Disowning My Rebellious Daughter

[Who has got her mom’s address? I’ll go over there and curse her out myself!]

The comments were unbearable—filthy, furious, vicious.

My hands trembled with rage as I pulled Madison out of my blocklist and messaged her.

[Madison, what nonsense are you spouting? I transfer you two thousand dollars every month. How could you possibly be starving?]

She replied almost instantly.

I could practically picture the smug grin on her face through the screen.

[That petty cash? I already spent it.]

[And whose fault is that for not giving me more?]

[I’m warning you—if you don’t transfer me one hundred thousand dollars right now, I’ll keep streaming tomorrow.]

Without hesitation, I refused.

Just as I expected, she started streaming again. This time, she made it even more pitiful.

She showed her “life of hardship,” eating nothing but plain rice porridge, arms covered in what looked like self-harm scars.

She even wrote a caption, [Little fish, swim away—freedom is in every direction.]

The internet exploded.

She shot straight into the top ten trending topics.

Overnight, she became a national symbol of suffering.

[Sweetheart, don’t cry—we’ll crowdfund your living expenses. Just drop your payment QR code.]

[What kind of heartless mother does this? Does anyone want to go teach her a lesson? I can’t take it anymore!]

Donations flooded in.

And Madison wasn’t the only one who caught the scent of money.

Her biological father, Luca—the man who had never once lifted a finger for her—he smelled an opportunity too.

Just a couple of days later, he popped into her livestream with a dramatic “reunion” scene.

[Madison, if your mother hadn’t kept you from me all these years, I would’ve been there for you. I promise I'll make up for all the love you’ve never had.]

[Don’t worry. From now on, your dad will never let you suffer again.]

Madison’s eyes were filled with tears.

She bowed deeply to the camera. “I finally have a family. Thank you, Dad... and thank you to all the kind souls who care about me.”

The performance sealed the public’s verdict—I was an evil, heartless mother who had abandoned her child.

[This woman is worse than an animal! We support the dad getting full custody!]

[Her dad is so handsome! The daughter finally has someone to rely on!]

The moment the stream ended, I got another message from Madison.

[Do you know how much I made tonight? Two hundred thousand dollars in just one night!]

[And now that I have a dad, I don’t need you anymore.]

I stared at the screen, feeling numb.

I hadn’t expected her web of lies to spin this far. But things only got worse—her drama spilled over to my parents.

I got a phone call from their neighbor.

I was shaking so badly, I could barely hold the phone.

When I rushed back to their house, I saw from a distance the front door was covered in red paint.

Funeral wreaths leaned against the wall, sheets of paper with black characters cursed my entire family to die.

My mother was kneeling in the doorway, scrubbing at the mess with a rag.

“Mom...” My throat tightened, and tears welled up.

I couldn’t get the words out.

She turned to look at me, her expression was calm, and gently consoled me instead.

“Emily, don’t take it to heart. We’ve been through worse over the years—this is nothing.”

My father sighed. “Madison, that girl... she’s hopeless. Just like her father.”

When I’d transferred jobs earlier, I told my parents everything about Madison.

They never once blamed me. They only felt sorry that I’d given my heart to the wrong person.

They even said maybe we should never have kept that child to begin with.

They have done nothing wrong, but they were the ones who suffered the most.

I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my skin.

That night, I had the nightmare again—the one from my past life.

I watched myself burn to death. And in that final moment before the flames consumed me, Madison stood there smiling, holding up her phone.

“Everyone, don’t forget to like the stream—tonight’s content: burning my mom alive.”

I jolted awake, drenched in sweat.

My pillow was soaked.

The screen of my phone lit up.

A new post from Madison’s social feed had just gone live

[To have a mother who gives birth but not one who raises you—that is true freedom!]

Attached was a photo of me and Madison, torn in half.

My heart sank.

I quietly registered a new account.

Then I gathered over ten years’ worth of receipts and records from raising Madison, and posted my very first video.

[A rotten daughter should’ve been thrown away long ago.]