I tried my best to give her a safety net in life.
And in the end, she grew up to be just like her father—opportunistic, ungrateful, and heartless.
“I’ll process your school withdrawal,” I said calmly. “If you ever regret it, at least the option to go back will still be there.”
Madison’s eyes lit up instantly.
“Really?” She stared at me in disbelief. “You’re seriously agreeing to it?”
I nodded. “I told you yesterday—I won’t interfere with your life anymore. Do whatever you want.”
Whatever uncertainty she felt was quickly drowned in the thrill of skipping school.
“Just wait,” she said proudly. “Once I make it big as a streamer, the family genealogy will need a whole new page just for me.”
From that day forward, Madison became increasingly reckless.
She livestreamed from home, battled others online for “PK” wins, and kept the house noisy until 3 or 4 a.m. most nights.
The neighbors filed complaints, and soon called the police.
However, nothing worked—she was belligerent and shameless, never afraid of anyone.
I was beyond exhausted. I started coming home only once every few days.
One evening, I opened the door and saw Madison filming a video with some tattooed punk.
My face darkened uncontrollably.
“Mom... Why are you home?” she stuttered.
I swallowed my anger, but in the end, I couldn’t hold back.
“Madison, since when can just anyone walk into our home? Do you even care about self-respect? You’re still just a kid!”
The faint guilt in her eyes disappeared in an instant.
Annoyed, she snapped back, “Here we go again—classic parental control issues.”
She raised her wrist and showed off a bra strap tied like a bracelet.
“He’s not just anyone. He’s my boyfriend. This is our token of love.”
I clenched my fists. I nearly slapped her right then and there.
“You’re still too young to get involved in—”
“Ahh! Mom! Are you trying to force me to kill myself again?!”
Before I could finish, she shrieked at the top of her lungs.
Then, from her pocket, she pulled out a small knife and pointed it at her own wrist.
Her eyes were wide, her face twisted in fury.
My throat closed up. I couldn’t get a single word out.
“Move! Why are you blocking the door? You smell like old people!”
She shoved past me and stormed out with that deranged punk in tow.
In my hand, I was still holding the newly approved job transfer form.
I’d come home today to tell her that I’d accepted a new position—one that involved frequent travel.
I wouldn’t be home often and wanted to let her know she’d have to start taking care of herself.
Now it seemed pointless.
I packed my things and left her a note.
[I’ll continue transferring your monthly allowance to your account. That’s all you’ll get—no more.]
For the next two months, things were quiet.
But then Madison started asking for more money. Constantly.
Text messages, phone calls, even pestering her grandparents.
Eventually, I had no choice but to block all her contact methods.
Then one day, an old colleague called me repeatedly, followed by a stream of urgent texts and a livestream link.
“Emily, you need to see this—Is this your daughter?!”
I tapped on the link.
There she was—Madison.
But not the way I remember.
She wore a school uniform. No makeup. Her expression was innocent, almost sweet—like the well-behaved girl she used to be.
But the words coming out of her mouth were lies.
“My mom abandoned me. I only started livestreaming to survive.”
“I’ve never met my dad. Grandma told me it’s because Mom wouldn’t let him see me. I’ve never felt a father’s love...”
“She wouldn’t let me go to school either, and said girls are a waste of money. I haven’t even had a full meal in days... Please, everyone, help me...”
Her eyes filled with tears as she repeated her fabricated lines.
The livestream comments exploded with outrage.
[She gave birth but didn’t raise her—what kind of mother is this?]
[Total scum. A disgrace to society.]
