After Aunt Suhei's party, the family felt renewed hope. They had collected a little more money, enough to keep trying. But the next morning, Miss Shu awoke to the cold truth that they were still far from saving both her husband and son. The responsibility pressed down on her, harder than ever.
Miss Shu was a proud woman; she never liked asking for help. But love for her family made her strong. She knew she must do whatever was needed. Early each morning, Miss Shu dressed warmly, put on her thin shoes, and walked for miles through the busy city streets looking for work.
She started with the cleaning company. It wasn't glamorous, but it paid a few coins for every night spent mopping floors, scrubbing windows, and emptying trash bins in office buildings after everyone left. Some nights, she finished so late that she had to take a nap sitting in a corner before starting the long walk home. She never complained. At the end of each week, she counted her pay, folded it neatly, and placed it in a small jar hidden at the back of the kitchen cupboard.
But cleaning was only one of her jobs. She also worked for a tailor, sewing buttons onto shirts and stitching simple patterns into fabric. Her eyes ached from the poor light, her fingers grew rough and red, but she worked with quiet pride. The tailor sometimes offered her tea and a small meal, which she gratefully accepted.
When jobs were not enough, Miss Shu took on heavier tasks. She helped a neighbor carry laundry to the river, washed and hung the clothes, and returned them folded and neat. Sometimes she babysat children, calming noisy babies while their mothers went to market. Other days, she delivered letters or ran errands for older people in their apartment building.
Each small job meant another coin for her jar. She kept a notebook and wrote every amount down, making lists late at night and calculating how close they were to reaching the surgery cost. The gap was wide and frightening, but Miss Shu believed every little bit counted.
Goo saw how hard his mother worked. Sometimes he came home late from school and found her asleep at the kitchen table, a pen still in her hand. Goo covered her with a blanket and wished he were old enough to take some of her burden away.
Yang tried to help too. He made simple drawings and offered them to neighbors for small change. Some gave him coins out of kindness; others admired his art and gave him fruit or bread in return. Yang didn't mind—each small gift helped stretch their food supply.
Miss Shu's husband felt guilty, knowing she was working herself thin for his and Yang's sake. He tried to help at home, fixing broken chairs or wiping the windows when he was able, but his illness made even simple tasks difficult. He sat by the window and watched his wife come and go, feeling a mix of gratitude and sorrow.
During these days, the family's pain ran deep. Miss Shu tried to hide her tiredness. She smiled for Yang and Goo, praised her husband for being strong, and told herself she could keep going until both her boys were healed.
But one evening, as she scrubbed a set of office floors, Miss Shu grew dizzy and lost her balance. The world spun, and for a moment she thought she might fall. She caught herself on a table, breathed slowly, and waited for the shaking to pass. She wondered if she was getting sick too, and felt a flash of fear—who would care for her children if she collapsed?
She didn't give in. When dawn came, Miss Shu returned home, made breakfast, washed her face, and went right back to work. She refused to let anyone know how weak she was beginning to feel.
Meanwhile, Goo noticed changes in Yang. His younger brother slept more and complained that his stomach hurt. Sometimes Yang whispered that he was scared he might never get better. Goo did his best to comfort him, teasing him gently and making silly faces to distract from the pain.
After dinner one night, Yang coughed hard. He looked at Goo and said, "Do you think Mom is tired of taking care of us?"
Goo shook his head. "No. Mom loves us more than anything. That's why she's working so much. She wants us to be well."
Yang nodded, but the worry stayed in his eyes.
Outside, the city was full of noise and bright lights. Inside, the family lived quietly, fighting battles the world could not see.
One afternoon, Miss Shu's neighbor came to visit. Mrs. Lin brought good news: her cousin needed someone to clean rooms in a large hotel for a week.
"It's hard work," Mrs. Lin warned. "Lots of dirty rooms. And the guests can be rude. But the pay is fair."
Miss Shu agreed, desperate for any extra coins. The hotel was large, with endless hallways, beds to make, and floors to sweep. Some days, guests left trash everywhere, and Miss Shu worked long hours with aching arms. Sometimes, she heard guests complain to the manager. One woman shouted at Miss Shu, blaming her for a dirty towel that wasn't her fault.
Miss Shu apologized politely, cleaned up the mess, and moved on. She swallowed her pride, knowing each day earned her family another step closer to hope.
One evening, while she was changing the sheets in a guest's room, she overheard a conversation about selling diamonds and expensive watches. The guests talked about how much money a single bracelet could earn, and Miss Shu's mind spun—she had sold her own wedding ring for barely anything. Yet for others, jewels were just a passing fancy.
She left the hotel that night feeling both sad and angry, realizing how unfair the world was.
At home, the children noticed something different. Miss Shu's hands shook as she carried the soup pot, and she spoke less. Goo sat beside her one night and asked, "Mom, are you okay?"
Miss Shu forced a smile. "I am fine, Goo. Just a little tired."
Goo nodded, not wanting to push. Inside, he worried for her health. Later, he spoke with Yang, telling him to help more with chores so their mother could rest.
As the family worked together, news came from Aunt Suhei. She had found a friend willing to lend a little money. Miss Shu, grateful but proud, accepted only what she needed. Other relatives sent more coins and small gifts, their support lifting the family's spirits.
Time passed, and slowly, the jar in the kitchen began to fill. Still, it was far from enough for two surgeries. Goo began searching for part-time work after school, cleaning shop fronts and carrying packages for merchants. Yang kept up his drawings and odd jobs. The boys grew closer, helping their mother and father, promising each other never to let Miss Shu give up.
One Sunday, as the family ate a simple meal of rice and vegetables, the phone rang. It was the hospital. The doctor's voice was serious.
"You must decide soon," he told Miss Shu. "Your husband and son both need surgery. We cannot wait much longer."
Miss Shu thanked the doctor and hung up, her heart racing. She called Goo and Yang to the table and shared the news.
Goo looked at Yang. "If only one of us can get the surgery first, I think it should be Yang. He's younger."
Yang shook his head, tears in his eyes. "No, Goo. You've worked harder, and you're sicker. Let Mom decide."
The father listened, his face shadowed with worry.
Miss Shu closed her eyes, holding her children's hands. "No matter what happens, we face it together."
They sat in silence, feeling scared. But after a minute, Goo smiled weakly and joked, "Maybe we can convince Dad's old boss to pay for both of us."
Yang smiled too, wiping his eyes. The humor brought some relief, and the family sat together longer, talking quietly through their fears.
Later, Miss Shu called her own mother, hoping for advice. Her mother reminded her that family must stick together through the hard times, and that love could reach further than any coins or salary.
Miss Shu stayed up late that night, writing lists, thinking about how much each person had given. She wondered if she could sell more—toys, old clothes, maybe even some furniture. She was desperate for more money, but also afraid of losing everything important.
One morning, after a long night of work, Miss Shu collapsed onto the sofa, her body beyond tired. Yang found her there and covered her with a blanket, whispering, "Thank you, Mom."
Later, Goo joined them and made tea for his mother, telling her funny stories from school to make her smile.
Miss Shu recovered slowly, but never lost her spirit. Day after day, she kept working, finding strength in her children's laughter, her husband's gentle support, and the hope that soon, something would change.
The struggle was far from over, but the family faced it together, each small kindness building a wall against despair. Even when Miss Shu's health grew weak, she refused to stop fighting for her boys.
Her secret pain—the aching in her body, the emptiness left by worry—was hidden behind smiles and gentle words. The children saw it sometimes and tried their best to help, cleaning more, listening closely, offering hugs whenever she looked sad.