Serving Karma, One Delivery at a Time

[Explosive Scoop! Food Vlogger Patricia's Relative Spills the Truth Behind Her Takeout Scheme!]

The anonymous insider expressed heartache over my saintly behavior, then purposefully revealed my supposed motive: crafting a forgiving, magnanimous persona to win public sympathy and stage a comeback as a livestream influencer.

Attached was Della's secret screenshot of my order history.

[I knew it! No way she is that altruistic. It's all a stunt!]

[Disgusting! She'd do anything for clout.]

[Full marks for the act. Black or white, fame is fame!]

[Don't buy it! Keep roasting her. Let's see how long she plays saint!]

...

The Saint Persona narrative spread like a virus. This seemingly logical explanation emboldened the haters to accept my deliveries without guilt, now smug in the belief they'd seen through my ploy.

Late that night, Riccardo sent a long message, begging me to stop reading the comments and hurting myself. He'd lined up a top therapist.

I read the message and deleted it, ready to prepare another round of orders, when the doorbell rang frantically.

My parents stood there, having rushed from our hometown overnight. My mother's eyes welled up, and she pulled me into a crushing hug. "Sweetheart, you've lost so much weight. What's happened to you?"

My father slammed his fist down on the table. "Those beasts! I'm going to the police tomorrow to drag them all out!"

Their warmth enveloped me, a flicker of comfort I hadn't felt in weeks.

"Listen," my mother sobbed. "Cut the internet, come back home, and leave this behind, okay?"

"That's right," my father echoed. "That online world is poison. It's cursed you."

I tried to explain, but to them, my words were the ravings of a broken mind. Losing control, I shouted, "You don't understand!"

"Understand?" my mother cried. "All we know is our daughter has been driven mad."

Just then, the TV, playing local news, cut to a street interview. A familiar username appeared: NetJudge.

He grinned at the camera. "Some idiot keeps sending me gourmet meals. Guess she's fallen for the guy who roasts her hardest!"

His friends cackled beside him. "Classic mental breakdown from getting flamed! Can't handle it? Stay offline. She's desperate for fame, playing the saint. Pathetic!"

My father pointed a trembling finger at me. "How could we raise something so shameful? They spit in your face, and you send them gifts? Keep this up, and you're no daughter of ours. We won't bear this disgrace!"

Riccardo appeared, his voice soft but firm. "Come home with us, Patricia. Stop this."

I closed my eyes, exhaling heavily. "Guys, do you believe they'll stop laughing soon?"

I unlocked my phone and opened an app they'd never seen. "Now, do you still think I'm crazy?"