I Made a Fortune While My Family Starved

I'd spent six years overseas, working my way up from a junior employee to vice president.

I left all the family matters to my wife. However, I also transferred $20,000 into her account every single month.

That money was meant for my parents' and daughter's living expenses, renovations to our old family home, and a new house in the city.

My wife was always complaining whenever she called me, saying that the cost of living was high and everything was expensive. She told me to stop thinking about coming home and focus on making more money.

She told me that this was the only way our family could enjoy a better life.

I missed my family something awful, but I forced myself to keep working for six whole years.

I'd just stepped out of the airport when my wife called. "Honey, Noelle was playing around and scratched someone's luxury car. We have to pay them $8,000 in damages."

In the past, my wife was the one who handled the household whenever something popped up back at home. Still, I was back now.

"Are you and Noelle okay?"

"We're fine, but the car owner yelled at Noelle, so she started crying."

"The only thing that matters is that you're both okay. I'll take care of it."

"How are you going to do that from overseas?"

I was just about to tell her I'd returned when she impatiently urged me to transfer the money. "Hurry up. The car owner is getting upset again."

"Okay. I'll transfer the money."

I immediately transferred $200,000 to my wife after I ended the call. I didn't want her or our daughter to be mistreated.

She soon messaged me. "All taken care of, honey. Noelle says she loves you."

I replied, "Take Noelle home once you're done."

I still hadn't told her I'd come home. Our family was finally about to be together again. I'd been looking forward to this day for so, so long.

I hailed a cab outside the airport and told the driver to hurry.

…

We arrived at my apartment complex 40 minutes later. What I saw when I stepped out was something I'd never forget.

Several large trash bins stood near the entrance, but they weren't the point.

As soon as I stepped out of the cab, I spotted two familiar figures with a little girl around seven or eight. They were digging through the trash, munching hungrily on discarded leftovers.

A strip of cloth covered the little girl's eyes, and her clothes were beyond filthy. Every single passerby would shoot them looks of disgust.

I froze when they shuffled around.

The two elderly people were my parents. And the little girl? That was my daughter, Noelle.

So, I immediately rushed toward them in a fit of rage, snatched the spoiled leftovers from their hands, and hurled them to the ground.