I used to be Daddy’s little girl, or so I thought. At 23, I lived with my parents until recently, when my world turned upside down.

Dad had given me a strange green soap, insisting I use it because he claimed I smelled horrible. I showered obsessively, scrubbing my skin until it was raw, trying to rid myself of the “smell.” My mom, who had always been my closest confidante, said nothing, silently watching as Dad humiliated me.

When my boyfriend, Henry, discovered the soap, he was horrified. “This isn’t soap, Amy. It’s toxic! It’s for cleaning industrial machinery!” My heart sank as I realized the truth.

I confronted my parents. My father revealed a cruel secret: he wasn’t my biological father. My mom had confessed to an affair years ago, and Dad had kept this secret, punishing me for something I had no control over.

I moved out with Henry, got treatment for my damaged skin, and filed a lawsuit against my parents. My father’s smugness crumbled when he received the legal notice. Now, I’ve cut ties with both of them, finding peace in my new life. Henry’s love and support saved me when I needed it most.