They Called Me Selfish for Asking Him to Feed His Own Son Chapter 11
Then Leo, crying, “Mommy bad! I hate Mommy!”
The comments explode.
[Wait, is this for real? Her husband’s out there actually helping people and she’s just blowing everything on herself?]
[Derek Shaw is so tragic. Dude does good his whole life and ends up married to a leech.]
[How twisted do you have to be for your own five-year-old to hate you?]
[Someone find her address already. She doesn’t get to have peace after this.]
[My heart breaks for the Shaws. Sent them something. Really hope they make it through.]
[Same here. Tossed in five hundred. Not a ton, but good people deserve good things.]
The video goes viral. Within hours, everyone’s sharing it.
People donate to Derek’s family. And they come after me.
My phone, my social media-every account-drowning in hate.
I grip the phone so hard my knuckles go white.
So that’s their play. For money, for clicks, for reputation-they’ll throw me under the bus. Leave me no way
out.
While I’m watching, new messages pour in.
[Clara, we found your parents’ address. You better come clean with Mr. Shaw, or we’ll pay them a visit.]
[You can run but you can’t hide. You think your debts just disappear?]
[Heard you’re at some training thing. You can’t hide forever. Come out and face the music.]
Then a text from Derek himself,
[Clara. Six months are up. You’ve seen the video. So here’s the deal-pay off the family’s debts, keep covering everything, and give us a genuine apology. Then we’ll put out a statement saying it was all a
misunderstanding. Otherwise? You deal with what comes next.]
I stare at the message.
And I start laughing.
Fine.
You want to play?
Let’s play.
I don’t reply right away.
Instead, I go through my phone-screenshots, receipts, payment records, credit card statements, chat logs. Everything.
Years of this. I didn’t save them because I planned for a fight. I saved them because every time I scraped together money to plug another hole in this family, I kept the proof.
By the time I’m done organizing, it’s two in the afternoon.
I open the social media account that’s been getting death threats all day and post one sentence,
[Tonight at seven, I’m going live. I’ll tell you everything.]
The comments flood in instantly-more hate.
I don’t care.
After posting, I check into a hotel. Take a long shower. Put on clean clothes. Blow-dry my hair. A little
makeup.
The woman in the mirror has clear eyes and relaxed brows.
Not the exhausted, dark-circled, sallow-faced woman who left six months ago.
Now I’m ready. This is the body I rebuilt. Time to give my past self the ending she deserves.
Seven o’clock. I start the stream.
Within seconds, tens of thousands of people pile in.
