Chapter 5: The Doormat Fights Back

Right after I hung up, her mom called.

Of course. Like clockwork, Carol’s name flashed on the screen, followed by a fresh flood of comments.

Comments flashed in front of my eyes.

[Parents have been starving all day. Dad even soiled himself and no one changed him. Villain’s a monster. RIP villain.]

Seriously, can’t they eat by themselves? What does this have to do with me?

I rolled my eyes, muting the phone for a second. The nerve—acting like I was the only one in the world who could boil soup or change a bed.

I was about to hang up, but curiosity got the better of me, so I answered.

I hesitated, thumb hovering over the red button. But something in me wanted to hear what excuse she’d come up with this time.

“Where are you? Why aren’t you back to cook? Are you trying to starve us?”

Her voice was sharp, accusatory, like I was a delinquent skipping detention. I could practically smell the burnt toast in the background. Classic Carol.

“With your lack of compassion, how can you ever marry my daughter? How am I supposed to speak up for you?”

She threw in the guilt trip, just for good measure. I almost laughed. Nice try.

I smiled and spoke slowly:

“If you’re hungry, eat something yourself. Your husband’s disabled—are you useless too?”

I made sure each word was clear, each syllable deliberate. Let her chew on that for a while.

“Give you—what? What are you even talking about?” Carol sounded a little stunned.

The confusion in her voice was almost comical. For once, she didn’t have a ready-made comeback.

The air fell silent for a moment.

I could hear her breathing, the faint clatter of dishes in the background. It was the first real silence I’d gotten from her in months.

“Nick, how can you talk to me like that? With this attitude, you’ll never marry my daughter.”

She tried to regain control, but her voice wavered. The old threats didn’t land like they used to.

“Then I hope your daughter finds herself a nice guy.”

I let the words hang, picturing her face turning red on the other end. The image almost made me smile.

Hearing how little I cared, Carol panicked, afraid the sucker Autumn finally found would run away.

There was a frantic rustling, her tone softening in real time. She wasn’t used to losing her grip.

She switched gears in a heartbeat, her voice going all sweet.

“Did you and Autumn have a fight? You need to work on your temper. Autumn is sensible—she’ll forgive you.”

“You two have been together so long. Every time you fight, you just give up. What will Autumn think of you? You need to be more mature.”

“Just come back and cook, help Gary change his sheets. I’ll talk to Autumn, and if you apologize, it’ll all blow over.”

She tried to play peacemaker, syrupy as a pancake breakfast. I almost gagged at the sudden switch.

Her father was paralyzed by illness—bedridden and needing help with everything.

The reality was grim. Gary hadn’t left his bed in months. Every day was a battle—bedsores, infections, the endless cycle of meds and cleanups. Sometimes, just walking into that room made me want to puke.

The whole house stank. Autumn and her mom didn’t even want to go in, let alone care for him.

Sometimes, the smell hit you before you even opened the front door. They’d hide out in the living room, windows cracked, pretending not to hear his groans.

So it was all up to me.

I was the one who scrubbed the sheets, emptied the bedpan, fed him spoonful by spoonful. The nurse came twice a week—otherwise, it was just me.

Every day before dawn, I’d get up, cook, clean her dad, empty the bedpan.

I’d drag myself out of bed at five, make oatmeal, coax Gary to eat a few bites, then start the laundry. The routine was relentless, but I did it because someone had to.

I still had to work to earn money for his treatment, never spending a penny on myself.

Every paycheck went straight to medical bills, groceries, supplements. My own needs didn’t even make the list.

But none of the expensive supplements they bought ever went to me.

I’d watch them stock the fridge with imported vitamins, ginseng, protein shakes—all for Gary. I got whatever was left over, if anything.

I ended up so weak that even a slight incline left me gasping for breath.

My body started to fail me—dizzy spells, pounding heart, legs like jelly. But nobody noticed. Nobody cared. Figures.

I treated them wholeheartedly, sold everything, worked myself to the bone for her dad’s treatment—and in the end, I got cut to pieces for it.

The bitter irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d given them everything, and they’d still found a way to blame me for their misery.

What a joke. And she still expects me to take care of her dad? Dream on!

I let out a low, humorless chuckle, shaking my head. Not anymore. I was done being the family doormat. Why should I be the punching bag?

I rubbed my temples and said, “Forget it. I’m done being the sucker. Your family’s not my problem anymore.”

The words felt good—liberating. I almost wished I’d said them sooner.

The comments exploded.

[Bro, what’s wrong with the villain? Dad’s still sick and he just bounces. Zero compassion. LMAO.]

[Why’d he stop simping for the heroine? Did he get wise or what?]

[Villain, stick to the plot! We paid for this drama, don’t bail now!]

The barrage was relentless, like a thousand hecklers booing from the cheap seats. I wanted to reach through the screen and shake them.

...

Expressionless, I scrolled through the comments, baffled.

I stared at the words, feeling more detached than ever. Was this really what people wanted? To watch me suffer for their entertainment?

I just didn’t want to keep sacrificing for Autumn. It’s not like I was stopping the leads from being together.

If they wanted their happy ending, fine. I just wasn’t going to bankroll it anymore.

Why should I pay for their romance? That’s absurd.

I snorted, shaking my head. If this was love, they could keep it.