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

“Don’t worry,” my father said over the phone, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. “As long as you come to send your mother off on her final journey, I promise I’ll never bother you again.”

The words barely registered before I replied, my tone sharp and dismissive. “When she’s buried has nothing to do with me. I’m not going.”

There was a long pause on the other end before my father sent several voice messages. His words tumbled over one another, jumbled and incoherent, his anger spilling out in fragments. I didn’t bother to listen to them all.

A while later, the doctor called me.

"Your father has suddenly collapsed, possibly from a heart attack," the doctor said, her voice calm yet urgent. "Can you come to the hospital as soon as possible?"

“I’m busy and can’t make it,” I replied flatly, then hung up.

The phone rang again. And again. But I ignored every call, placing the device on silent.

Instead, I ordered takeout, turned on a show, and spent a relaxed afternoon at home, shutting out the world's noise.

...

By that evening, my father had regained consciousness. He messaged me, saying he’d contacted a mediation program and wanted me to participate in two days.

“Kelsey,” the message read. “I’m old now. I hope you can be more obedient and stop worrying me.”

This time, I replied. “Alright, see you then.”

For the past two days, he had been posting photos of himself in the hospital on social media.

Each picture captured him looking frail and pitiable, his captions dripping with self-pity:

[When you get old, you really start to feel lonely.]

The posts garnered attention from relatives who eagerly chimed in, tagging me in their comments.

[Your father has always been so good to you. Now that he’s in the hospital, where are you?]

The messages piled up, relentless in their attempts to guilt me.

Finally, I blocked them all.

...

When mediation day finally came, I took my time getting ready. My custom-tailored suit fit like a glove, my makeup was on point, and I had my trusty Chanel bag in hand.

As I stepped out the door, I exuded the confidence and poise of a woman in complete command of herself.

I knew the scale of attention this program commanded. Headlines about my refusal to pay for my mother’s surgery had dominated the trending charts for nearly a week. Today, I would face the spectacle head-on, determined to maintain control over my narrative.

When I arrived, I spotted my father immediately. He sat leaning on the sofa in a hospital gown, his face pale and haggard.

His hair, noticeably whiter in just a few days, added to the image of frailty he wanted to project.

I sneered inwardly. The sympathy card—of course.

The host, picking up on my expression, couldn’t hold back and jumped straight in. “Miss Mitchell, seeing your father in such a state, do you feel even the slightest bit of pity?”

At the question, my father clasped his hands together nervously. His eyes flickered up to meet mine, filled with a desperate mix of hope and fear. I met his gaze coldly.

“No,” I said.

The single word landed like a bomb in the room. Gasps rippled through the audience, followed by a surge of whispers.

“I thought she was just acting, but she really has no heart!”

“Exactly! Look at her father—how can she stay so unmoved?”

The host’s expression twisted into barely veiled disdain as they pressed further.

“Miss Mitchell, I must ask, how can you be so cold?” They leaned forward, their tone sharpening. “We’ve done some background research, and your neighbors and acquaintances all said that your parents cherished you like a treasure—even spoiled you! Don’t you think your actions are unbelievably heartless?”

The audience murmured in agreement, their judgmental eyes pinned on me. But I didn’t flinch. Instead, I let out a faint laugh, my composure unshaken.

“That’s because they don’t deserve to be my parents,” I said coolly.

The room erupted. Gasps, exclamations, and murmurs filled the air. My father began coughing violently, his face contorting in shock and pain.

“How can you say something like that?” he choked out between coughs. “Kelsey, are you trying to kill me?”

Tears welled in his eyes as he looked at me, his voice trembling with emotion. “I came here today only to try and mend our relationship. Why must you speak so harshly?”