The Unseen Sacrifice
Around me erupted the enemy's frenzied screams and the thunderous roar of gunfire; the shadow of death loomed over me like a black storm cloud.
I knew with little hope that I would survive this ordeal.
At this critical moment, life hanging by a thread, I shakily pulled out my phone and dialed home.
The instant the call connected, my mother's familiar voice came throughonly to be replaced by a fierce tirade:
"You unfilial son, not returning all these yearsdo you know how worried we've been? What exactly have you been doing out there?"
My heart clenched suddenly; I wanted to explain, but my throat felt choked, and no sound came out.
Then, my father's angry rebuke reached me: "Look at what you've become now."
"We supported your education because we wanted you to succeed, but you have only disappointed us."
Their words were like sharp blades, stabbing straight into my heart.
I parted my lips but could only manage a faint voice: "Dad, Mom, I..."
At that moment, my fiance, Helen Clark, spoke from the other end of the line; her tone was surprisingly steady.
"Darling, when will you come home? Our wedding hasn't taken place yet."
Hearing her voice, a flicker of tenderness illuminated my once lifeless eyes, my lips curling slightly as a faint smile appeared.
I knew this might be the last time I would ever hear her voice.
I smiled and answered, "Helen, I'm sorry. I may not be able to be with you for our wedding. You must take good care of yourself and find someone who loves you more than I do."
Tears welled up uncontrollably as memories of every moment we had shared flooded my mind. Those precious times flickered through my thoughts like a revolving lantern.
After hanging up the phone, I looked at the enemy before me, a wave of resolute determination rising within me.
I pressed the detonator button, and with a deafening explosion, flames shot into the sky; my body was torn apart.
In that moment, pain surged over me like a tidal wave, but it was soon replaced by a long-awaited release.
My soul seemed to break free from the shackles of flesh, finally finding freedom.
I slowly lifted my head, gazing at the clear blue sky, a tear tracing down the corner of my eye.
At last, I could go homeno longer bearing this heavy burden, no longer enduring endless pain and loneliness.
With a yearning for my family weighing on me, I flew toward my hometown, eager for our reunion, yet unaware of the cruel reality that awaited.
I returned to the homeland bearing the evidence; as the familiar land spread beneath my feet, I couldn't help but rush toward the place etched deeply in my memory.
Once, every inch of this land carried my footprints, every corner held the memories I shared with my family.
My heart soared with joy, convinced I would soon embrace my beloved family and feel once again their warm hold and tender eyes.
Yet, when I arrived at what had once been home, it was completely empty.
I searched everywhere, my eyes catching every possible corner, while a restless unease sprouted wildly within me like unchecked weeds.
At last, amid the bustling crowd, I spotted that familiar figureit was Mother.
But the Mother before me was nothing like the image frozen in my memory.
Her leg was crippled, every step a struggle; her body leaned slightly forward, as if bowed beneath life's unbearable weight.
She clutched the groceries, her steps faltering, appearing so helpless and small amid the crowd.
Suddenly, a sharp voice pierced the air: "Look, that's the murderer's mother!"
Immediately, those nearby cast strange, hostile glanceseyes brimming with disgust, disdain, and accusation.
My heart plunged, as if struck hard by a heavy hammer.
Before I could react, a stone flew and struck Mother's head with a heavy blow; her body wavered, nearly collapsing.
I was furious, wanting to rush forward, but found I couldn't reach those people; I could only watch helplessly as Mother endured it all.
Mother slowly raised her head, her eyes brimming with helplessness and sorrow. She said nothing, silently bearing it all.
At that moment, tears welled up and spilled over; my heart was filled with guilt and regret.
I never imagined that my choice would bring such suffering and humiliation upon Mother.
I followed Mother back to their current residencea dilapidated communal housing block; the corridor was dark and damp, suffused with a foul stench.
Compared to the Military District Compound where I once lived, this place was like night and day.
A sharp pang welled up in my heart; I wanted to do something for my parents, yet I was utterly powerless.
Walking into the room, my Father sat on the worn-out sofa, watching television.
The news on TV was reporting the eradication of the crime syndicate. Suddenly, Father slammed the table and shouted, "People like that deserve to die! Their deaths are well-earned!"
I knew he was talking about me.
My heart felt as if pierced by countless needles, aching so deeply I could barely breathe.
I was once the pride of my parents, the hope in their eyes; but now, I have become the cursed one in their words, the disgrace of this family.
Eight years ago, I graduated from medical school, standing at a crossroads in life, faced with many choices.
Back then, becoming a military doctor was widely seen as a good pathnot only offering stable work and benefits but also the chance to serve the country and the army, bringing honor to the family.
Alternatively, one could choose to study abroad, to learn more advanced medical theories and technologies, broaden one's horizons, and open up unlimited prospects for the future.
But deep in my heart, I have always nurtured a single dream to become a doctor with Doctors Without Borders.
I yearn to use my medical skills to aid those trapped amid war, disaster, and disease, no matter where they come from or what their backgrounds are. I am fully aware that, in many corners of the world, countless people continue to suffer.
They desperately need medical aid, and I wish to be the one to reach out and help them.
When I shared this dream with my parents, their faces were etched with surprise and concern.
Father frowned, speaking sternly, "Do you understand how dangerous Doctors Without Borders can be?"
"You could face war, disease, and countless unknown risks. How can we be at ease?"
Mother wiped away her tears beside me, urging, "Child, let's not take unnecessary risks. Wouldn't it be better to find a stable job here at home?"
Yet, my fiance Helen Clark stood firmly by my side.
She looked into my eyes, gentle yet resolute, and said, "I know this is your dream, and I support you."
"Wherever you go, I will wait for your return."
As she spoke, she took out a ring and gently slipped it onto my fingera token of our love and her promise to me.
With Helen Clark's unwavering support, I resolutely set out to become a member of Doctors Without Borders.
That journey spanned eight long years.
Over those eight years, I endured countless life-and-death ordeals and witnessed unbearable human suffering, yet I never once regretted my choice.
Each time I successfully saved a life, each time I saw hope rekindle in a patient's eyes, I knew my sacrifice was justified.
But now, I find myself trapped in utter despair.
I am on a secret mission, infiltrating the heart of a Crime Syndicate.
This Crime Syndicate is merciless, their reach twisted and far-reaching; one wrong move and you fall into an abyss from which there is no return.
I know full well that I could be exposed at any moment. Once exposed, not only is my life forfeit, but my family and loved ones will be dragged down with me.
To protect them, I made a painful choice to part ways with Helen Clark.
I dialed her number, my hand gripping the phone tightly, knuckles pale from the strain.
Once the call connected, I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to sound calm:
"Helen, let's break up. I've met someone I like here. I don't love you anymore."
On the other end, Helen Clark was silent for a long moment, then softly asked, "Why? Did I do something wrong?"
Her voice trembled; I could almost see the tears streaming down her face.
My heart felt as if it was being twisted by a knife, but I clenched my teeth and said, "There's no reason. I just don't love you anymore. Forget about me."
After I finished speaking, I hung up the phone, tears streaming uncontrollably down my face.
But I knew that was still not enough.
To make Helen Clark give up completely, and to keep my family from being dragged into this because of me, I staged a false scene for her to witnessmaking it appear as if I were betraying my own people.
I knew this would make her hate me, bring shame to my family, but I had no other choice.
When Helen Clark saw that scene with her own eyes, she completely broke down.
She couldn't believe that the man who once vowed to protect her and save the world could do something like that.
She rushed at me, demanding why, and all I could do was cruelly insult her, even severing her ring fingerthe very finger that bore our love ring.
After she was savagely beaten, Helen Clark fled home in tears.
Since then, she has come to despise me utterly.
She told my parents everything she had witnessed and heard. When Father found out, he was seething with anger; he could not accept that his son had become such a man.
He turned himself in, hoping to bear the responsibility for the crimes I had committed, and because of this, I became the family's disgrace.
After Father returned home, he locked himself in his room, not coming out for three whole days and nights.
Mother wept and begged outside the door, but Father was like a lost soul, offering no response.
At last, on the fourth day, Father stepped out of the room.
His face bore the marks of exhaustion and despair, his eyes bloodshot, and his hair wild and unkempt.
He went straight to the photo albums in the living room, took all the photos of me, and cut each one out, one by one.
With every photo he cut, it was as if he severed the blood tie between us.
Shortly after, Father published a statement in the newspaper, formally severing all paternal ties with me.
When Mother saw that glaring statement in the newspaper, she utterly broke down, collapsing to the floor and crying out loud.
She could not comprehend how a family once so close could come to this.
Yet Father's actions did nothing to improve our family's situation.
On the contrary, the people around us grew even more hostile.
They whispered behind our backs, verbally abusing and mocking Father, who endured endless humiliation because of my crimes.
He could no longer endure such a life; helpless, he had no choice but to move his mother out of the once-glorious Military District Compound and into this dilapidated Communal Housing Block.
His mother's mental state deteriorated increasingly; she wept day and night, her eyes filled with confusion and despair.
She could not accept the fact that I had become a "criminal," nor could she bear the discrimination and insults from those around us.
One day, on the way home, my mother was confronted and surrounded by the victims' relatives.
They beat Mother with fists and kicks, even breaking one of her legs.
Mother collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain, yet no one was willing to offer help.
Since then, Mother became mentally withdrawn, often sitting alone in a corner, lost in thought.
Her heart was burdened with guilt and pain, believing it was her failure to raise me properly that caused this tragedy.
Finally, on a quiet, late night, Mother took advantage of Father's deep sleep to quietly climb onto the rooftop, intending to end her life.
Fortunately, Father noticed Mother's distress just in time.
He dashed up to the rooftop and, at the very moment Mother was about to jump, he caught her tightly in his arms.
Father wept as he said to Mother, "Don't do anything reckless. We cannot just give up like this. For the sake of the children, we must live on with strength."
Only after Father's desperate pleas did Mother finally abandon her thoughts of suicide.
Just as our family was sinking into despair, Nolan Chandler appeared.
He had been Father's student before, and upon learning of our family's crisis, he came to us without a moment's hesitation.
Nolan Chandler gazed upon the broken family before him, his heart heavy with sympathy and tenderness.
He knelt before his parents, tears streaming down, and said, "Uncle, Aunt, I know you are suffering and feel utterly helpless."
"Let me take his place in caring for you; I am willing to support you through your old age and until the very end."
My parents looked at this kindhearted boy before them, a warmth swelling in their hearts.
They never imagined that, at such a moment, someone would still be willing to extend a helping hand.
From that moment on, Nolan Chandler moved into our home and cared for my parents as if he were their own son.
Each day, he rises early to prepare breakfast for my parents; at night, he sits with them, talking and soothing their wounded hearts.
Under Nolan Chandler's attentive care, my parents' physical and mental states steadily improved.
They began to feel the warmth and hope of life once again, gradually stepping out from the shadows of their pain.
Day after day, with Nolan Chandler by their side, my parents' lives slowly found peace.
Though the scars of the past still loomed over them like a dark cloud, they fought to start anew.
That day, Helen Clark came to visit my parents as she always did.
Since learning of my parents' suffering, her heart has been burdened with guilt and self-reproach.
Though once deeply wounded by me, she still cannot relinquish her concern for my parents.
She often brings daily necessities and nutritional supplements to see them, sits with them in conversation, and helps with household chores.
At night, we all gathered around the worn dining table, sharing a simple meal.
The dim, yellowish light fell upon each weary face, each striving to smile through their exhaustion.
Nolan Chandler thoughtfully served food to my parents, while Helen Clark kept asking about their health.
Though the atmosphere was somewhat heavy, there was also a rare thread of warmth.
Yet, this warmth did not last for long.
In the dead of night, a sharp, acrid smoke suddenly began to spread.
Helen Clark was abruptly awakened from her sleep; keenly sensing danger, she sprang out of bed and shouted, "Fire! Wake up!"
My parents were also roused, sitting up in panic.
At that moment, the fire was spreading rapidly; thick smoke rolled out, choking the air until it was almost impossible to breathe.
Shouts and footsteps rang out in the stairwella scene of utter chaos.
Helen Clark dashed forward without hesitation, lifting her immobile mother, and anxiously said to her father, "Uncle, let's get out of here quickly!"
Their father gazed at the surrounding flames, despair filling his heart, yet he forced down his fear and followed Helen Clark toward the door.
But when they reached the doorway, they found it blocked by the raging firethere was simply no way out.
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