1 The moment the just compensation hit my account, I immediately transferred every last dime to my adopted daughter. My son, Mark, was on his knees before me, snot running, tears streaming. "Mom, your granddaughter is still in the hospital, fighting for her life! She needs that money!" I ignored his pitiful pleas, turning instead to buy my adopted daughter a house in a bustling metropolitan area. Relatives swarmed, their voices cloying with "wisdom," begging me to reconsider. "A daughter given away is like water poured out, and she’s not even your blood," they’d nag. "You’ll end up out on the street, old woman, mark my words." I didn't listen to a single word; instead, I promptly showed them the door. In a flash, my story went viral online, hitting trending topics: "Small-Town Grandma Gives Redevelopment Fortune to Adopted Daughter, Biological Son Gets Nothing." A national TV network even invited me to appear on "Life Unscripted." Outside, the biting wind howled, and my son, Mark, hammered on the door, "BANG! BANG! BANG!" Inside, the house was a haven of warmth. My adopted daughter, Dawn, kept piling generous portions of my favorite braised pork onto my plate. Her husband, David, set a steaming mug of warm milk beside me. "Mom," David ventured, his voice gentle, "are you sure we shouldn't open the door for Mark and the others?" I slowly chewed a mouthful of pork, savoring the rich flavor. "Don't mind them," I said, my voice deliberately unhurried. "Just sit down and eat while it's hot." Mark’s furious pounding finally tore the old door from its hinges, sending it crashing to the floor. A flurry of relatives and reporters surged in, encircling us in a suffocating wave. Camera flashes popped like fireflies around us as Mark crawled on his knees from the doorway, straight to where I sat. "Mom," he choked out, his voice raw, "Lily's been given a critical prognosis. Please, just give me some money to save her. Even if it's just a loan, okay?" I sat at the head of the table, unmoving as a stone. My daughter-in-law, Brenda, her hair disheveled, knelt tragically before me. "Mom, I'll bow to you!" she wailed, banging her forehead lightly on the floor. "Please, save Lily! If we wait any longer, your granddaughter won't make it!" I cast a cold, indifferent glance at them. "If you want charity," I said, my voice flat, "go beg on the streets. Don't come here wailing like banshees. You're an embarrassment." My words ignited a storm of indignation from the relatives. "Eleanor, this is completely out of line!" one shrilled. "Dawn is just an adopted daughter! You know what they say, 'a stranger's heart is a world away.'" Another chimed in, "Mark is your biological son! You’re giving your money to an outsider instead of him? What will people say?" "Exactly!" someone else added. "And your granddaughter is dying in the hospital, waiting for that money! You wouldn't just watch her die, would you?" A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched my lips. Without warning, I snatched a handful of Mark’s hair and slapped him hard across the face. The relatives gasped, startled by my sudden ferocity, and rushed forward to intervene. I slowly released him. "Mark is your nephew, isn't he?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm. "Why don't you all be charitable and lend him some money to save Lily?" Their faces twisted, a kaleidoscope of discomfort and anger. "What kind of talk is that?" one spluttered. "We all have our own struggles! You got a massive buyout, so why wouldn't you save your own granddaughter? Isn't that just common sense?" I gave them a cold, dismissive look. "My money is mine to give to whoever I please," I stated flatly. "I don't need your input. It's getting dark. You all should leave." The relatives flushed crimson with fury. "What deep-seated grudge," one muttered, "could make you abandon your own flesh and blood?" "Hmph! You just wait," another sneered. "See what happens when Dawn takes all your money and kicks you out!" I merely offered a faint smile, watching them disperse. Mark and Brenda, however, refused to budge. "Mom, I'm begging you," Mark pleaded, his voice cracking. "Lily is truly in danger. If we don't get her treatment now, it'll be too late!" I tilted my chin, picked up another piece of braised pork, and put it in my mouth. "If it's too late," I mumbled around the food, "then go save her. Why are you still standing here?" "Don't you have that house in the city?" I added, my voice carrying. "Sell it. Use the money to save your daughter." My words choked them, and they finally shuffled out, dragging the reporters with them. Only then did David and Dawn let out a collective sigh of relief, carefully setting the door back in its frame. I continued to chew my pork, the rich flavor truly satisfying. "No need to pack much," I announced. "I bought you a house in the city. We're moving there right now." Dawn's eyes widened, a mixture of joy and apprehension flickering in them. "Mom," she asked, her voice barely a whisper, "is this really fair to Mark? He's your biological son, and I'm just… you picked me up from the roadside..." "You found me by the old creek bed…" I reached out and patted her shoulder, a rare, tender gesture. "Don't you worry, sweetheart. Mom knows what she's doing." My hand tightened, clutching the small clump of hair I'd pulled from Mark’s head moments ago. The next day, the video of Mark and Brenda kneeling before me, desperately pleading for money to save Lily, exploded across social media. 2 Dawn scrolled through her phone, her foot tapping a furious rhythm on the polished floor. "Mom," she fumed, "they're absolutely despicable! They posted our old address online!" Her voice trembled. "Good thing we moved into the new place. Otherwise, we'd have been beaten black and blue." I took the phone from Dawn's hand. The screen showed a chaotic video of a mob breaking into our old house under the cover of night, smashing everything in sight. Even a simple ceramic bowl lay in pieces on the floor. The comments section was a cesspool of vitriol: "Good riddance! Too bad they got away, or we'd have taught them a lesson." "That stupid old woman! Abandoning her own son and granddaughter for an adopted kid, pah!" "And that adopted girl's no better, just standing there, watching her brother and sister-in-law suffer." I chuckled, a dry, humorless sound, and handed the phone back to Dawn, telling her to send the video to the police. Soon after, the video was taken down, only fueling the online outrage. "Why would they remove it?" raged one comment. "Those old fools who ignore their own kin should see what happens when you refuse to save your own granddaughter!" "I bet the old woman reported it herself. She’s just pure evil." "Hope that old hag kicks the bucket soon, and all her money goes to her son!" Mark, predictably, hadn't sold the house to pay for Lily's treatment. Instead, he and Brenda were milking the internet fame, live-streaming a tearful plea while peddling cheap goods. Behind them, Lily lay on a hospital bed, tubes snaking into her mouth, her tiny body barely clinging to life. The chat was flooded with insults directed at me, but actual sales were pathetically low. I decided to fan the flames. I opened my own burner account and typed into their live chat: "Don't you have money? Why aren't you selling that city house for cash?" Brenda’s expression shifted, a flicker of alarm, but she quickly pulled a mournful face. "Oh, we want to sell," she whimpered, "but the housing market is so bad right now. We can't get a good price." I pressed on, shaping the narrative. "If you were truly desperate to save her, you wouldn't care about the price," I wrote. "Seems your daughter isn't as important to you as you claim." Mark's face turned green. "Who are you?" he spat, glaring at the screen. "You're not here, you can't possibly understand a parent's love for their child!" The chat exploded with agreement: "Exactly!" one user typed. "Desperate parents wouldn't let their child suffer a moment longer. The critical prognosis came days ago, and you're still live-streaming?" "As a mother myself," another wrote, "if my child was critical, I'd sell everything I own, no matter the price!" "Go save your kid!" someone else chimed in. "Stop wasting time on this broadcast!" Before they could respond, their live stream was reported and shut down. 3 Two days later, I received a text from a realtor: Mark and Brenda were listing their house. I instructed the agent to drive the price down to the absolute minimum, promising them double commission if they secured it for me. I bought that house. Mark, undeterred, started another live stream from a different account. On screen, Lily lay weakly in her hospital bed, but her eyes were open now. Brenda wept into the camera, "We've already sold our house. Once Lily's discharged, we'll have nowhere to go!" Mark wiped away a tear that wasn't there. "Mom," he sniffled, "I know you're watching. I know you bought a big house." "Please," he begged, "take us in. Lily needs a place to recover after she leaves the hospital. We're truly desperate." I remained completely unmoved by their performance. Live in my house? Not a chance. Then, someone leaked a video online confirming that I had bought Mark's house. The live chat erupted: "Who's heard of a mother this wicked?" "Her own son sells his house to save his daughter, and his mother manipulates the price to buy it for a steal?" "That person who told Mark to sell his house last time? Was it that old hag pulling the strings? Were we all just manipulated by her?" "Is this even human behavior? Worse than an animal!" Just then, a bold red comment flashed across my screen: "I'm the director of 'Life Unscripted.' I refuse to believe a mother would treat her own son this way without reason. Ms. Eleanor Hayes, I sincerely invite you to be a guest on our show." Without a second thought, I typed "YES," not missing the flicker of panic in Brenda's eyes. The director then challenged Mark and Brenda to appear on the show to confront me. Mark, puffing himself up, declared self-righteously, "I live my life with integrity! I’ve never done anything to betray my mother! Let the audience be the judge!" The appointed day arrived quickly. The "Memory Weaver" device sat center stage, gleaming under the studio lights. The audience seats were packed, and the live stream viewership surged. Even Lily had been brought along. Mark, a smirk playing on his lips, sauntered over to my chair. "Mom," he whispered, his smile widening, "it's not too late to back out. Otherwise, when the audience sees how obviously you favor Dawn, it won't be a pretty outcome for you." I didn't respond, though a bitter smile touched my lips. Even now, he had no idea where he'd gone wrong. My expression, which he interpreted as a sign of my being trapped, only made his grin stretch wider. After a brief introduction, the host placed a headset-like device over my temples. Instantly, I was plunged into a swirling vortex of memories. On the large screen behind me, a scene unfolded: Mark's family welcoming me into their home after the old property was demolished. I clutched Snowball, my loyal white dog, as I stepped into a spacious, brightly lit room. A tall, comfortable bed, bathed in the soft glow of sunlight, beckoned. Brenda bustled around, diligently making my bed and unpacking my bags. Mark waited on me hand and foot, bringing tea, fetching water, even offering a shoulder rub. Lily sat on my lap, hugging me tight, begging me to stay forever. The three of them served me lavish meals, brimming with meat and vegetables. From the audience seats and the live chat, a torrent of insults poured forth: "This old woman doesn't know how good she has it! Mark's family treats her like royalty. How could she even think of giving the buyout money to her adopted daughter?" "Mark's family has hearts of gold, wasted on this old hag!" "My own son and daughter-in-law aren't even this good to me, and I'd still leave them everything! This old woman is just a total ingrate!" "The old woman's crazy, she needs professional help." The host's gaze, laced with thinly veiled disgust, swept over me. Mark and his family, basking in the public's praise, held their chins high. I ignored their judgmental stares and slowly closed my eyes.
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