Part 2Lawyer Father Defends My Attacker

I stayed in the hospital for three days. During that time, my father never visited once.

Instead, Glenda showed up, clutching a plastic basket filled with bruised, rotting apples. She wore her dusty work uniform, standing awkwardly at the entrance of my room.

"Tessa," she said, placing the basket on my nightstand. She rubbed her calloused hands together. "Brenda is just a kid. Sometimes she gets rough and doesn't know her own strength. I've already scolded her."

"Look, your father got her off, so let's call it even, okay?"

Even?

I stared at the decaying apples she had likely picked up from a bargain bin. A dry laugh caught in my throat. "My leg is worth a basket of rotten garbage?"

Glenda's face hardened, but she quickly forced her polite smile back on. "Oh, Tessa, you shouldn't talk like that. When your father was in college, I scraped together every penny to keep him fed. People need to show some gratitude. Look at how reasonable your father is."

"Besides, your family has plenty of money. You don't need us to pay for your hospital bills. My Brenda still needs to get married, she can't be carrying a debt."

In that moment, I understood the depths of human shamelessness. This family was a nest of leeches, and my father was the idiot who kept offering them his veins.

"Get out," I said, pointing at the door. "Take your garbage and get the hell out of my room."

Glenda's smile vanished. "What an insolent, disrespectful brat. No wonder Brenda had to teach you a lesson."

She snatched her basket, muttering curses under her breath, and spat on the linoleum floor before slamming the door behind her.

I pressed the call button, asking the nurse to come in and disinfect the room.

It was repulsive.

That afternoon, the head nurse came in, a worried look on her face as she held an invoice. "Tessa... your account is overdrawn. If we don't receive a payment soon, we'll have to stop your medications."

I blinked. "Overdrawn? Did my father... did Victor not pay the deposit?"

The nurse shook her head. "He came by yesterday and withdrew the fifty-thousand-dollar pre-payment. He said... he said the other family was facing financial difficulties, so he was lending them the money to help them get by. He told us you could cover the hospital bills with your own savings."

A loud ringing filled my ears. The last thread of my patience snapped.

He had taken my medical funds and handed them to the girl who had crippled me.

Was this the act of a biological father?

With trembling hands, I borrowed the nurse's phone and dialed his number. It rang for a long time before connecting. In the background, I could hear the clatter of tiles and my father's booming laughter.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"It's me."

The line went quiet for a second, and then his voice turned sharp and impatient. "Tessa? Where is your phone? Why are you calling from an unknown number?"

"Victor, did you withdraw my surgery deposit?" I asked, using his name.

"Is that how you speak to your father?" he barked. "Glenda’s family is trying to buy an apartment in the city, and they were short on the down payment. I figured your hospital expenses weren't that urgent, so I lent them the funds. Don't you have your own savings? Use that first. Don't be so incredibly selfish, Tessa. Learn to help those in need."

Help those in need.

He was stripping my bones to keep them warm.

"That was my surgery money!" I screamed into the receiver. "The surgeon said I need my second reconstructive procedure next week, or I'll be permanently disabled! You gave my medical funds to Brenda's family for an apartment? Are you out of your mind?!"

Through the line, I heard Glenda's voice in the background. "Oh, Victor, if Tessa needs it for her leg, we can wait on the apartment..."

Then came my father's firm, reassuring tone. "Don't listen to her, Glenda. Doctors always exaggerate. It's not that serious."

"Tessa, figure it out yourself. Stop bothering me."

The line went dead.

I stared at the black screen, my body freezing. The nurse cast a look of deep pity in my direction. "Tessa... is there anyone else? Can you call your mother?"

My mother? The woman who couldn't even buy personal items without begging for his permission?

I shook my head. "No. Please prepare my discharge papers."

"But your leg—"

"I'm done treating it."

Since the world was rotten to the core, I had no reason to play the good daughter anymore.

I went back to our house while they were out. I packed up everything that belonged to me, leaving only the signed disownment papers on his desk.

My vintage sneaker collection, my limited-edition collectibles, and the small gold bars I had accumulated over the years—I posted them all on online marketplace apps, selling them at a fraction of their value. I only accepted cash.

With the money, I rented a small, accessible apartment in a neighboring town and checked myself into a private orthopedic clinic.

Though I had missed the optimal window for treatment, the surgeon assured me that with enough therapy, I could walk again, though running or any intense physical activity was out of the question.

I had been the captain of my varsity basketball team. Now, I was a cripple.

But I didn't shed a single tear. My tears had run dry that afternoon in the hospital.