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.
“The bank just sent proof,” Vivienne announced, holding up her phone. “Mr. Harry’s account is empty. He’s been paying a mortgage for thirty years, and the house is already mortgaged to someone else.”
The room fell silent—then erupted again.
“Dad, that’s even worse!” my son barked. “Who have you been paying the mortgage for? Who did you mortgage the house to?”
“What are you hiding from us?” my daughter snapped.
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“How could you not know?” My wife’s voice cracked as she turned on Vivienne. “On the surface, you’re just the poor student he sponsors. In reality, you’re his mistress. Don’t think I don’t know.”
The words sliced through me. For decades, I had kept my vows—never raising my voice, caring for her through everything, cooking, cleaning, holding her through sickness. And this… this was what I got in return.
“Vivienne!” My son-in-law’s face twisted with rage. “You scheming slut! Give back our family’s property, or I’ll destroy you!”
My daughter glared at me. “Dad, you abandoned your family for a mistress, didn’t you? You’re just going to watch your grandson die?”
My son kicked the chair aside, his voice cracking with fury. “How could you do this? Is this how you treat your own family?”
The livestream erupted. The office around us buzzed with venom.
“Ungrateful old man! Using the house your kids bought to keep a mistress? Disgusting!”
“Lustful old geezer, greedy little tramp—perfect match!”
“An old man who abandons his wife and kids deserves to be hit by a car. Makes me sick!”
The insults blurred together until my head spun.
“Do you have a shred of evidence that Mr. Harry and I had an affair?” Vivienne’s cheeks burned red.
“Hmph! You keep showing up at our house—that’s proof enough! No shame at all!” My daughter lunged forward. “I’ll beat you to death!”
My son raised his hand to strike her.