The Adoption Storm: A Father's Confession
On New Year's Day, a relative knelt on the ground, begging me to give my five-year-old daughter away to be adopted by her single son.
I thought that was shameless enough, until I saw what was on her son's phone...
New Year's Eve, same as every year, celebrating in the hometown.
Elena and Sophie were there too.
Usually, we all worked in Boston. It was rare to come back, and Sophie, just five years old, spoke in that sweet milky voice of hers, her skin fair and soft—so adorable that the relatives couldn't get enough of her, always teasing and playing with her.
It had been a warm, joyful gathering. But after a few rounds of drinks, my Aunt Gladys suddenly tugged my arm and pulled me aside.
In a quiet corner, away from everyone, she made her request.
She wanted me to hand over my daughter—to be adopted by her son.
I was stunned.
I almost thought I'd misheard. "What the hell? Are you joking?!"
This kind of request—I wouldn't agree to it even if I had rocks for brains.
"I even consulted a psychic. Your next child is guaranteed to be a son." Aunt Gladys pulled rank as an elder, lecturing me: "A daughter is just a drain on your money. Sooner or later she'll be given away anyway. Wouldn't it be better to give her to your own family?"
"Sophie is my life!" I was furious enough to explode. "I'll pretend I didn't hear this today. But if you bring it up again, don't blame me for being rude."
I turned to leave, but Aunt Gladys began to cry. She dropped to her knees right there, kowtowing and begging me.
That was when I learned that her son had been throwing fits at home for over six months. Hunger strikes. Smashed things.
He'd screamed countless times that he wanted to adopt my daughter.
He even said that if my daughter wasn't given to him, he'd rather kill himself.
I was so angry I almost laughed. Adopt?! What kind of "adoption" was this?!
Was I already dead in his eyes?!
Then it hit me—I realized something. An adoption like this wouldn't even be legal.
Her son was only twenty. Still single.
Why on earth would he want a daughter?
Then I remembered—once, when I helped him fix his phone, I accidentally stumbled across his secret.
He'd saved a massive collection of obscene fiction on it.
Recalling those "gentlemanly" titles, I was instantly enraged. Her son had demanded my daughter by name. His motive was obvious.
Aunt Gladys was still on the ground, kowtowing.
I stared at her, cold as ice.
"Even if you bash your skull open right here, I will never agree."
What I didn't expect was for Aunt Gladys to collapse on the ground, wailing, cursing me for being unfilial—how dare I not give in when an elder was kneeling before me.
She even called my daughter a curse, saying she'd destroy their entire family.
"You're trying to drive my son to his death!" she screamed.
The older generation heard the commotion and rushed out. Seeing this scene, they hurried to help her up.
My parents didn't know the reason and kicked me several times.
I rubbed my side and glared at the figure approaching behind me—my cousin, Derek.
He was Aunt Gladys's son.
Obese, face covered in acne. Never made it to college. Worked at an auto repair shop.
"Give me your phone." I pointed right at his face.
He backed away a few steps.
From the start of dinner, something had felt off—Derek kept taking photos with his phone, pointing it all around the table, but several times, the lens was aimed straight at my daughter.
The adults hadn't noticed. I lunged forward, snatched his phone, forced my thumb against his face, and unlocked it with facial recognition.
When I opened the gallery, my rage nearly made my head explode.
He had created a dedicated album.
Inside were nothing but photos of my daughter. Recent ones, and older ones too—taken secretly, without my knowledge.
More than a hundred of them.
That day in the hometown, I pinned Derek down and beat him mercilessly, almost killing him.
Eventually, the older relatives pulled us apart. With Elena and Sophie there, I couldn't exactly explain why in public—so I just grabbed his phone and smashed it to pieces.
My parents were furious, scolding me for a long time.
I had no desire to stay. I packed up Elena and Sophie and drove back to Millbrook that very night.
On the way, after Sophie fell asleep, I finally let my anger show and told Elena the truth.
She was nearly beside herself with rage.
"Let's leave right now! We're never coming back here again!"
I sighed. I wanted to get far away from people like that too.
But in a small town, transportation was terrible. Only the city had a train station and an airport.
The city was over a hundred kilometers away. It was a snowy night, dark and slick... far too dangerous.
"Tomorrow. We'll pack tonight and leave at first light."
Elena had no choice—there was no better option. She agreed.
Outside the car window, wispy snowflakes drifted down.
I drove slowly, but Derek's face kept flashing through my mind.
When I smashed his phone, I'd caught a glimpse of him—staring at me in silence.
In his eyes was a viciousness I couldn't even describe.
After my parents returned from the hometown, I told them the truth.
Dad and Mom were just as furious—their most precious granddaughter, reduced to goods to be handed over like that?!
They couldn't stomach it. They wanted to go to Derek's house that very night to confront them.
I couldn't stop them, and with Elena and Sophie at home, I couldn't go myself. I had to let them go.
But the shamelessness of Derek's family went beyond anything I could have imagined.
About an hour later, Mom and Dad came back.
Dad had marks on his face. Mom was wiping away tears in secret.
They tried to hide it from me, but I pressed them repeatedly until I learned the truth—after they arrived, Derek's family had actually flipped the narrative, slinging filth right back at us.
They claimed we had sinister intentions—that we'd had a daughter specifically to tempt their son, to ruin their family.
They even cursed us, saying we'd get what was coming to us, that we'd die miserably.
Dad had cursed back, but they shoved him around. In the chaos, he took several hits to the face.
Then Elena's trembling voice reminded me: "Honey... check the family group chat."
I opened the messaging app. There, in the family group, Derek's parents were unleashing a torrent of abuse at our entire family.
"We'd be doing you a favor taking your daughter. You people are the sick ones—don't pin your filth on my son!"
"Look at what your daughter looks like!"
"Serves you right, only good for producing dead weight!"
"..."
Mom tried to fight back in the group chat, but the profanity from the other side was endless. She couldn't keep up.
Elena was in tears. Those words cut like knives into a mother's heart. Her whole body trembled.
I grabbed a kitchen knife and lunged for the door.
I was going to butcher them!
Mom and Dad panicked, rushing to hold me back.
"If you go to prison, what happens to your daughter?!" Dad shouted at me.
Sophie heard the commotion and started crying.
I slowly forced myself to calm down. All I could do was pound my fists into the wall—the rage in my chest was so thick it felt like it would make me vomit blood.
Their vicious curses filled me with an even deeper anxiety.
Damn it. If we couldn't fight them, couldn't we at least hide?
"Dad, Mom, come back to Boston with us first. I don't feel safe leaving you here," I said. "Think of it as celebrating the New Year in Boston."
They hesitated for a long while, then sighed heavily and nodded. "It's the only way for now."
I told myself to hold on a little longer—tomorrow we'd be far away from this wretched place.
What I didn't expect was that Derek's family had no intention of letting us leave so easily.
The next day—New Year's Day. The streets were brimming with festive cheer.
Yet we had to pack our bags and leave our hometown behind.
The snowy roads were treacherous. I drove slowly. The farther we got from Millbrook, the more I could finally breathe.
Sophie sat in her car seat while Elena kept her entertained.
I discussed plans for Boston with my parents and put on some music.
Then my face twisted in horror.
The car was out of control!
I slammed on the brakes, praying desperately—Stop! Please, stop!
In the panic, a terrifying thought struck me:
This car had just passed its inspection. There was nothing wrong with it.
Derek worked at an auto repair shop. He knew how to fix cars—which meant he also knew how to break one.
His vicious gaze flashed through my mind again.
The car was completely out of control. The screech of metal echoed as we hurtled toward the guardrail.
The roads around Millbrook were flanked by steep cliffs on both sides.
Oh God!
Amid desperate screams, the entire car plunged over the edge.
A deafening crash!
I woke up in a hospital in the next county over.
After the car went over, it had slammed into thick trees that stopped it from falling further—and that was the only reason any of us survived.
But the driver's side was severely crushed.
My lower leg was fractured and fitted with a steel plate. Several ribs were broken. If the ambulance had arrived any later, the ribs might have punctured my organs, and that would have been the end.
By some miracle, my parents and Elena had only minor cuts and bruises—they were fine.
After the car finally stopped, they immediately called 911, buying me precious time for rescue.
Thanks to her car seat, Sophie wasn't physically injured, but she was in deep shock. She hadn't spoken a word.
For two whole days, she said nothing.
Leaning on crutches, I found Sophie in the hospital room.
Her eyes were vacant. She hadn't spoken a word.
I gathered her into one arm and gently patted her back.
Finally, she responded—her small arms wrapped around me.
"Daddy... did we do something wrong?"
Those were her first words in two days.
I patted her back gently as she cried softly.
"We didn't do anything wrong."
"It's the ones who did wrong who've never been punished," I said.
I got the accident report.
Unfortunately, the car was so badly damaged that no evidence could be recovered.
The police could only classify it as an accident.
I refused to accept it, but without evidence, there was nothing we could do.
Even whether he was behind it remained uncertain—a permanent mystery.
Powerless.
Absolutely, utterly powerless.
A few days later, I was outside the hospital, leaning on my crutches, smoking a cigarette.
Suddenly, I spotted a familiar figure walking straight toward me.
It was Derek.
He was alone.
I couldn't believe the audacity—he actually dared to show up. I dropped my cigarette and charged at him.
But on crutches, I could barely move—I tripped and fell before I even reached him.
He took the opportunity to kick my crutches away. I couldn't get up, left with nothing but helpless fury in my eyes.
He crouched down, his obese, greasy face curling into a mocking smile. "Can't even get up off the ground. What makes you worthy of being a father?"
"What are you doing here?" I forced the words through clenched teeth.
"Coming to adopt your daughter," he said. "Didn't expect you to still be alive. Congratulations—you're one tough bastard to kill."
He emphasized those last words, but his smile never wavered—confident, as if he held all the cards.
I clenched my fists, and at the same time, something started clicking into place.
At our request, the police hadn't notified anyone about the accident.
So how could he have known?
Unless... this "accident" was his doing from the start!
And then I remembered a line from the accident report.
"Thanks to the protection of the car seat, the girl was uninjured."
In that instant, everything became clear.
I should have seen it from the start.
Of course this was his handiwork.
Cause a car accident. Kill our family of four.
But Sophie, protected by her car seat, would very likely survive.
And then—naturally—he'd get his wish. He'd "adopt" my daughter!
I stared at him, unblinking.
"Aren't you afraid I'll come after you?"
"What do I have to be afraid of?" Derek spread his hands. "You're in Boston. You've got a home, a career. Hit me? Kill me? One prison sentence and you lose everything—you don't have the guts."
His greasy face flickered with something cold and vicious. "I've got nothing. I'll do anything."
This philosophy was probably ingrained in him by now—his personal creed.
That was what made him so bold.
"Think carefully about what I'm telling you."
He patted my shoulder as he spoke. "I know your address in Boston. I know where you work. I can visit you anytime."
Rage nearly split my skull open. I swung a hook punch at him with all my strength, but he dodged it, and the momentum sent me sprawling to the ground again.
"No hard feelings," he said, rising to his feet casually.
"Just a suggestion—give me your daughter, and you'll be safer." He paused. "Fewer accidents. A few more days alive. Doesn't that sound good?"
"Think it over—for your own sake, and for your wife's."
My eyes burned red with fury. I tried to get up, only to collapse again and again.
People nearby were starting to gather.
Seeing this, Derek turned and walked away.