The Father Who Sold His Daughter

1: 1

After my father's stroke left him unsteady on his feet, he moved in with me.

I made him pay three thousand a month in rent and two thousand for care. On top of that, he did the laundry and mopped the floors. I didn't let him sit idle.

Once, I caught him slacking off. I shoved him toward the door and drove him out, and only stopped when he was crying and begging my forgiveness.

At dinner, my father's hand trembled and he dropped a single grain of rice.

I dumped his whole bowl into the toilet. No food for him today. That was his punishment.

Nolan Lambert couldn't stand it. He tried to talk me out of it. "Geraldine Lambert, this is too much. How can you treat your own father like this?"

I said, breezy about it, "Isn't this exactly how I grew up? Chores during the week, odd jobs on every break."

"What? When I wasted food, he'd chew me out. But when it's him, suddenly the rules don't apply?"

My father wiped his eyes and said to Nolan, "It's fine, I don't have an appetite anyway. I'll just go lie down for a bit."

I threw the mop at him. "Lie down? Mop the floor first."

My father mopped, crying the whole time.

Because of the stroke, he dragged one leg as he limped along, and more than once he nearly went down.

Nolan turned to me, unhappy. "Geraldine, this is inhuman."

He walked over and said to my father, "Here, let me mop for you."

My father shot me a careful, sidelong glance.

I said coldly, "Nobody in this house eats for free."

My father spoke up at once. "I'm not idle. I can mop. I can work."

And he limped on, dragging the mop with effort.

Nolan sighed. "Geraldine, he's your own father. What could possibly be between you that you'd treat him like this?"

I smiled. "This is for his own good. After a stroke, you're supposed to exercise more."

Nolan frowned. "You call this exercise?"

Right as he said it, my father suddenly pitched forward and crashed to the floor.

I stormed over and kicked him. "Quit faking. Trying to get out of it again?"

Nolan panicked. "This is bad, he's passed out."

He called 911 right away.

At the hospital, the doctor examined him and said it was low blood sugar. They ran some glucose into him.

My father came around fast.

His eyes wouldn't meet mine. He whispered, "Once I get home, I'll finish mopping the floor."

I slapped the hospital bed, furious. "Mop, my ass! Do you have any idea what that ambulance cost me?"

"Your care fee goes up this month. Another five hundred!"

"Hand over the money, or get out of my house."

My father cried. Everyone else in the room looked at me with disgust.

I ignored them and called the nurse over. I wanted to check him out.

The nurse frowned. "The old man's getting on in years, and his condition isn't stable. He should stay for observation."

I said, "He's awake. There's nothing to observe. He's discharging now."

"You want to keep him here, fine. But I'm not paying the hospital bill."

The nurse gave me a couple of speechless looks, shook her head, and turned to go process the discharge.

When I brought my father home, I ran into the neighbors downstairs.

They pointed and whispered about me. I heard someone say it on purpose. "Abusing an old man, no conscience. She'll get what's coming to her."

I shouted at them, "You don't know a damn thing. My father had a stroke. He needs exercise to recover."

Old Mrs. Lambert among them let out a cold snort. "That's your idea of exercise? You're working him like an animal."

I said, out of patience, "Mind your own business. So much drama."

The second we stepped into the stairwell, I pinched my father, hard.

He shrieked in pain.

I said through my teeth, "What have you been running your mouth about out there? Why are the neighbors saying I abuse you?"

My father said, on the verge of tears, "I didn't."

I said, seething, "Didn't? Then how do they know? Say it yourself. Have I abused you?"

My father shook his head over and over, terrified.

I gave him a look of disgust and pulled out my key to open the door.

And then I froze.

What... what was going on here?

2: 2

The house was full of people.

My mother-in-law had come, and so had her relatives.

Even the relatives on my father's side had shown up.

They all sat on the couch, watching me with complicated looks on their faces.

My husband came over and said in a low voice, "My mom wants to talk to you."

I frowned. "Talk to me about what? And honestly, your mom's coming over and you couldn't even give me a heads-up?"

Nolan sighed.

I turned to my father. "What are you standing there for? We've got a house full of relatives. Go pour some water."

He gave a small grunt and started to reach for the cups, but my mother-in-law pulled him back and made him sit on the couch.

I frowned and said to her, "That stool over there is my dad's seat."

Her expression had already been sour, and hearing that only made her angrier.

"Geraldine," she said, "I always thought you were a sensible girl. But why are you so extreme with your own father?"

"He's your own flesh and blood. I'm not asking you to be some model of devotion, but you can't abuse an old man."

The other relatives all chimed in. "That's right. You really call this helping him recover, keeping him active?"

"Even if it's exercise, that's not how it's done. We've already asked a doctor. This is just plain abuse."

I said quietly, "This is how I lived as a child."

"Washing clothes and mopping floors every day. Dropping food on the floor got me beaten."

"When it happened to me, everyone thought it was normal. When it happens to my father, suddenly it's abuse?"

The relatives on my father's side looked indignant. "Geraldine, watch what you say. Have a conscience."

"We don't know about anything else, but your father is a good man, an honest man. We've all seen it with our own eyes."

"Everyone in the village knows it. Forget hitting anyone, he never even got into an argument with a soul. Everyone knows he was a model husband, a model father."

"When did he ever hit you? Whether he hit you or not, don't you think we relatives and neighbors would know?"

"You're just spouting lies, deliberately abusing an old man."

The other relatives spoke up one after another. "That's right. Even if he smacked you a couple times, cursed at you a bit, is that really worth holding a grudge over?"

"Spare the rod, spoil the child. A young tree that isn't pruned won't grow straight. Who didn't grow up that way?"

My mother-in-law came over and patted my shoulder. "Maybe you've got some knot in your heart. But your father is so pitiful. Doesn't it soften you at all?"

"The neighbors told me there were several times, in pouring rain, they saw your father outside collecting plastic bottles, soaked through."

"When they asked why he was collecting bottles, he said he was cashing them in for money, because eating at your house means he has to pay you rent, care fees, food money."

"And the moment he runs out of money, you throw him out. Isn't that too cruel?"

The moment I heard that, I whipped my head around and pinched my father hard. "That'll teach you to go running your mouth out there. That'll teach you!"

My mother-in-law shouted, furious, "Geraldine!"

The other relatives quickly pulled my father away and shielded him behind them.

She pointed at me, her finger shaking with rage. "Are you even human? Right in front of me, in front of all these relatives, you abuse your own father."

"If you don't change, I'm taking my grandson away. Before he learns your ways and turns into some ungrateful bastard who won't respect his elders."

I turned and looked at my father. "Someone wants to take away your grandson. What do you say to that?"

He bowed to my mother-in-law and said softly, "Ma'am, I know you mean well by me. I'm grateful to you."

"But a child is better off with his own parents. Don't take the boy away."

"And Geraldine hasn't abused me. I do all this work of my own free will."

"I'm just a glutton for hard work. I've labored my whole life, and now that I'm old, sitting idle makes me restless. My whole body feels wrong."

3: 3

My mother-in-law spoke to my father. "I know these aren't your real feelings."

"All the relatives are here today. You don't have to be afraid of Geraldine. Whatever grievances you have, just say them, and we'll stand up for you."

Everyone nodded hard, watching my father with encouraging faces.

My father kept his head down, not looking at any of them, and said slowly, "I don't have any grievances."

"And when you come right down to it, whatever's between me and Geraldine, that's a private family matter."

"Ma'am, bringing this many people over, that's overstepping a little."

My mother-in-law started to say something. "I"

She was so angry she threw out one last line. "Fine. Call me a busybody with nothing better to do."

She stormed off in a huff, and the other relatives shook their heads and left too.

Once they were all gone, I gave my father a satisfied nod. "You did all right today. I'll let you eat in a bit."

When the food was ready, my husband went to call my father to the table, but I stopped him.

I sat at the table and ate my fill while my father stood off to the side, drooling with hunger.

Nolan couldn't help himself. "Geraldine, why won't you let your dad eat?"

I said, "His pension's already run out. Starting today, he eats leftovers."

"If there are leftovers, he eats. If there aren't, he goes hungry."

My father teared up, looking wronged.

Half an hour later, with me pushing him, Nolan forced down a little food.

A whole table of dishes, and what was left was one bread roll, half a bowl of porridge, one small plate of vegetables.

I dumped everything together into a basin and set it in front of my father. "Eat."

He looked at me, pitiful. "Geraldine, you didn't give me a fork."

I said coldly, "Does a beggar need a fork?"

My father cried.

He held the basin and swallowed his tears down with the porridge.

After he ate, my father limped out to collect bottles.

Because I'd told him that if he didn't pay for his meals, he might not even get leftovers.

I stood at the window, watching him without a trace of warmth.

He shuffled out to the square in our complex and bent down to pick up bottles.

Then he stumbled and pitched forward onto the ground.

My chest clenched, but I didn't step in.

He crawled up slowly, hands and face scraped raw and bleeding.

He wiped himself off a little and fished a plastic water bottle out from under a bench.

The sun beat down on him, and before long he was drenched in sweat.

Two hours later, a big bag of bottles on his back, he wobbled off toward the recycling depot.

The sky was going dark by the time my father finally came back.

The moment he got home, he obediently pulled out a hundred dollars and handed it to me.

I knocked the money right out of his hand.

It startled him, and he reflexively picked it back up.

I said coldly, "You think I'm stupid? A few bottles sold for a hundred dollars? Where'd this come from?"

My father said carefully, "I met some kind people. They saw how pitiful I looked and gave me a hundred dollars."

"I didn't keep any for myself. I gave it all to you."

He said it earnestly enough, but I still frisked him head to toe.

Once I was sure he really wasn't hiding any money, I gave a satisfied nod.

Early the next morning, my father tried to come to the table, and I sent him right back down.

He said, wronged, "I just handed over a hundred dollars yesterday."

I said, low and even, "Collecting bottles brings in money so slowly. Begging's much faster."

"There's a difference between real hunger and fake hunger. People can tell at a glance."

"Just wear your rattiest clothes when you go out. Out there you've got food, drink, and money too. Isn't that better than sitting at home spending mine?"

My father cried as he went out the door.

But before it was even noon, my husband suddenly came back, soaked in sweat.

He said to me anxiously, "Geraldine, something's happened to your dad."

4: 4

I shot to my feet. What happened to him?

Nolan handed me his phone.

I glanced at it, and if anything, I felt relieved.

He wasn't hurt. He was as lively as ever.

It was just that he had turned up in someone else's livestream.

Whoever it was clearly meant well. They'd spotted my father begging, and while streaming, they were asking him Sir, do you still remember where your home is?

My father sat on the ground, both arms wrapped around his knees, refusing to look at the camera the whole time.

He just muttered under his breath I'm hungry.

The streamer bought him a sandwich right away.

My father wolfed it down like he hadn't eaten in centuries.

The streamer said to the camera Folks, you can tell this man is really starving. He's no fake beggar running a scam.

The viewers flooded the comments:

Good man, streamer. Bless you!

No idea whose father this is, poor old man!

Hope his family sees this and takes him home!

Anyone recognize this old man? Drop it in the comments.

Some people tipped the streamer, too, and left notes saying he should keep half and donate the rest to my father.

Before long, my father had eaten his fill.

The streamer asked him Sir, do you still remember where your home is?

My father dodged the question and wouldn't speak.

Just then, our neighbor Miranda Lambert passed by nearby, took one look, and said Wait, isn't that Geraldine's father?

The moment the streamer heard someone recognized my father, he perked right up and swung the camera onto Miranda.

Miranda, all fired up, spraying spit as she went off about me That Geraldine, she's an ungrateful daughter, is what she is.

I mean, the old man raised her from a baby, wiped her filth, and she can't even be grateful. Instead she treats her own father like this.

If you ask me, a woman like that deserves to be struck by lightning. If she were my daughter, I'd have thrown her out when she was little.

The streamer stared at Miranda, shocked You're saying this man's daughter treats him badly?

Miranda said Badly? That's putting it mildly. She's about as low as they come.

She beats him, curses at him, starves him every day, forces him to do all the housework, and sends the old man out to pick up bottles.

Oh, how can there be such a heartless person in this world? Even we neighbors ache for him.

The comment section exploded.

Viewers piled on, calling me worse than an animal.

The streamer got worked up too and asked my father Sir, did your daughter throw you out?

My father's tears came instantly.

He wiped them away and said II have to go.

He tried to slip away, but the streamer kept following him.

The streamer said earnestly Sir, don't worry. There are a few hundred thousand people in my livestream right now.

Which means a few hundred thousand people are watching over you.

If your daughter dares to mistreat you, there's no way we'd just stand by.

And if she really is that heartless, I'm sure there are good people who'll take care of you in your old age so you won't have to worry.

My father hesitated and asked Really?

The streamer nodded hard.

The comments answered in one voice too Really!

The streamer asked my father What that lady just said, is it true?

My father hesitated a moment, then nodded.

The streamer said angrily Do you dare take me back to your home? Let a few hundred thousand viewers witness it, and we'll confront your daughter together.

My father said evasively Do as you see fit.

The streamer grabbed my father, excited Good. Let's go.

Watching that, I quietly set the phone down.

Nolan's face was pale. This thing has already blown up online. The livestream is almost at a million people now.

Honey, you really did go a bit too far. There's a good chance you'll get mobbed online.

Why don't you lie low for a while? We'll deal with it once the noise dies down.

Right then, there was a knock at the door.

Nolan said in a panic Let's stay quiet and pretend nobody's home.

I let out a cold laugh. Afraid of what? I did it, so I'm not afraid to be confronted.

I opened the door.

In an instant, the streamer shoved the camera right into my face Ms. Lambert, right? Would you like to tell our million-plus viewers why you abuse your father?

I said, unbothered He does it willingly. He likes to work.

My father worked up his courage beside me It's not willing. I want to rest.

I fixed my eyes on him and narrowed them Think it through. Are you sure it isn't by your own choice?