I Spent My Mother’s Surgery Money on New Year’s

“Don’t even think about asking me for money. Leave now and stop wasting my time.”

My words hung in the air like a slap, and my father’s face twisted in anguish. For a moment, he stood frozen, the hurt and anger warring within him. Then, with a surge of strength, he lashed out, his palm striking my cheek with a sharp crack that echoed across the crowd.

“How dare you!” he yelled, his voice raw and trembling. “Have you forgotten that the capital for your business came from me and your mother? She scrimped and saved her entire life and never once asked you for anything. And now that you’ve made money, you want to cut ties with us?”

His words hit harder than the slap, and the onlookers erupted into murmurs of approval, some even stepping closer as if to shield him, anticipating my retaliation.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. The sting was grounding, helping me shove down the boiling rage.

“Her car accident was her fate,” I said coldly, my voice unwavering. “It’s not like I caused it, so why should I pay? No matter what you say today, I won’t give a single cent.”

The crowd gasped audibly, and my father’s face contorted in a mix of disbelief and despair. Before he could utter another word, his phone rang. He answered it shakily, holding it to his ear.

“I’m sorry,” a doctor’s voice said clearly, audible even to those nearby. “The patient has been delayed too long and can’t be saved anymore.”

My father stumbled backward as if struck, his body collapsing under the weight of the words. His breaths came in ragged gasps, and then a violent cough shook him, red flecks appearing on his lips.

“How could this happen?” he rasped, his voice cracking as he choked on his tears. “It’s all my fault. I’m useless!”

The crowd turned on me, their anger boiling over. Phones were raised, their lenses capturing every moment.

“Someone like her doesn’t deserve to be a boss! A heartless company like this should go bankrupt!”

“That’s right! If she treats her parents like this, how can she run a business properly?”

I didn’t flinch. Instead, I smirked, the cold expression only fueling their outrage. Without a word, I turned and walked back into my office, leaving the chaos behind.

...

Minutes later, Ginny, my assistant, barged in, her face pale with worry, clutching her phone tightly.

“Ma'am the situation’s escalated,” she said, her voice trembling. “People are live-streaming outside the company!”

I raised an eyebrow, glancing at the screen she held out to me. The viewership had already skyrocketed past a million, and the comment section was flooded with vitriol.

[This is why I’m terrified of raising kids. You never know if they’ll turn out like her.]

[Look at her dad. He's so modestly dressed. Such an honest man! This is heartbreaking.]

On the live stream, John sat on the pavement, tears streaming down his face as he cried into the camera.

“My unfilial daughter started her business with money borrowed by her mother,” he sobbed. “We worked tirelessly on construction sites year-round for her, only to end up like this.”

His words stirred something deep within me. I hated that they were true.

Back when other girls in our village had no choice but to marry for dowries, my mother had sold everything she could to let me retake my exams. When I fell ill, she climbed the mountains to gather medicinal herbs, risking her life every time.

Everyone in the village had praised my parents for cherishing me like the apple of their eye. I was the envy of every child.

“Boss, what should we do?” Ginny asked nervously, her voice pulling me from the past. “Should we bring them inside to handle this? Leaving them at the company entrance like this isn’t sustainable.”

Snapping back to the present, I shook my head coldly. “Don’t worry about anything else. Just call the police and report them for causing a disturbance.”

The police arrived within minutes, shutting down the livestream and dispersing the crowd. My father’s cries were drowned out by the authorities' commands, and soon, the commotion was silenced.

...

Later that evening, my phone buzzed with a message. It was from my father.

[Kelsey, I won’t ask for anything else. I have no savings left. Could you at least pay for your mother’s funeral? It doesn't have to be an expensive coffin. I'll be satisfied as long as she has a place to rest in peace.]

I laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and humorless. Without hesitation, I typed my reply.

“Pay for a coffin? Impossible. If you can't afford one, cremate her. Why make things so complicated?”

Within moments, another message came through, his desperation seeping through the words.

“Kelsey! How can you say that? She’s your mother! Do you even have a conscience left?”