My CEO mom said boys could only grow up through hardship, so she sent me to Gaza to toughen me up.
When war broke out there, I lost an arm in an explosion. I asked her for 5,000 yuan for a flight home to get treatment, and she flew into a rage:
“I’ve spoiled you too much. You can’t take the slightest bit of hardship.”
“It’s just an arm. At least you weren’t blown to pieces.”
“You think five thousand yuan grows on trees? You can’t just ask for it whenever you want.”
“I work hard to earn money, not so you can cling to me and suck me dry.”
In the end, I only made it back to China with help from the embassy.
The day my infected wound nearly killed me, my cousin posted a photo from the hospital.
“I only scraped my skin a little, and Mom was so worried she chartered a plane to take me abroad for treatment. I’m so touched.”
The charter flight he showed off had cost over a million yuan.
I didn’t cry or make a fuss. I just left a comment:
“If you like it so much, you can have it. What can I say? You’ve got a mother who gave birth to you, but no mother who raised you.”
