A Son’s Demands

I didn’t expect that post to go so viral, it came up as one of the top searches in the country.

Countless netizens berated me for mistreating my child, saying that I shouldn’t have children if I couldn’t afford it.

[You can’t even fulfil your child’s wishes. You’re not fit to be a mother!]

[Yeah! My mom was like that too, and she made me the laughing stock of my class. I hate her forever!]

Online dissent grew increasingly intense. Someone even found my home address and claimed to punish me for being a nasty mother.

I was so frightened when I saw that, especially because the person’s IP address was near where I lived.

My husband was the only one at home. I gave him a call right away.

The phone rang for a long time. When my husband finally answered the call, he refused to believe what I said.

“It’s just something trivial. Have a good talk with our son, and he’ll understand.”

My husband thought I was making a mountain out of a molehill. He seldom went online and never saw those posts.

I was burning with anxiety inside, at a loss for how to explain how invasive the internet had become these days. Just then, someone rang the doorbell.

He claimed to be here to check on the water meter, but the check had already been done last week. Who was this man knocking on our door now?

A bad feeling rose up my chest as I thought about the post I saw just now. I hurriedly stopped my husband from opening the door.

However, my husband remained doubtful and peeked through the peephole to look outside.

“It’s really someone from the property management team. Honey, stop being so paranoid.”

My husband comforted me albeit with a tinge of exasperation, clearly thinking that I was being overly anxious.

“Don’t open the door!” I yelled irritably.

My instincts have always served me well, yet my husband refused to believe me and ignored my cries.

He opened the door anyway. Before he could open his mouth to speak, the stranger pulled out a knife and charged toward him.

“Ahh!”

I heard my husband’s cry over the phone. And then, nothing.

“Hubby! Are you alright? Say something!”

I was on the verge of tears. I grabbed my purse and rushed out, ignoring the strange looks my colleagues were giving me.

I couldn’t care less about what they thought and immediately hailed a taxi to rush home.

Throughout the journey, I prayed that my husband would be fine. When I finally made it home, hordes of people were surrounding my house. They told me that my husband was sent to the hospital, and that the culprit had been nabbed.

My knees went weak. I almost crumpled to the floor when I heard that my husband was fine.

I looked up at my son, who seemed completely unaffected by my husband getting attacked. He looked coldly at me and blamed me for not giving him money.

“What can I do with that measly five thousand dollars you gave me? I was utterly embarrassed the past few days because of you!”