In my previous life, my son and daughter insisted on buying me a luxurious retirement home.

“Dad, you’ve worked your whole life taking care of Mom and us, even becoming disabled after that accident. Let us repay you,” they said, their voices full of guilt.

My wife added with a smile, “The children are being filial—don’t refuse them.”

I was deeply moved. Even if it meant working myself to death, it would be worth it. Friends and neighbors praised me for raising such devoted children. I believed them.

Until the day my wife fell seriously ill. I went to the bank to withdraw money for her surgery, only to discover that after thirty years of mortgage payments, my account held just 50 dollars—and the house had been mortgaged again two weeks earlier.

With no choice left, I called my son for help.

“Dad, my business failed and I’m millions in debt. Just sell the house and it’ll solve everything,” he said coldly.

When I explained it had already been mortgaged, his voice rose in anger. “Stop lying! You didn’t pay a penny for that place. Are you hiding money from us? Or trying to watch me go bankrupt and Mom die?”

At the hospital, my daughter was waiting. She claimed her grandson had been in a car accident and needed urgent funds. Her solution was the same—sell the house.

When I told her the truth, she scoffed. “We bought that house. How could you possibly take out a mortgage? Who did you give it to?”

Before I could respond, my wife lashed out. “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been keeping a little vixen—Vivienne Frost. You gave her all the money and the house, didn’t you?”

They didn’t stop there. My own family led the online attacks against me. Friends and relatives turned away. Strangers called me immoral.

I thought my wife would defend me. Instead, her face turned cold.

“Don’t think I don’t know you’re keeping a little vixen,” she spat. “Her name is Vivienne. You gave her all your money and the house, didn’t you?”

We had been married for decades without a single fight. I couldn’t understand why she would lie about me like this.

By the end, I was speechless—kicked out of my own home, shunned by friends and family, and torn apart by online harassment. Everyone called me an ungrateful, shameless old man.

It wasn’t until extreme netizens shoved me off a rooftop that I realized—this had all been premeditated.

——

Just before I hit the ground in that other life, I had called Vivienne. I never got the words out.

“Mr. Harry, don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll take care of everything.”

That was when I realized—Vivienne had also been reborn.

She wasn’t a “vixen” at all, but a poor student I had sponsored for years. She’d grown into a principled, capable woman—and a successful lawyer. In our past lives, she had been dragged into my scandal and bullied online because of me. I doubted her ending was any better than mine.

This time, I gave her everything I knew, hoping she could uncover the truth. I didn’t go back to the hospital—I went straight to her law firm and laid it all out. Her boyfriend joined forces with the police to start an investigation.

Not long after, my phone buzzed. My son’s name flashed on the screen. I didn’t answer. A text followed: My business failed. Please sell the house to help me. I ignored it.

That afternoon, my daughter and her husband stormed into the law firm.

“Vivienne, don’t call me sister,” my daughter snapped, shoving her away. “You’re just a poor scholarship student! Stop hanging around my dad.”

She turned to me, glaring. “Dad, why are you running all over the place instead of taking care of Mom in the hospital?”

She had always believed Vivienne was after my money, never knowing that Vivienne had never asked for a single cent—only brought gifts to our home every month, even asking my opinion before dating her boyfriend.

My son-in-law grabbed my arm. “Your grandson’s been in a car accident. He needs to go abroad for treatment—at least three million. Let’s mortgage the house.”

“Let go.” I pulled free. “The house was mortgaged behind my back. I’m here to ask Vivienne to investigate.”

“What?” My daughter’s voice rose. “Dad, you’re heartless! You’d rather let your grandson die than help?”

My son-in-law piled on, his voice cracking. “He’s twelve! How can you just watch him suffer? And that house—you owe us a share.”

They shouted loud enough to draw the attention of everyone in the office.

“When have I ever refused to help you?” I clenched my fists. “But now the house is mortgaged, my bank account is empty, and the bank claims I’ve been paying a thirty-year loan I knew nothing about. I can’t even afford your mother’s medical bills.”

Bang! My daughter slammed her teacup down, her tone icy. “If you don’t want to help, just say so. Stop playing the victim. My brother and I took out loans to buy that house—you never spent a penny. How could you even have a mortgage? And with your pension and Mom’s combined, you can’t possibly be broke.”

My son-in-law’s eyes filled with tears. “Dad, I’m begging you. Save your grandson.”

The murmurs around the office turned into open criticism.

“What kind of man wouldn’t pay for his wife’s surgery or his grandson’s life?”

“If you don’t want to pay, you could at least mortgage the house, right? After all, you didn’t buy it yourself.”

“Why do people get more heartless with age?”

Their words hit like stones. The scene was painfully familiar—an echo of the cyberbullying from my past life. My chest tightened, my hands trembled.

It didn’t matter what I said—my daughter and son-in-law would twist my words into lies.

“Mr. Harry isn’t that kind of person,” Vivienne stepped in to defend me.

But her voice was immediately drowned out. My daughter narrowed her eyes. “Did you scam my dad out of his money?”

Gasps rippled through the office.

“Don’t talk nonsense!” I shot back. “She’s already returned every cent I ever gave her. How could she possibly take my money?”

I wanted to protect Vivienne from the mob, but my daughter’s voice rose again. “Dad, she’s bewitched you!”

The door burst open. My son strode in, shoving his wife inside. “Little sister, you’ve got three million followers online—let’s expose her today!”

At once, my daughter whipped out her phone, pointing the camera at us. “Dad, stop pretending. If people start insulting you online, that’s your problem.”

“You…” My fists clenched. My eyes burned. I tilted my head toward the ceiling. “What sin have I committed to raise such heartless children?”

I’d braced myself for this moment, but reliving it still stabbed deep. Decades of raising them alone, only for them to turn into my executioners—this time, not just online, but in front of strangers.

The livestream went live. My son started his performance. “This man is my dad. When my sister and I returned from studying abroad, we didn’t have much money, so we took out a loan to buy him a luxury retirement home. And now? My mom’s sick, my nephew’s in a car accident, my business failed, I’m drowning in debt. We’re desperate. All we asked was for him to sell the house to help us out. We’d buy him another one later. But he refuses. What kind of father does that?”

Tears streamed down his face.

The comments exploded—insults pouring in faster than I could read.

“The bank just sent proof,” Vivienne announced, holding up her phone. “Mr. Harry’s account is empty. He’s been paying a mortgage for thirty years, and the house is already mortgaged to someone else.”

The room fell silent—then erupted again.

“Dad, that’s even worse!” my son barked. “Who have you been paying the mortgage for? Who did you mortgage the house to?”

“What are you hiding from us?” my daughter snapped.

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“How could you not know?” My wife’s voice cracked as she turned on Vivienne. “On the surface, you’re just the poor student he sponsors. In reality, you’re his mistress. Don’t think I don’t know.”

The words sliced through me. For decades, I had kept my vows—never raising my voice, caring for her through everything, cooking, cleaning, holding her through sickness. And this… this was what I got in return.

“Vivienne!” My son-in-law’s face twisted with rage. “You scheming slut! Give back our family’s property, or I’ll destroy you!”

My daughter glared at me. “Dad, you abandoned your family for a mistress, didn’t you? You’re just going to watch your grandson die?”

My son kicked the chair aside, his voice cracking with fury. “How could you do this? Is this how you treat your own family?”

The livestream erupted. The office around us buzzed with venom.

“Ungrateful old man! Using the house your kids bought to keep a mistress? Disgusting!”

“Lustful old geezer, greedy little tramp—perfect match!”

“An old man who abandons his wife and kids deserves to be hit by a car. Makes me sick!”

The insults blurred together until my head spun.

“Do you have a shred of evidence that Mr. Harry and I had an affair?” Vivienne’s cheeks burned red.

“Hmph! You keep showing up at our house—that’s proof enough! No shame at all!” My daughter lunged forward. “I’ll beat you to death!”

My son raised his hand to strike her.

“Stop!” I shouted, stumbling to my feet, limping to block him—only to be shoved hard to the floor.

My head cracked against the table’s corner, pain shooting through my skull, numbing my limbs.

My daughter and son-in-law didn’t even glance down. They stepped over me, seized Vivienne by the hair, and pummeled her.

“Stop… stop it…” My voice was hoarse. I tried to push myself up, but my body wouldn’t obey.

Through the haze, I saw my wife sobbing—yet smiling faintly.

“Mr. Harry!”

“Vivy!”

Jonas burst through the door, shoving my son aside. His voice was icy. “I’ve uncovered everything. The mortgage Mr. Harry has been paying for thirty years—it’s for the retirement home you bought!”