When Amelia’s father gave her a soap bar and told her to take cold showers with it, she never thought he had an evil, hidden agenda behind it. Her world turned upside down when her boyfriend told her the horrifying truth about that soap.
I’ve always been Daddy’s little girl, but now I feel like throwing up when I say those words. I’m not his little girl, and he’s not the man I always thought he was. Let me tell you why.
A woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
So, I’ve always been close to my father, like REALLY close. I’m 23, and I lived with my parents up until a month ago because Dad never wanted me to move away.
He had given me the second floor of the house where I had my bedroom and a bathroom. Those two rooms of the house solely belonged to me. They were my safe space until the day Dad began to complain.
A man standing near a door | Source: Midjourney
My father is one of those people with a personality resembling a coconut. You know, hard on the outside and soft on the inside. He has these strict rules and principles that he abides by, but he also has this empathy inside that makes him the best Dad ever.
“Character is built in discomfort,” he’d always tell me. “You gotta face the worst now if you want a life full of luxuries ahead.”
But he’d also buy me chocolates and ice cream on days I didn’t feel good.
A woman holding an ice cream cone | Source: Pexels
Meanwhile, my mother has always been the typical loving mom. She’s always ready for hugs and kisses and never says no whenever I ask her to cook my favorite pasta. She has always been a sweetheart.
However, I recently felt that my parents were not the same anymore. Over the past few months, they had grown cold, and the love and care had suddenly vanished.
A woman sitting in her living room | Source: Midjourney
Honestly, I sometimes felt like I was living with two strangers in the house. It felt like we had lost the connection we always had.
Then began the unnecessary complaints and nitpicking from Dad’s side.
“You and your friends were too loud last night!”
“You’re staying out too late, Amy.”
“You’re spending too much on unnecessary things!”
Then came the complaint that really snatched my self-confidence.
A woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
“You smell horrible, go take a cold shower and use the soap I gave you!”
I smell horrible? What? I thought. Where did that come from?
That was the day when Dad handed me this soap I had never seen before. It was a green, chunky soap bar that smelled a bit weird, but Dad had asked me to use it, assuring it would help get rid of the unpleasant body odor.
A woman holding a soap bar | Source: Pexels
His words made me feel so self-conscious that I had even stopped hanging out with my boyfriend, Henry.
I often found myself smelling my skin, clothes, hair, and even my breath, just to check what made my father feel so uncomfortable around me.
I followed his advice and used that soap whenever I took a shower. Or, if I may put it correctly, I took five showers a day just to use that soap and get rid of the smell that had apparently been haunting my father.
A woman taking a shower | Source: Pexels
I scrubbed my skin so hard that I stripped it of the moisture it needed. My skin had begun to look dry, scaly, and so rough.
Even then, my father said I still smelled like rotten onions.
“Did you use that soap, Amy? I don’t think you did,” he’d say. “You smell so bad.”
What shocked me even more was that my mother didn’t say a word when Dad humiliated me like that every day. She didn’t say anything in my defense or stop me from being so hard on myself.
A woman sitting on a chair, looking down | Source: Pexels
Mom and I had always been close. She was the only person I shared everything with since I was a kid. I’d always tell her about my latest crush, my new boyfriend, and even the new slang I’d learned at school.
I couldn’t believe it when she stood silently, avoiding my gaze, while Dad kept grilling me. I won’t ever forgive Mom for not being there for me when I needed her the most.
A woman looking down | Source: Pexels
I kept showering with the soap, and my clothes always clung to me because they were damp from the frequent showers.
Besides, I began avoiding my father. I’d always scurry up to my room and lock the door whenever he returned home from work. I didn’t want him to see me. Or, more specifically, smell me.
The turning point came when my boyfriend, Henry, came over. We had been dating for a few months, and he was the one bright spot in my increasingly bleak days.
A woman talking to her boyfriend | Source: Midjourney
Henry has always been the supportive boyfriend, the green flag we all look for. He’s always been kind to me, and he came over that day because he had noticed I had been avoiding him.
“Where have you been, Amy?” he asked as he held me by my arms.
“I was… I was just busy with some stuff, Henry,” I faked a smile. “I’m fine.”
“Really? You don’t look fine, babe,” he said.
“I’m okay, Henry,” I said as I held his hand. “Tell me one thing… Do I smell bad?”
A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
He laughed, thinking I was kidding.
“No, babe. You smell fine. Why?”
“Nothing. I just…” I mumbled. “Forget it.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said before going to the bathroom.
A few minutes later, I watched him step out of the bathroom with the soap bar in his hand. I could see he wasn’t too happy about it.
“Who gave you this?! Are you taking cold showers with this?!?” he asked with eyes wide open.
A man looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
How did he know this? I thought.
“Yeah, my Dad. Why?” I asked, trying my best not to panic.
“They didn’t tell you, did they?! Baby, this isn’t soap! It’s used to strip industrial machinery of grease and grime.”
“Wait, what?” I was shocked.
“This stuff is toxic, Amy. It causes chemical burns.”
I can’t explain how betrayed and heartbroken I felt at that point. How could my father do this to me? To his daughter who he loved so much?
A woman looking straight ahead, shocked | Source: Midjourney
That’s when it all started to make sense to me. The dry, itchy skin and the weird texture of the soap bar. It also made me wonder if my mother knew about this.
“I think we need to go to the hospital to get you checked,” Henry said. “And then, we’re going to the police. This is abuse, Amy.”
I don’t know why, but I stopped him.
A man sitting in his girlfriend’s house | Source: Midjourney
I knew he was telling the truth, but I couldn’t put the words “abuse” and “Dad” together. I had never seen Dad in a negative light, and I didn’t like how those words fit in the same sentence and made so much sense.
In short, I couldn’t accept that my father had tried to hurt me.
“We can’t do that,” I told Henry. “We can’t go to the police.”
“But why?” he asked.
“I’ll explain that later,” I said. “Please just help me get out of here. I’ll confront my parents later.”
A woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
He agreed, and we moved into a small apartment a few days later. It was cramped and barely furnished, but it felt like a safe haven compared to what I had endured.
Then, it was time for me to confront my parents. I drove back to their house the next day.
When I arrived, Dad was in his usual spot, watching TV in the living room, and Mom was in the kitchen. I walked in with the soap bar in my hand and stood in front of my dad.
A man holding a remote | Source: Pexels
“I never thought you’d do this to me, Dad,” I said as I held the soap bar high enough for him to see. “This is toxic. It’s poison. It ruined my skin. Why did you do this?”
“Oh, so you finally found what it is, huh?” he smirked. “You needed to learn a lesson.”
“A lesson?” I laughed. “You nearly killed me. For what? Because you thought I smelled bad?”
“Please stop this!” My mother finally intervened. “Amy, yo—”
“You knew, Mom, didn’t you?” I cut her off. “You were a part of this ridiculous plan, right?”
A woman in her parents’ living room | Source: Midjourney
I watched tears trickle down her cheeks, but she didn’t say a word.
“Why did you do this to me, Dad?” I confronted my father. “I need to know!”
I wasn’t ready for his response. I had no idea it would turn my world upside down.
“You want to know why?” he said, almost to himself. “Fine. When your mother and I went on that vacation last year, we had a little too much to drink. We ended up in a crowd, where a fortune teller told me that your mother had been unfaithful.”
A man looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
“What are you talking about?” I asked as my heart flipped.
“That’s true,” he continued. “When I confronted your mother the next morning, she told me the truth. She told me you weren’t mine. You’re the result of an affair she had while I was working hard for us in another country.”
I looked at my mom, who couldn’t meet my gaze. Then, I looked back at Dad as he continued to speak.
A sad woman looking down | Source: Pexels
“Your mother begged me not to leave her because she didn’t want to break our family apart,” he shook his head. “So, I agreed. But on one condition. I had to make her pay, and you too. Because YOU ARE NOT MY DAUGHTER!”
My heart shattered into a million pieces that day. I couldn’t believe my father had this evil side. The evil personality that was so hungry for unjust revenge.
A close-up shot of a woman, shocked | Source: Midjourney
“You mean you gave me that toxic soap because you were angry at Mom? Because you thought I was not your daughter?” I asked as the tears in my eyes blurred my vision.
“You’re not my daughter,” he said and turned around. “You’re not my blood.”
For the next few seconds, I stared at his back in silence, wondering why he punished me for something that wasn’t my fault.
“Alright, I’m done with you,” I said as I wiped away my tears. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
A woman about to leave her parents’ house | Source: Midjourney
And with that, I stepped out of the house that was once my haven. Over the next few days, I visited the hospital multiple times for my skin treatment and talked to my lawyer regarding how I could file a case against my parents.
Soon, my father received a notice of the restraining order and the impending lawsuit. With that, his smug confidence was shattered, and his reputation was in ruins. His entire circle was disgusted by his actions.
A man reading a legal notice | Source: Midjourney
Meanwhile, Mom tried to get in touch with me, but I didn’t reply to any of her calls or texts. If she couldn’t take a stand for me, why should I even bother talking to her? I was done.
Now, living with Henry, I feel a sense of peace that had been missing from my life for ages. I don’t remember the last time I had laughed this much in my own house. I can’t thank fate enough for blessing me with a man like Henry. I have no idea what I’d do without him.
A man sitting in his apartment | Source: Midjourney
If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might like: Bobby discovered a hidden stash of expensive gifts in his teenage daughter’s closet, along with a photo of an unknown older man and a note about a café meeting. He discreetly followed her to the café, unaware he’d uncover a secret that would tear his family apart.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Old Man Shuts the Door on Annoying Teen, but a Hurricane Exposes the Truth About Her – Story of the Day
When a grouchy old man slams the door on a persistent teen, he thinks he’s rid of her for good. But when a hurricane traps them together, the storm outside reveals the truth about her shocking connection to his past.
Frank had lived alone for many years. The quiet suited him, and he’d long accepted the absence of friends or family in his life. So, when he heard a knock at the door one Saturday morning, he was startled but more annoyed than curious.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
With a heavy groan, he pushed himself out of his recliner. When he opened the door, he saw a teenage girl standing on the porch, no older than sixteen.
Before she could speak, Frank snapped, “I don’t want to buy anything, I don’t want to join any church, I don’t support homeless kids or kittens, and I’m not interested in environmental issues.” Without waiting for a response, he slammed the door shut.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
He turned to leave but froze when the doorbell rang again. With a sigh, he shuffled back to his chair, grabbed the remote, and turned up the TV volume.
The weather report showed a hurricane warning for the city. Frank glanced at it briefly, then shook his head.
“Doesn’t matter to me,” he mumbled. His basement was built to withstand anything.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The doorbell didn’t stop. It kept ringing, over and over. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. Each ring grated on Frank’s nerves. Finally, he stomped back to the door, muttering to himself. He flung it open with a scowl.
“What?! What do you want?!” he barked, his voice echoing down the quiet street.
The girl stood there, calm, her eyes fixed on him. “You’re Frank, right? I need to talk to you,” she said.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Frank narrowed his eyes. “Let’s say I am. Who are you, and why are you on my porch? Where are your parents?”
“My name is Zoe. My mom died recently. I don’t have any parents now,” she said, her voice steady.
“I couldn’t care less,” Frank snapped. He grabbed the edge of the door and started to push it closed.
Before it could shut, Zoe pressed her hand against it. “Aren’t you curious why I’m here?” she asked, her tone unwavering.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“The only thing I’m curious about,” Frank growled, “is how long it’ll take you to leave my property and never come back!” He shoved her hand off the door and slammed it so hard the frame rattled.
The doorbell stopped. Frank peered through the curtains, checking the yard. It was empty.
With a deep sigh, he turned away, feeling victorious. Little did he know, this was only the beginning of his nightmare.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, Frank woke up, grumbling as he dragged himself to the front door to grab his newspaper.
His jaw dropped when he saw the state of his house. Smashed eggs dripped down the walls, their sticky residue glinting in the sunlight.
Large, crude words were scrawled across the paint in messy black letters, making his blood boil.
“What in the world?!” he shouted, looking around the street, but it was empty.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Grinding his teeth, he stormed back inside, grabbed his cleaning supplies, and spent the entire day scrubbing.
His hands ached, his back throbbed, and he swore under his breath with every stroke.
By evening, exhausted but relieved to see the walls clean, he stepped onto his porch with a cup of tea.
But his relief was short-lived. Garbage was scattered across his yard—cans, old food, and torn papers littered the lawn.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Stupid girl!” he shouted at no one in particular, his voice echoing through the quiet neighborhood.
He stomped down the steps, grabbed some trash bags, and began cleaning. As he bent to pick up a rotten tomato, his eyes caught a note taped to his mailbox.
He yanked it off and read aloud, “Just listen to me, and I’ll stop bothering you. —Zoe.” At the bottom, scrawled in bold numbers, was a phone number.
Frank crumpled the note and hurled it into the trash.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, loud shouting woke him. He looked outside to see a group of people waving signs.
“Who the hell are you?!” he yelled, opening the window.
“We’re here for the environment! Thanks for letting us use your yard!” a hippie-looking woman called.
Fuming, Frank grabbed a broom and chased them off. Once they were gone, he noticed a caricature of himself drawn on the driveway with the caption, “I hate everyone.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
On his front door was another note:
“Just listen to me, or I’ll come up with more ways to annoy you.
—Zoe.
P.S. The paint doesn’t wash off.”
And again at the bottom was a phone number.
Frank stormed inside, slamming the door behind him. He grabbed the phone and dialed Zoe’s number with shaking hands. “Come to my house. Now,” he barked and hung up before she could respond.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
When Zoe arrived, her jaw dropped. Two police officers stood on the porch beside Frank, their expressions serious.
“What the—? Are you kidding me?!” Zoe shouted, glaring at him.
Frank folded his arms and smirked. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Guess what? You’re not.”
The officers cuffed Zoe. “You old jerk!” she yelled as they led her to the car. Frank watched, smug, believing this was the end of his troubles.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The next day, the city issued a hurricane warning. The winds howled, bending trees and tossing debris down the empty streets.
Frank looked out the window as he prepared to head for his basement. His eyes widened when he spotted Zoe outside, clutching her backpack and stumbling against the wind.
“What are you doing out there?!” Frank shouted, flinging open the door. The wind nearly tore it from his hand.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Zoe turned, her hair whipping around her face. “What does it look like?! I’m looking for shelter!” she yelled, her voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. “I have nowhere else to go!”
“Then come inside!” Frank barked, stepping onto the porch.
“No way!” Zoe snapped. “I’d rather face this hurricane than go in your house!”
Frank gritted his teeth. “You were desperate to talk to me yesterday. What changed now?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“I realized you’re a selfish, grumpy idiot!” Zoe shot back.
Frank had enough. He stomped down the steps, grabbed her backpack, and hauled her toward the door.
“Let me go!” Zoe screamed, twisting against his grip. “I’m not going with you! Let me go!”
“Are you out of your mind?!” Frank bellowed, slamming the door behind them. “Stay out there, and you’ll die!”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Maybe that’s fine! I have nothing left anyway! ” Zoe yelled, her face red. “And do you think your stupid house is some kind of fortress?!”
“My basement is fortified,” Frank growled. “It’s survived worse than this. Follow me.”
Zoe glared at him but hesitated. After a moment, she sighed and trudged after him toward the basement.
The basement was surprisingly cozy. It looked like a small, well-used living room. A single bed sat tucked in one corner, with shelves of old books lining the walls.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
A pile of paintings leaned against the far side, their colors muted by age. Zoe glanced around, unimpressed, then dropped onto the couch with a loud sigh.
“You wanted to say something? Now’s your chance,” Frank said, standing stiffly near the stairs.
“Now you’re ready to listen?” Zoe asked, raising an eyebrow.
“We’re stuck here for who knows how long. Might as well get it over with,” Frank replied, leaning against a shelf and folding his arms.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Fine,” Zoe said. She reached into her backpack, pulled out some folded papers, and handed them to him.
Frank frowned as he took them. “What’s this?”
“My emancipation papers,” Zoe said, her tone matter-of-fact.
Frank blinked. “What?”
“It’s so I can live on my own,” Zoe explained. “Without parents. Without guardians.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“How old are you?” Frank asked, squinting at the documents.
“Sixteen… almost,” Zoe replied, her voice firm.
“And why do you need my signature?” Frank asked, looking at her sharply.
Zoe met his eyes without hesitation. “Because you’re my only living relative. I’m your granddaughter. Remember your wife? Your daughter?”
Frank’s face paled. “That’s impossible.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“It’s very possible,” Zoe said with a cold laugh. “Social services gave me your address. When Grandma talked about you, I thought she was exaggerating. Now I see she didn’t tell me half of it.”
“I’m not signing this. You’re still a child. The system can take care of you.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“You’re joking, right?” Zoe snapped. “You were a terrible father and husband! You left Grandma and Mom to chase some fantasy about painting. Your art isn’t even good—I was better at five! And now, after all that, you won’t even sign a piece of paper to help me?”
Frank’s hands clenched. “It was my dream to be an artist!” he shouted.
“It was my dream too!” Zoe shot back. “But Grandma’s gone. Mom’s gone. And you’re the only family I have. You’re also the worst person I’ve ever met!”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
They sat in silence after that, the tension heavy in the room. Frank knew Zoe was right. He had been selfish. Back then, he had seen only his art, blind to everything else.
After two hours, Frank finally spoke. “Do you even have a place to stay?”
“I’m working on it,” Zoe muttered. “I’ve got a job. I still have Mom’s car. I can manage.”
“You should be in school, not figuring out how to survive,” Frank said.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Life doesn’t work out the way we want,” Zoe replied, her voice soft but firm.
For the next few hours, Frank sat silently, watching Zoe sketch in her notebook. Her pencil moved with confidence, every stroke purposeful.
He hated to admit it, but her art was bold, creative, and alive. It was far better than anything he had ever painted.
The radio crackled to life, its monotone voice announcing the hurricane had passed. The storm was over.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Frank stood, his joints stiff, and gestured toward the stairs. “Let’s go up,” he said. Once upstairs, he glanced at Zoe and handed her the signed documents without a word.
“You were right,” he said, his voice low. “I was a terrible husband. A lousy father too. I can’t change any of that. But maybe I can help change someone’s future.”
Zoe stared at the papers for a moment, then slipped them into her backpack. “Thanks,” she said quietly.
Frank looked at her and nodded. “Don’t stop painting. You’ve got talent.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Zoe slung the bag over her shoulder. “Life decided otherwise,” she said, heading for the door.
“You can stay here,” Frank said suddenly.
Zoe froze. “What?”
“You can live here,” Frank said. “I can’t undo my mistakes, but I also can’t throw my own granddaughter out on the street.”
“Do you really want me to stay?” Zoe asked.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Not exactly,” Frank admitted. “But I think we might both learn something.”
Zoe smirked. “Fine. Thanks. But I’m taking all your art supplies. I’m way better than you.”
She turned toward the basement. Frank shook his head. “Stubborn and arrogant. You get that from me.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
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