I Spent My Mother’s Surgery Money on New Year’s

On New Year’s Eve, my mother was in a car accident on the highway.

When she was rushed to the hospital, the doctors said she needed immediate surgery, but I refused to pay for it.

The next day, my father, John Mitchell, showed up at the entrance of my company. He dropped to his knees on the cold pavement, his voice trembling as he pleaded, “Kelsey, you’ve earned millions from your business! Why won’t you pay just a few tens of thousands for your mother?”

Onlookers gathered quickly, their whispers turning into murmurs of judgment.

"How could she act like this as a daughter?" one person said. "Someone needs to call her out online for this ungrateful behavior!"

The situation caused such a commotion that videos of the incident started circulating on social media.

Later, when my mother passed away after failing to get the surgery she needed, the story even trended online.

But I stayed indifferent.

——

“Please, Kelsey, I’m begging you!” my father cried, his voice cracking. “If this keeps getting delayed, your mom won’t survive without the surgery!”

Tears streamed down his face as he bit his lip and knelt before me. He looked frail, smaller than I remembered.

“Kelsey, you run such a big company. You earn so much money. Why won’t you even pay a few tens of thousands to save her?”

I frowned, waving for the security guards to intervene. “Are you trying to make a scene? If you don’t leave now, I’ll call the police.”

Bystanders stared at us, their expressions a mixture of pity and outrage.

“Look at her,” someone muttered. “A big boss, yet her mother is lying in the hospital, and she won’t even pay for the surgery.”

“Heartless! How can someone like her run a business?”

Hearing the crowd’s support, my father’s resolve strengthened. He struggled against the guards and continued shouting, his voice breaking.

“Kelsey, I’m not asking for much—just for you to save your mother! How can you stand there, letting her die without doing anything?”

His cries grew more desperate, raw with emotion. Even though some of my employees stopped to watch, their sympathetic glances needled me like daggers.

I clicked my tongue, impatient. “I’ve told you countless times—I won’t give a single cent. Whether she lives or dies, what does that have to do with me?”

The words landed like a slap. My father stared at me, stunned, his lips trembling.

“Your mother and I worked so hard to raise you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And now we’ve raised an ungrateful wretch?”

His knees gave out, and he crumpled to the ground. The onlookers rushed to help him up, their scolding voices mixing with his sobs.

I looked down at him, my expression cold and detached, then turned to leave.

But he wasn’t done. He lunged forward, grabbing my pant leg.

“You can’t leave!” he cried. “Your mother is still on the operating table, waiting to be saved.”

He fumbled with his phone and thrust it toward me. On the screen was a photo of my mother lying in a hospital bed. Her face was pale and waxy, her body frail and withered—a grim testament to the severity of the car accident.

The sight didn’t move me, but it stirred the crowd.

“Young lady, what harm would it do to pay the money?” someone said.

“You’re dressed head to toe in luxury, but you let your father kneel here, begging you to save a life? How could you act like this as a daughter?”

“That’s right! If you don’t pay, we’ll expose your behavior online!”

Even one of my employees, her eyes glistening with tears, tried to speak up. “Boss,” she said softly, “maybe you should just pay the money…”

I shot her a sharp look.

“What does this have to do with you?” I snapped. “I’m not a sucker who hands out money to whoever asks. Get back to work! You’re standing here during office hours—do you not want your year-end bonus?”

Her face drained of color, and she retreated without another word.

My father, still clinging to a shred of hope, grabbed my hand in desperation.

“Kelsey, think of it as a loan to your father, okay?” he begged. “As long as your mother gets better, I’ll sell our house in the countryside if I have to. I’ll repay every cent!”

I yanked my hand away, my lip curling in disdain.

“If you’re so determined,” I said coldly, “then go sell the house now.”