Early in the morning, Lihua received a call from her younger sister, Hongmei, in New York.
Her voice was unusually calm—so calm it made Lihua uneasy. Hongmei said she would need to be hospitalized for surgery. A few years earlier, she had undergone breast cancer surgery. This time, it was a glioma in her brain.
After the call, Lihua sat there, a heaviness pressing against her chest, almost making it hard to breathe.
After breakfast, she took the children to school and kindergarten, then went to her mother's home. She told her that she would be away on a business trip next month and asked her to help take care of the three children. The tickets had already been booked.
She didn't tell her the truth.
The last time Hongmei had surgery, their mother had nearly been crushed by anxiety. Their father had just passed away then, and Lihua still remembered that helplessness and fear vividly. This time, she chose to carry it herself.
Hongmei had always been the most cherished child in the family, two years younger than Lihua.
Lihua took after their father—square-faced, single-lidded eyes, tall and lean, composed and restrained.
Hongmei resembled their mother—delicate, lively, naturally radiant. She loved dancing, painting, everything expressive. She seemed born with a kind of light.
Her ex-husband, Weimin, had been Lihua's university classmate—a campus heartthrob. Hongmei met him when she visited Lihua at school, fell in love at first sight, and pursued him relentlessly. They eventually married. Later, Weimin was sent to the United States, and Hongmei followed as a dependent.
No one expected that fate would quietly turn on a train.
That day, she met Michael.
Gray, slightly wavy hair. Sitting across from her, reading in silence. To Hongmei, he looked strikingly like the man she had always admired.
When Michael got off the train, Hongmei—though not yet at her stop—followed him off, almost without thinking.
They met again. At the time, Michael had recently divorced. He was more than ten years older.
Later, Hongmei divorced as well, choosing to be with him.
Lihua had opposed it firmly. Their mother had been even more upset. No one in the family supported the relationship.
But nothing had ever shaken Hongmei's resolve.
She had always been that way—once she decided, she never turned back.
And now—
Lihua sat in a quiet room, suddenly realizing that the sister who had always been loved, always fearless in chasing love and freedom, was now facing a life-altering surgery.
Worry and tenderness intertwined.
No matter the past disagreements, blood and attachment had never truly faded.
—
That morning, the showerhead in Sabrina's bathroom malfunctioned. She called the building management.
Just the week before, she and William had been discussing whether to buy an apartment they liked in Midtown. The property management there was far better than their current rental. The gym was larger, and there was a swimming pool.
Sabrina had once considered selling the small apartment her mother had bought for her during her university years, and then purchasing a larger place together with William. The one they were looking at was just the right size—close to both her office and William's law firm.
While brushing her teeth, the residue of last night's dream lingered.
The anxiety remained—
Lihua worrying about her sister's condition.
Worrying that the children might go near the pond again.
It hadn't fully faded.
Her phone buzzed.
Jason.
He said he would take the morning off and come in during the afternoon.
She scrolled back to his message from the night before.
He wanted to resign by the end of the month.
He was dissatisfied with the current work allocation. The project he shared with Susan wasn't progressing well. Susan rejected his proposed changes—especially to the kitchen, master bathroom, lighting, and materials.
A wave of irritation rose in Sabrina.
Jason was the strongest member of the team.
If he left, the impact would be immediate.
Susan had solid training but outdated design instincts. The younger members lacked experience. One was hired through connections.
In reality, Jason was the only one she could rely on.
And now he wanted to leave.
Anxiety settled in.
—
Hongmei lay in the hospital bed, her head wrapped in thick bandages. Her face was swollen, almost unrecognizable.
Her small body curled slightly, fragile.
Lihua couldn't hold back her tears.
Hongmei opened her eyes faintly, lifted her hand—still attached to an IV—trying to wipe away her sister's tears.
As a child, Hongmei had cried easily.
Lihua rarely did.
Now—
The once delicate, tearful girl lay there without a single tear.
Was it that everyone was given a fixed measure of tears in life?
If you used them up early—
there would be none left later?
In the days around the surgery, Lihua never saw fear in her sister.
Instead, it was she who couldn't stop crying.
—
That evening, Sabrina received a video call from her mother.
First, birthday wishes.
Then, inevitably, the conversation turned.
"Are you still taking the injections? Any signs?"
"If it's not working, maybe you should consider freezing your eggs. At your age, it only gets harder."
The tone wasn't harsh.
But the concern was unmistakable.
After the call, a quiet irritation surfaced.
Almost every conversation ended the same way.
A loop.
William's parents were traditional, but since his brother already had children, there was no pressure on them.
William himself seemed calm about it—almost indifferent.
And in truth—
they weren't ready.
Their lives were busy. They hadn't chosen that responsibility yet.
Still—
the phrase freezing eggs lingered.
Not impossible.
Maybe something to discuss with William when he returned.
Not for her mother—
for themselves.
But not now.
The dreams.
The work.
The pressure.
Everything layered, pressing down.
She just wanted stillness.
Some questions needed quiet to be faced.
—
New York at night was calm.
Sabrina set her phone down.
The screen went dark.
The room felt suddenly empty.
Freezing eggs.
Brain tumor.
Three children.
A strange thought surfaced—
In her dreams, Lihua had never hesitated about having children.
They simply came.
First Tingting.
Then the twins.
Life placed responsibility in front of her.
She had no choice.
But in reality—
Sabrina did.
To have children or not.
To freeze her eggs or not.
To buy an apartment or not.
To keep Jason or not.
To be firm with Susan or not.
And sometimes—
the more choices one has,
the harder it becomes to choose.