Selling My Mom Made Me Public Enemy No. 1

When I was ten years old, I sold my mother to human traffickers.

My father calls me an ungrateful monster, a devil. He sues me 99 times, but each time, I am found not guilty because I am under 14.

In the end, on his way to bring my mother home, he is beaten to death by the men in that village.

20 years later, my younger sister finally brings our mother—now unable to walk and mentally unstable—out of the village.

She starts a livestream and breaks down in tears. "I beg the internet to put my devil of a sister on trial. Don’t let her get away with this! She destroyed my family. I will make sure she loses everything!"

But only I know… My mother deserves it.

On the livestream, my mom looked like a ghost of her former self. Her skin was scarred from burns and whips that she had suffered for more than 20 years. The marks of torment were etched all over her body.

Grace Perkins, my sister, held her hands tightly. Her shoulders trembled, and her fingers shook.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Perkins! Those traffickers deserve death!"

"How could you hand your own mom over to traffickers? Are you even human? I demand the court reopen this case and sentence you to death!"

"Grace, you've been through hell these years. Finally, you're reunited with your mom. Don't worry, we've got your back."

Seeing the outpouring of support, Grace finally unleashed all the pain and suffering she had carried for years. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. "I'm not asking for much… I just want her to get what she deserves."

Viewers showered her with virtual gifts, and some even called the cops on her behalf.

By the time the police knocked on my door, I wasn't even fazed. I'd grown used to it.

Back when Dad was alive, he used to preach "justice before family". He'd drag me to the station on a whim, accusing me of human trafficking.

While kids my age were staying up cramming for exams, I spent nights in the station.

While they scribbled furiously in classrooms, I sat in the defendant's seat, taking in everyone's insults at me.

The cop who had knocked on my door looked just over 20 years old. He stared at me like I was filth.

"Hope Perkins, right? Come with us."

News of my arrest had everyone glued to their screens, waiting in anticipation.

But this time, I was ready. I pulled out the documents proving my innocence and the court records.

After the cops read through them, they had no choice but to let me go.

As I left, the young cop spat at me, cursing, "Hope, don't think you can get away with what you did when you were ten. One day, you'll pay for it!"

I paused at the door, giving them a cold, detached smile.

Nodding slowly, I said boldly, "I can't wait for the day when you finally lock me up."

The cops quickly released an official statement confirming my release, causing the internet to explode.

"Who's going to give Grace and her mom justice? Are we just supposed to watch Hope walk free?"

"I can't take this anymore. Someone, get a group together and go deal with her offline!"

"I'm a lawyer. Give us some time. She will pay for this."

Grace kept thanking everyone in the livestream, telling them they didn't have to send cash gifts.

She forced a bitter laugh. "If it weren't for my grandparents sending money, I wouldn't have made it through all these years. But I'm not streaming for cash gifts. Use your money to help people who really need it."

Of course, that only made people send even more.

Some even set up aid funds and sent money directly to Grace. Others, feeling sorry for her, donated to hire a caregiver for our mother.

Today was the caregiver's first day at work. But the moment the male caregiver spoke, my mom froze, her eyes flashing with terror.

She clutched her blanket like it was a lifeline, swinging one arm wildly as she screamed, "Don't hurt my child! Please, just leave us alone!"