removed the IV from my hand and said,
"This is beyond my expectations. Your recovery is much faster than most patients, this is good progress," he said with a satisfied tone.
"In a few more follow-ups, you might fully recover. But for now, don't push yourself. Get plenty of rest, don't skip your meals, and remember to take your medicine on time."
I nodded slightly, showing that I understood everything he said.
After that, the doctor stepped outside to talk with my father.
I couldn't hear what they were discussing, so I just waited while changing into the clothes my father had prepared.
A few minutes later, he came back in and began packing my personal belongings into a bag.
"You're allowed to go home today," he said. "But the doctor advised you to use a wheelchair for now. Walking too much might slow down your recovery."
"Alright, Dad. I'll use the wheelchair when we go home later," I replied softly.
After picking up the prescription from the doctor, I sat in the wheelchair while my father pushed me toward the hospital pharmacy to collect the medicine.
A few minutes later, we left the hospital building and got into the taxi my father had booked earlier.
The car began to move slowly, leaving the place behind us.
***
After half an hour of traveling, the taxi we were in finally stopped in front of a modest cream-colored house with a shiny black roof. The yard was covered with neatly trimmed grass, and in front of the house stood a low fence, about waist-high, painted in the same color as the walls.
All of this looked incredibly luxurious to me. A peaceful home, pleasing to the eyes, radiating a calm atmosphere—as if anyone living here would feel motivated to face life in the real world.
With the faint creak of the wheelchair I was sitting in, Father pushed me along a small gravel path, its uneven surface making the wheels tremble slightly every time we passed over a small stone.
When we arrived at the front door, Father opened it slowly. Through the narrow gap, I caught sight of a simple yet cozy living room—there was a long sofa and a small chair beside it, both looking clean and soft, as if inviting anyone to sit down and rest there.
"Welcome home," Father said with a gentle smile.
"Even though this house is simple, I hope you'll feel comfortable living here. For now, all you need to do is rest and take your medicine regularly," he continued, pushing my wheelchair toward the room located at the back of the living area.
When we reached a door painted in dark brown, Father turned the knob slowly and opened it. The moment the door swung open, I was slightly mesmerized by the room that would be mine from now on.
It was a bit more spacious than I had expected. The walls were painted gray, matching the ceramic floor that was mostly covered by a soft black carpet. A bed with gray sheets was placed against the wall—looking so soft and comfortable that anyone who lay on it might instantly fall asleep and refuse to wake up until the end of time. Beside the bed stood a long white desk. On top of it were an unlit bedside lamp and several framed family photos. One photo showed me, Father, and my late older brother. Another was a portrait of my mother with her long, straight black hair—she looked stunningly beautiful in that picture.
Right above the bed, a window with dark-colored curtains was half-drawn, letting a soft beam of daylight spill into the room and brighten the space.
I found myself comparing it to the room I used to live in during my previous life. The difference was enormous. All I could say now was that I had no desire to return to who I was before. Even if I had to choose between going back or dying, I would rather die and forget everything.
After taking a moment to look around, Father carefully helped me move from the wheelchair onto the bed.
"If you need anything, you can call me. I'll be going out for a bit to restock some groceries in the fridge. Here's a phone I just bought—use it whenever you feel bored," he said, taking a phone out of his pocket and handing it to me.
"Thank you, Dad," I said softly. "I'll take good care of it."
Father nodded with a faint smile on his face, as if relieved by my answer. After making sure his son was sitting comfortably on the bed, he stepped outside and quietly closed the door behind him.