Garth's POV

At a family dinner, my six-year-old daughter suddenly shoved her hand into the boiling Italian Tripe Soup, bursting into tears as she begged me for mercy.

“Daddy, it hurts… I can't do a live stream anymore… but please don’t hit me. I’ll be good, I promise…”

My wife, Naomi Carpenter, a former boxing champion, was furious when she heard that. She snatched my phone, only to find that my photo gallery was filled with pictures of our daughter.

Without another word, she beat the living hell out of me and warned that if I ever laid a finger on our daughter again, she’d kill me herself.

Not long after, she had to leave town for a business trip. Our daughter clung to her leg, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Mommy, don’t go! Daddy’s gonna have people kidnap me tonight! They’re gonna break my legs and cut out my tongue!”

Everyone in the family just thought she was being dramatic.

But then… it actually happened.

She was found with both legs broken and her tongue cut out.

With her own blood, she wrote a single sentence on the ground.

[Daddy did it. He’s going to kill me.]

Naomi completely lost it. She almost beat me to death. My in-laws also stepped in and convinced her to get a divorce. As such, I was kicked out of the house with nothing but clothes on my back.

I bled out in the street, eventually torn apart by wild dogs.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that very same day, the day my daughter accused me.

——

“Daddy, I want Italian Tripe Soup tonight!” My daughter's childish voice rang in my ears.

I froze.

Looking at her innocent face, I saw the glint in her eyes—cold and calculating. The kind of look a cat gives when it's toying with a dying mouse.

And I… was the mouse.

A chill climbed up my spine.

In my last life, I made Italian Tripe Soup just like she asked. That gave her the perfect excuse to hurt herself and blame it on me.

The memory of being torn apart by dogs in the rain still burned in my mind. But what hurt more… was my heart.

She was my daughter. My own flesh and blood. Why did she frame me like that?

“We’ll get you Italian Tripe Soup, sweetie! Grandma will go buy everything you want,” my mother-in-law cooed, hugging her lovingly.

I took a breath, forced a smile, and said calmly, “Mom, her teacher said she had an upset stomach at school today. Let’s make something light for dinner instead.”

The moment the words left my mouth, my daughter’s mood shifted. She wailed dramatically, “Daddy’s lying! He said I’m a waste of money and don’t deserve good food! He said he’s going to break my legs and cut out my tongue!”

As she spoke, she burst into terrified sobs and buried her face in her Grandma’s arms.

My father-in-law, who had been reading the newspaper nearby, looked up and snapped, “Your dad quit his job to take care of you. Don’t make up such nonsense, you ungrateful little brat!”

Terrified, she clung even tighter to Grandma’s neck. “I’m not lying, Grandma! I don’t wanna be kidnapped! Please, save me!”

Grandma stroked her head gently, her face full of love. “Don’t worry, baby. Grandma’s here. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

She turned to her husband and scolded softly, “She’s just a kid. Don’t take it to heart.”

Then, looking at me, she said, “No Italian Tripe Soup, then. You go buy some groceries instead.”

Just as I was about to agree, I caught the satisfied smile flickering on my daughter’s face.

That's when it hit me. Last time, it was when I left to buy groceries that she made her move. She cried and claimed I used the chance to contact the kidnappers. And sure enough, my phone had some mysterious call logs that no one could explain.

This time, I pulled out my phone and opened the delivery app.

“It’s raining outside, Mom. I’ll just have the groceries delivered.”

I saw the flicker of disappointment in my daughter’s eyes. Her lips pressed into a tight line, and she said nothing.

Seeing that, I smirked inwardly as I thought, 'No Italian Tripe Soup. No going out. Let’s see how she plans to pin it on me now.'

Garth's POV

That evening, Naomi returned home from her competition out of town. So, the whole family gathered around the dinner table, chatting and laughing over a homemade meal.

Naomi complimented my cooking, and even my in-laws couldn’t stop singing my praises.

But I wasn’t smiling.

While everyone was relaxed and enjoying themselves, I noticed something off—my daughter kept glancing around, her eyes darting as if she was plotting something.

I checked the time on my phone. We were exactly two minutes away from the moment she had shoved her hand into the boiling Italian Tripe Soup in my previous life and falsely accused me.

As such, I quickly opened my photo gallery, scanning through it carefully. But no strange pictures. Nothing out of place.

A small sigh of relief escaped me.

Not this time. I wasn’t going to let her set me up again.

Right then, she dropped her bowl and loudly declared, “I want Italian Tripe Soup!”

Internally, I scoffed. But I kept my tone calm and concerned.

“Sweetie, your teacher said you had an upset stomach today. Let’s not eat Italian Tripe Soup tonight, okay?”

She puffed up her cheeks in rage and shrieked, “Daddy’s lying! He’s doing this on purpose! He's abusing and trying to kill me! Mommy, call the police! Tell them to arrest him!”

She cried dramatically, and all eyes turned to me. But this time, I wasn’t backing down.

“Fine,” I said coldly. “Let’s call the police. Let’s see who’s really lying here.”

At my words, my daughter froze, a flicker of panic in her eyes.

She clearly hadn’t expected me to push back like this.

Just when I thought I had finally gotten the upper hand, she snatched a fork from the table and, in one swift motion, slashed it down her own face.

Gasps echoed around the table.

Blood streamed down from the scratches she left on her cheeks.

Through sobs, she cried out again, her voice trembling with fear, “Daddy… my face… I can’t stream for those nice uncles anymore… please stop hitting me. I’ll be good, I promise…”

She was doing it again, framing me.

Naomi stood up so fast that her chair nearly toppled over. Without hesitation, she slapped me across the face.

“What the hell is going on?!” she shouted. “You pushed her this far?!”

My in-laws were stunned and heartbroken, but they still tried to calm Naomi down.

Through broken sobs, our daughter explained her “side of the story.”

Naomi grabbed my phone to find proof—whatever “evidence” our daughter was talking about.

I wasn’t worried. I had already checked my phone earlier. There was nothing there.

But as she scrolled through my photo gallery, her expression grew darker and darker.

Her breathing turned ragged. She looked like she was about to explode.

My in-laws rushed over to see what was going on.

“Garth!” my father-in-law shouted, shaking with fury. “How could you do this to my granddaughter?! After everything our family’s done for you, this is how you repay us?!”

He shoved the table over in rage.

My mother-in-law, crying now, yelled through tears, “No wonder Zelene said those things earlier! So you have been abusing her all along!”

I shouted back that I didn’t do it—that I had no idea what they were talking about!

But Naomi's eyes were red with fury. She kicked me to the ground and shoved the phone in my face.

“Still trying to lie your way out of this? The evidence is right here!”

Her voice was shaking. She looked like she wanted to tear me apart.

I stared at the screen.

There were dozens of photos and videos that hadn’t been there before.

Each one showed my daughter dressed in different cutesy outfits, making sad, timid poses. Her eyes were wide and filled with fear.

In one video, she pleaded tearfully at the camera, “Uncles, please send Zelene some gifts, or Daddy will hit me again.”

Her voice trembled, and her eyes brimmed with tears.

The comments on the screen made my skin crawl.

[Don’t be scared, Zelene. I'll send you gifts right now.]

[Where do you live, sweetheart? I'll bring you candy.]

On and on they went.

I started shaking.

This couldn’t be real.

I just checked my phone minutes ago. None of this was on it!

“This isn’t me! I didn’t take these! I don’t even know where these photos and videos came from!”

I was trying to hold it together, but my voice cracked as I spoke.

My mind was spinning, scrambling for any memory, any explanation.

How the hell had this happened?

Garth's POV

But my phone had been in my pocket the whole day—there’s no way anyone could’ve touched it.

Suddenly, Naomi slapped me hard across the face.

“Garth! I can’t believe you’d stoop so low—forcing your own daughter to do something this disgusting!” she screamed. You don’t deserve to be a father. You’re vile!”

My ears rang, and my vision blurred due to the impact of the slap. My head also jerked to the side, and that’s when I caught my daughter’s eyes.

She was pale from the pain, but there was something else in her gaze. Something fleeting. A flicker of guilt she tried to hide.

It was her.

I lunged toward her and gripped her shoulders as panic bubbled up in my chest.

“Zelene, why?” I pleaded. “Why are you lying about me? What did I do to deserve this? I’ve always treated you well. Why are you doing this to me?!”

She burst into loud, frightened sobs and shrank back in fear.

Naomi didn’t hesitate. She kicked me several times, yelling, “How dare you still play the victim?! You better pray she’s okay. Otherwise, I swear I’ll kill you!”

If her parents hadn’t stepped in to hold her back, I genuinely think she might’ve killed me.

“Let’s get Zelene to the hospital first!” her mother urged.

Naomi finally stopped, scoffing coldly before scooping up our daughter. The three of them rushed out in a panic, and despite everything, I followed.

I couldn’t let myself relax until I knew she was alright.

Thankfully, the cuts on her face weren’t serious. A bit of cleaning, some ointment, and antibiotics, and she’d be fine.

It was well past midnight by the time we got everything sorted out.

Then, just as things had started to settle, Naomi got a call—another out-of-town competition.

But the moment she tried to leave, Zelene clung to her and started wailing hysterically.

“Mommy, don’t go! Daddy’s gonna have people kidnap me tonight! They’re gonna break my legs and cut out my tongue! He's going to kill me!”

Naomi shot me a look so sharp it could’ve cut through bone.

“No!” I held my hands up. “That’s not true. If you don’t believe me, I’ll call the police right now.”

She snatched the phone from my hand, seething.

“What, you want to air our dirty laundry? Ruin our daughter’s reputation for the world to see?” she spat. “Or do you want everyone to find out what you forced her to do?!”

Then she turned to our daughter.

“Zelene, Grandma and Grandpa will stay with you tonight. If he so much as touches you, Mommy will come back and end him.”

By now, her parents had calmed down a bit.

“Naomi, let’s think about this,” her mother said gently. “What kind of father would hurt his own child?”

Her father nodded and added, “Don’t forget that when you were giving birth, the doctors thought both of you might not make it. But Garth swore he’d give his life to save you two. Zelene is his heart and soul. There’s no way he’d hurt her."

Her mother also suggested, "Maybe those photos and videos really are some kind of misunderstanding. Isn’t AI editing all the rage now?”

I nodded eagerly, deeply moved by how fair and reasonable they were being.

Zelene stayed quiet in Naomi’s arms, but when she looked at me, her eyes were full of smug defiance.

“Daddy,” she said, “I want to watch cartoons.”

I numbly pulled up her favorite show on my phone and held it in front of her.

Ever since Naomi gave birth to her six years ago, I’d given up my job to stay home and raise her. I’d done everything just to make sure she had a happy, loving childhood.

All I ever wanted was for her to grow up kind and thoughtful.

So why? Why had she turned into this?

After Naomi left, her parents and I took turns watching over Zelene.

I glanced at the clock. It was now 2 a.m.

In my past life, ten minutes from now, she’d gone missing from the hospital.

If I stayed close by, with her grandparents here as witnesses, there was no way she could twist things again. She wouldn’t be able to make any more false claims.

I forced myself to stay awake, determined to keep my eyes on her.

But shortly, she suddenly burst into tears again, clutching her stomach.

“I’m hungry,” she sobbed.

None of us had really eaten anything after everything that had happened.