Frank looked at his phone and glanced at me sideways, "How did he die? Isn't it because of his own carelessness? I didn't say anything about him dirtying our ancestral house. How dare your family want my son and granddaughter to visit his grave? No way!"
Violet Richter didn't even lift her head, "Yvonne, since we've come to this point, let's talk about it today. Don't act like the Richter family owes you money. Your father came to work for us, and we paid him. If we didn't pity him, how could we give him this lucrative job? Who knew he would be so careless?"
She waved her hand several times in disgust.
I was filled with anger, and tears fell involuntarily.
My dad used to be a well-known tile worker in the county, but later he injured his waist and had less work.
Other workers at least charged 500 dollars a day, but my dad worked for the Richter family for more than 20 days and only asked for 1000 dollars.
I felt sorry for my dad, but my dad persuaded me, "We are all family, it doesn't matter if they don’t pay me, as long as they treat you well!"
But even until he died, my in-laws never treated him as a family.
Even I was an insignificant and easily manipulated object to them.