Chapter 1

1: 1

After my father's stroke left him unsteady on his feet, he moved in with me.

I made him pay three thousand a month in rent and two thousand for care. On top of that, he did the laundry and mopped the floors. I didn't let him sit idle.

Once, I caught him slacking off. I shoved him toward the door and drove him out, and only stopped when he was crying and begging my forgiveness.

At dinner, my father's hand trembled and he dropped a single grain of rice.

I dumped his whole bowl into the toilet. No food for him today. That was his punishment.

Nolan Lambert couldn't stand it. He tried to talk me out of it. "Geraldine Lambert, this is too much. How can you treat your own father like this?"

I said, breezy about it, "Isn't this exactly how I grew up? Chores during the week, odd jobs on every break."

"What? When I wasted food, he'd chew me out. But when it's him, suddenly the rules don't apply?"

My father wiped his eyes and said to Nolan, "It's fine, I don't have an appetite anyway. I'll just go lie down for a bit."

I threw the mop at him. "Lie down? Mop the floor first."

……

My father mopped, crying the whole time.

Because of the stroke, he dragged one leg as he limped along, and more than once he nearly went down.

Nolan turned to me, unhappy. "Geraldine, this is inhuman."

He walked over and said to my father, "Here, let me mop for you."

My father shot me a careful, sidelong glance.

I said coldly, "Nobody in this house eats for free."

My father spoke up at once. "I'm not idle. I can mop. I can work."

And he limped on, dragging the mop with effort.

Nolan sighed. "Geraldine, he's your own father. What could possibly be between you that you'd treat him like this?"

I smiled. "This is for his own good. After a stroke, you're supposed to exercise more."

Nolan frowned. "You call this exercise?"

Right as he said it, my father suddenly pitched forward and crashed to the floor.

I stormed over and kicked him. "Quit faking. Trying to get out of it again?"

Nolan panicked. "This is bad, he's passed out."

He called 911 right away.

At the hospital, the doctor examined him and said it was low blood sugar. They ran some glucose into him.

My father came around fast.

His eyes wouldn't meet mine. He whispered, "Once I get home, I'll finish mopping the floor."

I slapped the hospital bed, furious. "Mop, my ass! Do you have any idea what that ambulance cost me?"

"Your care fee goes up this month. Another five hundred!"

"Hand over the money, or get out of my house."

My father cried. Everyone else in the room looked at me with disgust.

I ignored them and called the nurse over. I wanted to check him out.

The nurse frowned. "The old man's getting on in years, and his condition isn't stable. He should stay for observation."

I said, "He's awake. There's nothing to observe. He's discharging now."

"You want to keep him here, fine. But I'm not paying the hospital bill."

The nurse gave me a couple of speechless looks, shook her head, and turned to go process the discharge.

When I brought my father home, I ran into the neighbors downstairs.

They pointed and whispered about me. I heard someone say it on purpose. "Abusing an old man, no conscience. She'll get what's coming to her."

I shouted at them, "You don't know a damn thing. My father had a stroke. He needs exercise to recover."

Old Mrs. Lambert among them let out a cold snort. "That's your idea of exercise? You're working him like an animal."

I said, out of patience, "Mind your own business. So much drama."

The second we stepped into the stairwell, I pinched my father, hard.

He shrieked in pain.

I said through my teeth, "What have you been running your mouth about out there? Why are the neighbors saying I abuse you?"

My father said, on the verge of tears, "I didn't."

I said, seething, "Didn't? Then how do they know? Say it yourself. Have I abused you?"

My father shook his head over and over, terrified.

I gave him a look of disgust and pulled out my key to open the door.

And then I froze.

What... what was going on here?