“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.