My Perfect Daughter's Perfect Lie

The year I was paralyzed, my husband cleaned out our bank accounts and ran.

Before he left, he asked our son and daughter who they wanted to go with.

Ryan, my son, chose him without a moment’s hesitation.
My daughter, Emily, chose to stay and take care of me.

I was paralyzed for twelve years. Emily took care of me for twelve years. Even after she got married, she kept me with her. To pay for my medical bills, she worked three jobs a day, collapsing from exhaustion more than once.

Her husband, Mark, couldn’t take it anymore. “If you keep taking care of that cripple mother of yours, we’re getting a divorce!”

Emily divorced him without a second thought.

Her devotion went viral, and she was hailed online as “America’s Most Devoted Daughter.” Everyone envied me for having a daughter like her.

Until the old family property was bought out by a developer, and I received an eight-million-dollar check.

But I transferred every last cent to Ryan, the son who had gone with his father.

The internet erupted, calling me a monster, a misogynist who favored her son.

A journalist found me. “You’ve been paralyzed for twelve years. Your son never visited you once, while your daughter stood by you, took on mountains of debt for you. Why wouldn’t you leave her a single penny?”

I looked at the reporter and said calmly, “Install hidden cameras in my home. Livestream everything, secretly, for three days. Then you’ll know why.”

1

As soon as the micro-cameras were installed, the secret livestream began.

Emily came home from work, dark circles under her eyes, and walked wearily to my bedside to clean me up. Seeing the mess I’d made, there wasn’t a trace of disgust in her eyes, only heartache and guilt.

“Mom, did you have an upset stomach last night?”

She gently brushed the stray, graying hairs from my forehead, blaming herself. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been so exhausted from work lately, I slept too heavily. I forgot to get up in the middle of the night to make sure you were covered. You must have been miserable all night…”

I watched her in silence.

The live feed’s comment section, however, was exploding with emotion.

“OMG, this daughter is an actual saint. She just got off work, sees this, and her first reaction is to blame herself.”

“Right? If I came home to that after a long day, I’d lose my mind.”

“No wonder they call her the most devoted daughter. I’m literally crying right now.”

Emily, oblivious to the cameras, tried to shift my weight, wanting to get me into the bathroom for a bath.

But she was too tired.

She strained with all her might but couldn’t manage to lift me from the bed.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

Emily opened it to find Ryan standing there. Her eyes widened slightly. “What are you doing here?”

Ryan slouched in, all swagger. “Mom gave me eight million bucks. Dad said I should crash here for a few days, you know, for appearances. Stop the neighbors from talking.”

He squeezed past her into the apartment.

Emily was too drained to argue. “Fine. Then make yourself useful. Help me get Mom into the bathroom. I need to give her a bath.”

Ryan glanced over, his face twisting in disgust. “Gross. It smells like a hospital in here. I’m not touching her.”

Emily’s brow furrowed. “Ryan, Mom just gave you all eight million dollars from the buyout. You can’t even be bothered to help lift her?”

He scoffed. “She gave it to me. Her choice. Don’t try to guilt-trip me.”

Emily sighed. “I respect whatever Mom decides. She gave you all that money because she wants you to settle down, find a wife, and build a good life.” Her voice softened. “I just hope you don’t let her down. Don’t break her heart.”

Ryan’s expression was pure contempt. “Emily, she’s a paralyzed old woman. Why do you waste so much time thinking about her feelings?”

“Taking care of her is a waste of your life.”

“Honestly, it would be better if she just died.”

The comments section went into a frenzy.

“WHAT?! What kind of son is this? Cursing his own mother to her face?”

“And this is the kind of trash son the mother dotes on! Eight million dollars! Didn’t even blink, just handed it all to this monster!”

“I don’t get it. Her daughter is drowning in debt for her, lost her marriage for her, and gets nothing. This isn’t just favoritism, it’s brain-dead!”

“She ignores the daughter who is a total gem to spoil this inhuman piece of garbage. A preference for sons so toxic it’s no wonder she ended up paralyzed!”

2

In the end, Ryan didn’t help.

It took Emily over an hour to get me cleaned up.

She was drenched in sweat, but still, she carefully dressed me in fresh clothes and settled me into my wheelchair.

“Mom, you must be hungry. I’ll go make you dinner.”

She almost fainted as she stood up, the fatigue overwhelming her. But she just paused for a few seconds, steadied herself, and pushed on into the kitchen.

A short while later, she emerged with a beautiful meal: pan-seared fish, a slow-braised beef, sautéed greens, and a steaming pot of chicken soup.

Emily placed the food in front of me, then ladled a spoonful of soup, blew on it carefully to cool it, and brought it to my lips.

“Mom, I went to a farm out in the country to get a fresh chicken for this soup. It was always your favorite. Here, try some.”

I turned my head away. “I don’t want it,” I said, my voice cold.

Her eyes filled with worry. “Mom, your stomach is already upset. If you don’t eat something, you’ll get weaker.”

I looked at her, my tone just as detached. “I don’t have an appetite.”

Then, my gaze shifted to Ryan, who was sprawled on the couch, scrolling on his phone. My voice softened. “Ryan, honey. Mom wants that piece of cake on the coffee table.”

He didn’t even look up. “I bought that for myself. If you want some, wheel yourself down to the store and buy your own.”

Emily shot her brother a glare, then turned back to me, her voice gentle. “Mom, just eat your dinner first. After you eat, I’ll go out and buy you a cake, okay?”

I shook my head stubbornly, refusing to even look at the food she’d made.

The comment section was a battlefield.

“Is this old woman insane? She won’t eat the incredible meal her daughter made but wants the cake her son won’t even give her?”

“I thought she was just biased, but this is next-level sick. The way he treats her, and she’s still fawning over him?”

“I feel so bad for her daughter. All that work for nothing. She cooks this whole feast and her mom won’t even glance at it.”

“This is disgusting. The more I watch, the more I realize the mother is the real monster here.”

3

The first day of the livestream ended.
The feed was a waterfall of insults directed at me.

The next day, Emily got home a little earlier than usual.
She was carrying a small, elegant box from a bakery.
Inside was a strawberry shortcake.

“Mom, you wanted cake yesterday, remember? I stopped on my way home to get this for you. Your favorite, strawberry. Please, have a piece.”

She held the cake out to me, her eyes shining with hopeful anticipation.
I glanced at it, my voice flat. “I don’t want it anymore.”

A shadow of disappointment and pain crossed her face, but she forced a smile. “Okay. Well, what would you like to eat? I can make you anything.”

I gave her a cold look. “I don’t want anything you make.”

With that, I maneuvered my wheelchair, intending to get some air on the balcony. As I came out of the bedroom, I ran right into Ryan, who was walking with his head down, engrossed in a game on his phone.

The phone clattered to the floor. He exploded.

“Damn it! That was a critical team fight! You made me get killed! It was a promotion match!”

He snatched the phone off the floor and, in a fit of rage, kicked my wheelchair. Hard.

The chair lurched violently, tipping to one side.

“Mom!”

Emily screamed and threw herself forward, using her body to shield me and stop the chair from toppling completely. The metal frame scraped her arm, opening a gash deep enough to see bone. Blood gushed out.

But she ignored the pain. After steadying me, she turned on her brother, her voice shaking with fury. “Ryan, you could have seriously hurt Mom!”

He shot me a dirty look. “She’s a paralytic. It’s not like she can feel pain. What are you getting so worked up about?”

“This is such crap. Another ranked match lost,” he muttered, storming into his room to resume his game.

Emily, still shaken, checked me over from head to toe. Once she was sure I was unharmed, she finally tended to her own injury, then began inspecting the wheelchair he had kicked.

She found a loose latch. Immediately, she got out a toolbox and spent the rest of the night carefully tightening bolts and reinforcing the frame.

In the livestream chat, the fury was relentless.

“I’m sobbing. Where do you find a daughter like this? Her arm is sliced open, and all she can think about is her mother’s safety.”

“And for what? A mother who is blind and heartless. What a waste.”

“Seriously, is this woman’s heart made of stone? After everything her daughter does for her, she treats her with such coldness?!”

“You know what they say, pitiful people have a reason to be hated. This mother’s favoritism is so off the charts, she deserves to be paralyzed!”

“This is suffocating to watch. Emily, please, just leave! This mother and brother aren’t worth it!”

The stream was a torrent of condemnation. Even the journalist called me.

“Is this what you wanted? This three-day secret livestream? Do you have any idea what people are saying about you?” he demanded. “Your daughter has done everything for you. You’re just setting yourself up to be hated.”

I glanced at Emily in the living room, silently cleaning and bandaging her own wound.

“There’s one day left,” I said quietly. “Then you’ll all understand everything.”

4

The morning of the third day, Emily came into my room as usual as soon as she woke up.

“Mom, how are you feeling today? Is your appetite any better?” she asked softly, her hands expertly checking my circulation.

I didn’t answer, just gave a brief, flat glance at her bandaged arm. Blood was still seeping through the gauze.

When I remained silent, she began her routine, massaging my limbs and moving my joints to prevent muscle atrophy. Her touch was gentle, as if she were handling a priceless treasure.

“Look, Mom. The weather is so beautiful today.” She gestured toward the window, trying to fill the silence. “After we eat, I’ll take you outside for a walk. The doctor said getting fresh air is good for you.”

My reply was the same cold wall. “I don’t want to.”

Her hand paused for a fraction of a second. She said nothing more.

After the massage, she brought a basin of warm water and carefully washed my face and hands before going to make breakfast.

The comments in the live feed kept scrolling.

“Same dead-eyed look from the old lady today. It makes me sick.”

“Her daughter’s arm is seriously injured, and she still has to serve her. Not even a single word of concern?”

“Truly disgusting. Some people don’t deserve the kindness they get.”

Emily didn’t go to work that day. She said she wanted to spend the day with me.

After finishing all the morning chores, she wheeled me out onto the balcony to sit in the sun. She brushed my hair, clipped my nails, and cleaned my ears. She tended to every part of me until I was spotless.

When she was done, she pulled up a small stool and sat beside me, taking my thin, frail hand in hers. She began to speak in a low voice.

“Mom, do you remember? When I was little, you used to bring me out on this balcony to sit in the sun.”

“You loved to braid my hair out here and tell me stories.”

“You told me that your greatest wish was just to see me happy.”

As she spoke, her eyes grew misty.

Just then, her phone rang.

But she didn’t answer it. She looked at me, a deep, meaningful look, and declined the call. Then she turned back, a small smile on her face. “Mom,” she said softly. “It’s about time.”

I returned her smile, a faint one of my own.

The moment had finally arrived.

Emily stood up, gave me one last, inscrutable look, and then did something that stunned every single person watching the livestream.

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