I’ve always been Daddy’s little girl, but that title now feels like a heavy weight. At 23, living with my parents was my comfort zone until everything changed. My father, once my protector, had become a source of confusion and hurt.
It all started when Dad began to complain about me. At first, they were minor issues: I was too loud, I was staying out too late, and then, one day, he crossed a line. “You smell horrible; go take a cold shower and use the soap I gave you!” The shock hit me hard. I had never considered my scent an issue, and his harsh words felt like a betrayal.
The soap was a green, chunky bar with a strange smell, but I followed his orders, desperate to please him. I started taking multiple showers each day, scrubbing my skin until it felt raw. Yet, nothing changed. Each time Dad saw me, he would ask, “Did you use that soap, Amy? You still smell bad.” It was crushing.
My self-esteem plummeted. I started to avoid my boyfriend, Henry, feeling ashamed of myself. Whenever he asked about my absence, I made excuses. “I’m busy with stuff,” I would say, hiding my shame behind a forced smile.
Then one day, Henry came over. Concerned, he held me by the arms, searching my eyes. “Where have you been, Amy?” His kindness made my heart ache. I faked a smile, but I couldn’t hide the truth. “Do I smell bad?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. He laughed, thinking I was joking. “No, babe. You smell fine.”
That was when he went to the bathroom and came back with the soap in hand. “Who gave you this?! Are you taking cold showers with this?” Panic filled my chest. “Yeah, my dad. Why?”
His face paled. “This isn’t soap! It’s used to strip industrial machinery of grease!” I froze, my mind racing. Suddenly, everything made sense. The itchy skin, the harshness of the soap—it wasn’t normal. “It’s toxic,” he continued. “It can cause chemical burns.”
My heart shattered. How could my father, the man I had trusted, do this to me? I felt a mix of betrayal and confusion. “We need to go to the hospital,” Henry insisted. “And then to the police. This is abuse.”
But I couldn’t accept that word in relation to my dad. “No,” I said firmly. “I’ll confront them first.” A few days later, we moved into a small apartment together. It was cramped, but it felt like a safe haven.
The next day, I returned to my parents’ house, the soap still in hand. I found Dad in the living room. “I never thought you’d do this to me, Dad,” I said, holding the soap high. “This is toxic. Why?”
“Oh, so you finally found out?” he smirked. “You needed to learn a lesson.”
“A lesson? You nearly killed me!” I was furious. “Why would you do this?”
Finally, Mom intervened. “Amy, please—”
“Don’t defend him!” I snapped. “You knew, didn’t you? You were part of this!”
Tears streamed down her face, but she stayed silent. My heart raced as Dad revealed a truth that shattered my world: “When your mother and I were on vacation, a fortune teller told me you weren’t mine.”
My breath caught. “What?!” I looked at Mom, who couldn’t meet my gaze.
He continued, “She confessed it was true. You’re the result of an affair. I had to make her pay, and you too. Because you are not my daughter!”
Those words echoed in my mind, piercing through my heart. “You did this to me because of something I didn’t do?” I whispered, tears blurring my vision.
“Alright, I’m done with you,” I said, wiping away my tears. “You’ll hear from my lawyer.”
With that, I walked out, leaving behind the house that had once felt like a safe haven. Over the next few days, I sought medical treatment for my skin and talked to a lawyer about my options. Soon, my father received a notice of a restraining order.
Mom tried to reach out, but I ignored her calls. If she couldn’t stand up for me, I didn’t want to talk. Living with Henry now felt like freedom. For the first time in ages, I laughed, feeling a sense of peace that had been missing from my life. I couldn’t thank fate enough for bringing Henry into my life.
