No Compensation for My Son Chapter 2

Dawn scrolled through her phone, her foot tapping a furious rhythm on the polished floor. "Mom," she fumed, "they're absolutely despicable! They posted our old address online!" Her voice trembled. "Good thing we moved into the new place. Otherwise, we'd have been beaten black and blue."

I took the phone from Dawn's hand. The screen showed a chaotic video of a mob breaking into our old house under the cover of night, smashing everything in sight. Even a simple ceramic bowl lay in pieces on the floor. The comments section was a cesspool of vitriol: "Good riddance! Too bad they got away, or we'd have taught them a lesson." "That stupid old woman! Abandoning her own son and granddaughter for an adopted kid, pah!" "And that adopted girl's no better, just standing there, watching her brother and sister-in-law suffer."

I chuckled, a dry, humorless sound, and handed the phone back to Dawn, telling her to send the video to the police. Soon after, the video was taken down, only fueling the online outrage. "Why would they remove it?" raged one comment. "Those old fools who ignore their own kin should see what happens when you refuse to save your own granddaughter!" "I bet the old woman reported it herself. She’s just pure evil." "Hope that old hag kicks the bucket soon, and all her money goes to her son!"

Mark, predictably, hadn't sold the house to pay for Lily's treatment. Instead, he and Brenda were milking the internet fame, live-streaming a tearful plea while peddling cheap goods. Behind them, Lily lay on a hospital bed, tubes snaking into her mouth, her tiny body barely clinging to life. The chat was flooded with insults directed at me, but actual sales were pathetically low.

I decided to fan the flames. I opened my own burner account and typed into their live chat: "Don't you have money? Why aren't you selling that city house for cash?" Brenda’s expression shifted, a flicker of alarm, but she quickly pulled a mournful face. "Oh, we want to sell," she whimpered, "but the housing market is so bad right now. We can't get a good price."

I pressed on, shaping the narrative. "If you were truly desperate to save her, you wouldn't care about the price," I wrote. "Seems your daughter isn't as important to you as you claim." Mark's face turned green. "Who are you?" he spat, glaring at the screen. "You're not here, you can't possibly understand a parent's love for their child!"

The chat exploded with agreement: "Exactly!" one user typed. "Desperate parents wouldn't let their child suffer a moment longer. The critical prognosis came days ago, and you're still live-streaming?"

"As a mother myself," another wrote, "if my child was critical, I'd sell everything I own, no matter the price!"

"Go save your kid!" someone else chimed in. "Stop wasting time on this broadcast!" Before they could respond, their live stream was reported and shut down.