Letting My Toxic Family Rot

I had a father who loved to play the tough guy. He had a toothache so bad he couldn't eat for a week before he finally agreed to see a doctor. After the surgery, he could only eat liquid food, yet he blamed me for wasting money just to make him suffer. Despite having myocarditis, he insisted on joining a winter swim challenge in sub-zero temperatures. When I tried to stop him, he screamed that I was ruining his fitness goals. On a day with an extreme heatwave warning, he insisted on going out to deliver UberEats with his buddy just to show off. When he passed out from heatstroke, he claimed he was "just taking a nap" and blamed me for being a busybody. He got dragged to an underground poker table, ran up massive debts, but still bragged that it was "pocket change." Until the loan sharks showed up at our door. He told them he could sell me to settle the debt. During the argument, he pushed me off the balcony. "Sarah, what’s wrong with my tooth? It was fine yesterday. Why does it hurt so bad to chew today?" Then came my mother’s soft, soothing voice. The scene in front of me was terrifyingly familiar. It felt like a dream. But the dull ache in my bones, the burning skin, the shattered feeling in my chest, and the dizziness from massive blood loss all reminded me of one cold fact—I had just been pushed to my death. I was reborn. "Hey, you worthless brat over there! Can't you see I'm hurting? Go make me a bowl of noodles. This rice is too hard. I don't even know if it's cooked. Next time, make it softer!" I did as he said and went to the kitchen. I didn't warn him to go to the hospital like I did in my past life. The noodles were ready quickly, but when I set the bowl in front of him, he was still furious. "Are these noodles made of rubber? Did you even put salt in this? It tastes like cardboard! What is the point of having a daughter like you? You can't even get the small things right. Go wash the laundry from yesterday. Just looking at you gives me a headache." We had a washing machine at home. But whenever I was home, they forced me to hand-wash everything. Looking at the soapy water in the plastic tub, I made up my mind. Since my toxic father loved to play the tough guy so much, I would let him. This time, I wouldn't say a single word of warning. For the next few days, every meal was a nightmare. He complained the food didn’t suit his taste, that the rice was too dry, or that the chicken was undercooked. But I knew the truth. It was his rotting teeth. After days of barely eating, Robert's cheeks had sunken. Every night, I could hear him groaning in pain from his bedroom. My mom couldn’t take it anymore and suggested taking him to the clinic. "Mom, it’s not that serious," I said smoothly. "It’s just a seasonal cold. Dad has the strongest body in town. Why waste money on a doctor?" Sure enough, hearing my praise, Robert immediately waved his hand. "She’s right. My health is perfect. Why waste hard-earned money on doctors? We need to save that cash for Dylan’s college tuition and his future house!" Looking at my beaming father and my hesitant mother, I let out a cold laugh in my head. I only hoped their precious golden boy would be able to clean up the mess when Robert finally broke down. And so, relying on herbal tea and cheap painkillers, Robert dragged himself through another two weeks. It was only when the pain grew so intense that he couldn’t even speak that he finally surrendered. He agreed to go to a sketchy, cheap dental clinic down the street. This time, it was much worse than my previous life. Six fillings and three extractions. The high-pitched screech of the dental drill echoed through the small room. Robert was shaking, his face flushed red with agony, but his stupid pride kept him from frowning. I smiled to myself. The best part was yet to come. The fillings were done quickly. The dentist came out of the back room with a long, terrifying syringe of local anesthesia. "What's that?" Robert grunted. "Anesthesia. Pulling teeth hurts. Normal people can't stand it without this." "Normal people." That was the trigger word for Robert. He prided himself on being a super-man. "I don't need it," Robert scoffed. "Those teeth are already rotten to the root. They'll pop right out. Don't waste the medicine." Seeing the dentist hesitate, I stepped forward. "Doctor, my dad is a tough guy. He once dug a splinter out of his own hand with a rusty pocket knife without flinching. Don't worry, his pain tolerance is legendary." These words fed Robert’s ego perfectly. He actually smiled at me. "Well, I'm not as young as I used to be, but back in the day..." Fortunately, the dentist was ready. "Open wide," he said, cutting off Robert's endless, fabricated stories of glory. A second later, a blood-curdling shriek echoed through the clinic.After the extraction, Robert looked like a defeated, mangy dog. He lay on the dental chair, panting for over two hours. "Dad, you are amazing!" I gushed as we walked out. "The dentist said he’s never seen anyone pull three teeth without anesthesia. You’re the first!" My flattery sealed his lips. He couldn't blame me for not stopping him, so he just sourly told me to pay the bill. Even though I paid with the money from my part-time job, hearing his screams made every penny worth it. Before we left, the dentist warned him to stick to a liquid diet for at least two weeks. But looking at Robert’s stubborn face, I knew he wouldn't listen. Sure enough, the moment we got home, he demanded my mom slow-cook a massive pot of pork ribs. The moment the steaming plate was set on the table, he grabbed a hot, greasy rib and shoved it into his mouth. The moment he bit down, he froze. His face turned instantly pale, then flushed a bright, unnatural red. My mom and I watched in silence as he stubbornly forced himself to chew and swallow the entire plate. Only when my mom and I went to the kitchen to wash the dishes did I hear him chugging ice water like a dying man. For the next few days, he quietly switched to broth. He was finally terrified of the pain. Soon, the winter break began, and Dylan, my parents' beloved golden boy, returned from his boarding school. It was as if royalty had arrived. Robert kept ordering me to get Dylan snacks, peel his fruit, and even turned on the living room TV—something I was never allowed to watch. "Dylan, buddy, watch whatever you want. Here's the remote." "Who watches TV anymore?" Dylan scoffed, rolling his eyes. "When are you guys buying me the new iPhone? Everyone at school is playing the new mobile MMO." Robert immediately pulled his cheap, cracked phone from his pocket. "You've been studying so hard. Here, play on mine." "I don't want your garbage phone. It can’t even load the loading screen." Dylan was the only one in the house who dared to speak to Robert like this. If I had said that, a chair would have been flying at my head. "Well... this phone is a bit old," Robert stammered. "What kind do you want? I'll buy it for you this afternoon. How much is it?" "A thousand bucks." "A thousand?!" Robert’s voice cracked. His own phone cost less than fifty dollars. He couldn't comprehend a phone costing a grand. "All the good ones cost this much! My classmates' parents buy them the pro models that cost fifteen hundred!" "Alright, we'll buy it!" Robert barked, puffing out his chest. "If they have it, you should too. Your dad can easily afford that." After lunch, the two of them went out. They didn't return until evening. Both of them were holding brand-new, identical iPhones. "Chloe, look at this," Robert bragged to me. "This new phone is lightning fast. And you should have seen the cashier’s face when I pulled out the cash. Everyone in the store was looking at me with respect. I felt like a king!" A few days later, Dylan decided he wanted to join the local indoor swim club. Robert immediately paid the registration fee without hesitation. When Dylan came home boasting about how cool and fit the swim instructors were, Robert's ego flared up again. "Back in high school, I was the varsity swim captain. I'm just out of shape now. If I jump in, I could still outswim any of them." So, when he heard the town was hosting its annual Winter Charity Polar Plunge and Swim Championship, he signed up immediately.It was sub-zero weather, and he had myocarditis. In my past life, I begged him not to go. He accused me of wanting him to fail and trying to ruin his health. So this time, I was his biggest cheerleader. "That's amazing, Dad! Mom, Dylan, and I will be there to cheer you on. The whole town will be watching. If you win first place, the local news might even interview you!" My words got him so drunk on pride he looked like he was walking on air. "Well, that’s to be expected. I’ve always been in peak physical condition compared to these soft townies." Soon, the day of the competition arrived. The riverbank was packed with spectators. The atmosphere was loud, and the competitors looked pumped. I glanced at Robert. He was wrapped in a heavy winter coat, but half of his face was swollen. His tooth had kept him up screaming all night, yet here he was, chasing his "glory." The first few heats went by, and the crowd was roaring. Dylan ran over with his new phone. "Dad, you're up next! I'm starting a TikTok Live so everyone can watch you dominate!" Robert loved that. He immediately threw off his heavy coat and walked to the starting block without even warming up. He kept reminding Dylan to get his "best angles." My mom tried to say something, but she was ignored. I watched coldly as Robert stood shivering in his trunks. With the blast of the starter pistol, Robert dived into the freezing water. He struggled to surface, finally splashing forward awkwardly. He didn't make it far before he had to pop his head up for air. He actually stopped to wave at Dylan's camera. That stupid wave threw off his balance. The freezing water triggered a massive cramp. He sank, desperately clutching and punching his calf underwater. Only after several swimmers overtook him did he manage to start moving again. But his luck ran out. The cramp had consumed too much of his oxygen and energy. The tightness in his chest and the roaring beat of his heart in his ears were clear warnings: *Stop now.* But how could a man so obsessed with pride accept defeat? So he kept swimming. His gasps for air became more frequent, his limbs stiffer, his pace slower. Finally, he stopped moving in the icy water. "What is he doing?" Dylan muttered, turning off the TikTok stream with an annoyed expression. "He's so far behind. He promised me he'd win." Only my mom was genuinely terrified. "What’s happening? Is his heart acting up? Why isn't he moving?" As she spoke, she grabbed my arm, squeezing so hard her nails dug deep into my flesh. "I'll go find a lifeguard!" I pulled my arm out of her grip and ran toward the emergency crew, putting on my best terrified face. "Help! My dad stopped moving! He has a heart condition—myocarditis!" "What? Someone with myocarditis entered a polar swim?" The commotion drew the crowd's attention. Recognizing the danger, the rescue team immediately launched a jet ski. When they dragged Robert onto the bank, his face was pale, his swollen cheek making him look like a monster. Dylan was paralyzed with fear, and my mom collapsed onto the snow, crying. Only I stood tall and still, watching the paramedics perform CPR on the man who had murdered me.Finally, Robert opened his eyes. The moment he regained a bit of strength, he glared at me. "Did you do this, you little bitch? I was doing fine! I was about to pass them! I just paused to rest, and you had them drag me out! You just couldn't stand to see your father win, could you?" His trembling hand flew up and slapped me hard across the face. I let the impact spin me around, purposely letting my cheap, thin coat slip off my shoulder. Revealing the horrific, dense cluster of cigarette burns scarred across my right shoulder. The crowd gasped in horror. The collective shock finally brought Robert back to reality. Seeing the disgust and condemnation in the eyes of the onlookers, Robert panicked. "No, it’s not what you think!" But he had cursed at me first, slapped me in public, and the scars on my thin body spoke louder than any of his lies. "That poor girl... look at her shoulder..." "I heard he..." As the whispers spread, Robert’s face turned black with rage, but he didn’t dare touch or curse at me again under the watchful eyes of the crowd. Perhaps because of the public shame, Robert stopped picking on me as much. He spent most of his time locked in his bedroom, barely coming out. Of course, the more likely reason was that the winter swim had severely damaged his heart. He was physically broken. Time flew. I graduated from college and landed a great job at a multinational firm. Meanwhile, Dylan’s addiction to gaming had ruined his grades. He couldn't even get into a decent state college and had to settle for a bottom-tier community college. Even so, Robert didn't say a single harsh word to his golden boy. Instead, he demanded I hand over a portion of my salary to pay for Dylan's lifestyle. I didn't argue. In fact, I became the perfect, generous daughter. Not only did I pay for Dylan’s expenses, but I also gave my parents monthly allowances. "I have a good job now," I told them with a sweet smile. "Of course I should take care of my family." Robert grinned from ear to ear, praising me for finally being a "good, obedient daughter." One day, a representative from the local town council visited. They were filming a promotional documentary about "blue-collar heroes" and invited Robert to be featured. He would be filmed doing gig-work delivery in the summer heat. He agreed instantly. "It's too hot outside, Rob," my mom whispered, looking at the extreme heatwave alert flashing on her phone. But I stepped in before she could convince him. "Mom, don't worry. Dad has a partner to split the shifts with. Besides, it's for a documentary. They'll probably have air-conditioned trailers for him. They won't actually leave him in the sun the whole day." Hearing the word "air-conditioner," Robert couldn't wait to start. On the day of the shoot, the heat waves were visible in the air. Even the cicadas were silent. My mom handed him two bottles of water. "Drink when you're thirsty." He worked all morning. When he came home for lunch, his skin was burnt red-black, dripping with sweat. He barely touched his food, claiming he had no appetite, and rushed back out. My mom complained that my cooking tasted bad. I ignored her. At 2:00 PM, the phone rang. Robert had collapsed. When we reached the site, the ambulance was already there. Robert was being loaded onto a stretcher. I overheard a paramedic mutter, "His blood vessels practically cooked." At the hospital, the doctor gave us the diagnosis: severe heatstroke. "We heard he chugged a massive bottle of ice water while dehydrated. He's lucky to be alive. Any later, and he'd be in a coffin." Yet, Robert’s mouth remained stubborn. "I was just tired from the deliveries. I took a nap, and these idiots dragged me to the ER. People are going to laugh at me." His body, however, was honest. He remained bedridden. Because of his age and myocarditis, his recovery was painfully slow. He had to stay hospitalized. He lost his part-time kitchen job at the local diner. With no one to talk to in the hospital, his days became incredibly boring. So, predictably, he fell back into his old habits. Someone introduced him to a private, underground poker room. At first, the stakes were small—just a few hundred dollars. But gambling is an addiction. It kept pulling him back. Slowly, he started "winning." Robert was no longer satisfied with small games. Thousands of dollars on the table made his blood pump. He bragged to the family whenever he won. When he lost, he dismissed it as "pocket change" that he would win back tomorrow. But I knew the truth. This was a "pig-slaughtering" trap designed specifically for him. He would sink deeper and deeper, piling up debts until the collectors came to the door, just like in my past life. Sure enough, it didn't take long before he was $80,000 in debt. Too terrified to tell my mom, he secretly begged me for more money. I immediately transferred $8,000 to him. "Dad, my company is sending me to an overseas training program for two months. When I get back, I might get promoted to Vice President." Hearing this, his eyes lit up. He looked ready to pack my bags and throw me onto the plane himself. Once I left, two weeks passed. I heard his debt had crossed the $200,000 mark. I didn't know if he thought I would pay it off, or if he just didn't care anymore. I focused on my training, completely ignoring the family. Until one day, my phone started ringing off the hook. Call after call, message after message. I smiled. The loan sharks had finally come to collect.