Chapter 4

I followed Mr. Patterson into the office. My arm was still bleeding, so I pressed my other hand against it.

He gestured for me to sit while he stood by the window with his back to me. After a long silence, he said, "Brittany, you're a capable worker, I'll give you that. But…"

He turned, his eyes full of disappointment. "The company's image is also very important, and your family disputes have already seriously affected it.

"There are so many people gathered downstairs. Do you know what's written on the banners? What will the clients or partners think when they see this?"

He placed a resignation letter in front of me. "I suggest you resign voluntarily and take one month's severance pay. This way, it'll be better for everyone."

I stared at the resignation letter, my hands trembling.

"Mr. Patterson, can I at least explain—"

"Explain?" He cut me off. "I don't want to know about your family matters. The fact is, you've brought negative attention to the company.

If you don't sign, we'll have to handle this according to company policy. It'll go on your record, which will affect your future job prospects. The choice is yours."

Tears streamed down my face again. I wanted to explain, to say that none of it was true. But I knew it was futile. After all, in their eyes, someone who would take their own parents to court wasn't to be trusted.

I picked up the pen, my hand shaking so badly I could barely hold it, and signed the resignation letter. Then, I stood up and looked at Mr. Patterson.

"Thank you for your support these past two years and also for showing me just how cold the world can be."

I gathered my things and walked out of the office.

My coworkers were all looking at me with curiosity and glee. Not a single one of them came over to comfort me.

Mom was still causing a scene at the entrance. When she saw me come out, she smiled smugly.

"Well? You got fired, didn't you? Serves you right. This is what happens when you go against us. Let me tell you—you're finished in this city! I'll make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of person you are."

I walked up to her and looked at her calmly. "Mom, keep making a scene if you want. I've got nothing left to lose anyway. But are you prepared for what's coming next?"

Right there in front of everyone, I dialed the local TV station's public hotline. "Hello, my name is Brittany Baxter. I'd like to report a family dispute."

Mom's face went pale instantly. She rushed at me to grab my phone, but I stepped aside just in time.

"How dare you! If you report this, I'll make your life miserable. You'll regret this!"

I hung up and looked at her. "Mom, since you gave me no way out, you can't blame me for what I'm about to do."

I walked away, dragging my suitcase along.

Behind me, Mom cursed, "You ingrate! I hope you rot in hell. You'll get what's coming to you!"

That afternoon, while buying a sandwich at a convenience store, I saw that Stephanie had posted a video.

She was dressed in elegant clothes and wore flawlessly applied makeup, yet her eyes were red-rimmed. She knew exactly how to play to the camera.

"Hello, everyone. I'm Stephanie Baxter. Today, I must come forward and say something in justice to my parents."

In the video, she had edited out all the footage of them humiliating me. All that remained was the clip of me taking out the ledger to demand money and the scene of Mom crying.

Oh, and the mark on my face? She said I did that to myself.

"Not only has Brittany been withdrawn since childhood, but she's always felt that our parents play favorites. At Christmas Eve dinner last night, she suddenly pulled out a ledger and claimed we owed her half a million dollars.

"Our father was so angry that he slapped her, and then she made her own injuries worse. After that, she took photos of the wounds and posted them online, claiming our parents abused her.

"But the truth is, our parents treated all three of us equally. Brittany just has psychological issues. Imagine how much she must've hated us to keep a ledger for ten years."

As Stephanie spoke, tears began to stream down her face.

The comments section exploded instantly.

"Oh my god. Brittany must have psychological issues, right?"

"She self-harms? That's terrifying."

"Keeping a ledger for ten years? That's literally psychotic!"

"Parents only hit their kids when they misbehave."

"I support Stephanie. The sooner she cuts ties with a sister like Brittany, the better."

90% of the comments were attacking me.

Some people even dug up my personal information. My photos, my social security number, and my home address were posted publicly.

The online harassment came crashing down on me like a tidal wave.

People sent me private messages, saying, "You don't deserve to live."

They called me on the phone. "Your parents are so unlucky to have raised such a monster. You'd better watch out. If I ever run into you…"

Some even found where I lived. They splashed red paint on my door and wrote, "Get lost, you ingrate!"

I sat in my room, staring at the paint on the door.

My phone vibrated endlessly with messages cursing me out. I turned it off and curled up in bed, hugging my knees and burying my head in my arms.

But this time, I didn't cry. I had no tears left. I just felt exhausted, so much so that I wanted to give up on everything.

At 8:00 pm, the local news program aired.

Ms. Lambert called me. "Brittany, turn on the TV now."

I switched it on.

There on the screen, Mom and Dad were sitting on the couch. Mom was clutching a tissue, her eyes swollen and red. Dad had his arm around her shoulder, his face etched with grief and indignation.

The reporter asked, "Brittany claims you asked her to pay three dollars for a second helping of pasta?"

Mom immediately shook her head. "That never happened. That was never a rule in our house. She misunderstood, that's all. I was just joking at the time, trying to lighten the mood. Who knew she'd take it so seriously and hold a grudge over it?"

Dad sighed and said, "We treat all three of our children exactly the same. But Brittany has been sensitive growing up, and she always thought we favored her siblings over her. The truth is, we never gave her any less than the others."

The reporters asked again, "And what about the money she mentioned?"

Dad shook his head. "She gave that money willingly. We never forced her. Now she's calling it a loan and demanding we pay her back half a million dollars. How are we supposed to accept that?"

Mom buried her face in her hands, sobbing. "Maybe we were too strict with her, and that made her resent us. But everything we did was for her own good. Now things have come to this, and as her parents, we're the ones hurting the most."

After the program aired, public opinion overwhelmingly turned against me.

My personal information spread even further online. Photos from my middle school, high school, and college days were all dug up and circulated everywhere.

People commented that I was ugly and deserved to be unloved. Others called me an ingrate and a bad daughter. Some even called my former company, saying they were glad I'd been fired.

I sat in my room, reading the comments, when my phone rang again.

It was my aunt, Pauline Murray.

The moment I answered, she said, "Brittany, you need to apologize to your parents right now. Look at the mess you've made. You've embarrassed the whole family. If you don't apologize, we'll call the police and have you arrested for extortion."

I hung up and opened my laptop. Then, I logged into my social media to post a long article.

The title was "The Truth About My Family. I'll Only Say This Once".