The Impostor Son

My name is Larry Donovan. At forty, I was given a diagnosis of ALS. The day I received the report, the sky was gray and heavy, mirroring my mood—so burdened I could barely breathe. The doctor said the disease will gradually strip away my ability to move, and in the end, even breathing will become difficult. I did not cry; I simply sat on the hospital corridor bench, stunned for a long while. I am no ordinary man; years ago, I achieved financial freedom. The company under my control is valued at hundreds of billions, so the cost of treatment is no concern. But money can buy medicine; it cannot buy health, nor can it buy time. When I returned home, I told my wife Rosalind Jackson and my son Bruce Donovan about the diagnosis. Rosalind's eyes immediately reddened; she embraced me and cried, promising she would always stay by my side and care for me. Bruce Donovan had just started university. After hearing the news, he was silent for a long while before saying he wanted to take a leave of absence and return home. I disagreed, telling him that his studies were important and that having a caregiver by my side was sufficient. But he was adamant, insisting that I was his father and he had to come back to take care of me; no one could replace him. In the end, I couldn't argue with him and had to watch as he completed the leave of absence procedures. From that day on, Rosalind Jackson changed. She had once lived a life of privilege, never having to lift a finger with household chores. But now, she wakes up early every day to help me dress and wash. By the end, I couldn't even manage to use the bathroom on my own, yet Rosalind never showed the slightest disdain; she personally helped me clean myself. Whenever she did this, I was filled with guilt for making her suffer such indignity. But she always smiled and said that between husband and wife, supporting each other is only natural, and there is nothing to worry about. Bruce was the same—every day, he gave me massages and turned me over at scheduled times to prevent bedsores. His technique was very clumsy at first and often caused me pain, but he was patient, gradually improving and becoming more skillful over time. Watching them rush busily on my behalf, I felt both warmth and sorrow in my heart. I knew I couldn't simply sink into despair. By chance, I saw someone sharing their life through live broadcasts, helping many people in need. Suddenly, an idea struck me—I could start live broadcasting. I want to use live broadcasts to raise awareness of ALS, help people understand this disease, and hopefully contribute to ALS research. I shared this idea with Rosalind Jackson and Bruce Donovan, and both of them supported me. Thus, my live broadcast account "Larry Donovan, the Frozen Man" was launched. In every live broadcast, I shared with everyone the progression of my illness and the daily care Rosalind Jackson and Bruce Donovan gave me. Many internet users were moved by our story, following my account and sending words of encouragement. I also promised to donate all profits from the live broadcasts to ALS research institutions. Watching the encouraging messages scroll endlessly in the live chat and seeing the donation amounts gradually rise, I felt my life had regained meaning.