“What?” My daughter’s voice rose. “Dad, you’re heartless! You’d rather let your grandson die than help?”
My son-in-law piled on, his voice cracking. “He’s twelve! How can you just watch him suffer? And that house—you owe us a share.”
They shouted loud enough to draw the attention of everyone in the office.
“When have I ever refused to help you?” I clenched my fists. “But now the house is mortgaged, my bank account is empty, and the bank claims I’ve been paying a thirty-year loan I knew nothing about. I can’t even afford your mother’s medical bills.”
Bang! My daughter slammed her teacup down, her tone icy. “If you don’t want to help, just say so. Stop playing the victim. My brother and I took out loans to buy that house—you never spent a penny. How could you even have a mortgage? And with your pension and Mom’s combined, you can’t possibly be broke.”
My son-in-law’s eyes filled with tears. “Dad, I’m begging you. Save your grandson.”
The murmurs around the office turned into open criticism.
“What kind of man wouldn’t pay for his wife’s surgery or his grandson’s life?”
“If you don’t want to pay, you could at least mortgage the house, right? After all, you didn’t buy it yourself.”
“Why do people get more heartless with age?”
Their words hit like stones. The scene was painfully familiar—an echo of the cyberbullying from my past life. My chest tightened, my hands trembled.
It didn’t matter what I said—my daughter and son-in-law would twist my words into lies.
“Mr. Harry isn’t that kind of person,” Vivienne stepped in to defend me.
But her voice was immediately drowned out. My daughter narrowed her eyes. “Did you scam my dad out of his money?”
Gasps rippled through the office.
“Don’t talk nonsense!” I shot back. “She’s already returned every cent I ever gave her. How could she possibly take my money?”
I wanted to protect Vivienne from the mob, but my daughter’s voice rose again. “Dad, she’s bewitched you!”
The door burst open. My son strode in, shoving his wife inside. “Little sister, you’ve got three million followers online—let’s expose her today!”
At once, my daughter whipped out her phone, pointing the camera at us. “Dad, stop pretending. If people start insulting you online, that’s your problem.”
“You…” My fists clenched. My eyes burned. I tilted my head toward the ceiling. “What sin have I committed to raise such heartless children?”
I’d braced myself for this moment, but reliving it still stabbed deep. Decades of raising them alone, only for them to turn into my executioners—this time, not just online, but in front of strangers.
The livestream went live. My son started his performance. “This man is my dad. When my sister and I returned from studying abroad, we didn’t have much money, so we took out a loan to buy him a luxury retirement home. And now? My mom’s sick, my nephew’s in a car accident, my business failed, I’m drowning in debt. We’re desperate. All we asked was for him to sell the house to help us out. We’d buy him another one later. But he refuses. What kind of father does that?”
Tears streamed down his face.
The comments exploded—insults pouring in faster than I could read.
