Eventually, my boyfriend Henry visited and discovered the truth: “This isn’t soap, Amy! It’s used to strip industrial machinery of grease.” I was shocked and devastated, realizing my father had been using it to hurt me.
I confronted him, demanding an explanation. He revealed that a fortune teller had told him I wasn’t his biological daughter. “You’re not my blood,” he said, claiming that my mother had an affair. In his twisted revenge, he gave me the toxic soap as punishment.
Heartbroken, I moved out with Henry and filed a restraining order against my father. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” I told him as I walked out of the house that used to be my home. My father’s reputation was destroyed, and his circle turned against him.
My mother tried to contact me, but I ignored her. If she couldn’t stand up for me when I needed her, I couldn’t forgive her. Now, living with Henry, I’ve found peace. I don’t remember the last time I felt so safe or happy.
I’m grateful for his love and support, and I finally feel free from the torment of my past.
