Smiling, I greeted my parents good morning. They grunted a ‘morning’ back to me before telling my sister to eat her breakfast. I poured myself a bowl of cheerios and tried to be as bright as possible. They didn’t need to know I was dying. Waving, I ran to my friends at school, excited to see them one last time. They told me about some random guy who added them on Snapchat then went to class. I was happy their lives were so simple. They didn’t need to know I was dying. Fiddling with my hair, I chatted to my crush, hiding my feelings as I always did. They politely replied before turning to their friends again. A part of me had hoped they would tell me they liked me. I wanted to get a happily ever after before I disappeared. At least they would get their happily ever after someday. They didn’t need to know I was dying. When I got home, I made tea for my brother and sister and tried to talk to them about their day. Neither of them bothered to look up from their iPads at me. A part of me was upset they didn’t care, the other glad they were happy and don’t know what was going on. They didn’t need to know I was dying. I texted my online friend, hoping to have a chat with them. They replied to my message to say they were busy. They had piano practice. Life would still continue without me, so I guessed music practice was important. They didn’t need to know I was dying. That night, I lay in my bed for the final time, my teddy bears surrounding me. I knew they would listen to my plead for life, my desperate attempt to live my life before it was taken. So I finally whispered the dreadful truth: “I’m dying.”