A woman washing her legs | Source: freepik.com/freepik
When Amelia’s dad gave her a bar of soap and told her to take cold showers with it, she never thought he had a secret, bad reason for doing so. Everything changed when her boyfriend revealed the shocking truth about that soap.
I’ve always been Daddy’s little girl, but now I feel sick when I say that. I’m not his little girl anymore, and he’s not the man I used to think he was. Let me explain why.
A woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
I’ve always been very close to my dad. I’m 23, and I lived with my parents until a month ago because Dad didn’t want me to move out.
I had the whole second floor of the house to myself, with my own bedroom and bathroom. Those two rooms were my safe space until Dad started complaining.
My dad has a personality like a coconut—hard on the outside but soft on the inside. He has strict rules and principles, but he also has a lot of empathy, which makes him a great dad.
He often says, “Character is built in discomfort. You have to face tough times now if you want a good life later.”
But he also makes me feel better by buying me chocolates and ice cream when I’m having a bad day.
My mom has always been the typical loving mom. She’s always ready to give hugs and kisses and never says no when I ask her to make my favorite pasta. She has always been so sweet.
But recently, I noticed that my parents seemed different. Over the past few months, they’ve become distant, and the love and care they used to show have suddenly disappeared.
Honestly, sometimes it felt like I was living with two strangers. It seemed like we had lost the connection we used to have.
Then my dad started making unnecessary complaints and nitpicking.
He said things like, “You and your friends were too loud last night!”
“You’re staying out too late, Amy.”
“You’re spending too much on things you don’t need!”
Then came the complaint that really hurt my self-confidence.
“You smell horrible! Go take a cold shower and use the soap I gave you!”
I was shocked. “I smell horrible? What? Where did that come from?”
That was the day Dad gave me a soap I had never seen before. It was a green, chunky bar that had a strange smell, but Dad told me to use it and promised it would help get rid of any bad body odor.
His words made me so self-conscious that I even stopped spending time with my boyfriend, Henry.
I started smelling my skin, clothes, hair, and even my breath to figure out why my dad felt uncomfortable around me.
I followed his advice and used that soap every time I showered. In fact, I took five showers a day just to use that soap and get rid of the smell that my dad seemed to think was a problem.
I scrubbed my skin so hard that it became dry and rough. It looked dry and scaly.
Even after all that, my dad still said I smelled like rotten onions.
“Did you use that soap, Amy? I don’t think you did,” he’d say. “You smell so bad.”
What shocked me even more was that my mom didn’t say anything when Dad humiliated me like that every day. She didn’t defend me or stop me from being so hard on myself.
Mom and I had always been close. She was the only person I shared everything with since I was a kid. I would tell her about my latest crush, my new boyfriend, and even the new slang I learned at school.
I couldn’t believe it when she just stood there silently, avoiding my gaze, while Dad kept attacking me. I will never forgive Mom for not being there for me when I needed her the most.
I kept using the soap for my showers, and my clothes felt damp all the time because I was showering so often.
I also started avoiding my dad. I would rush to my room and lock the door whenever he got home from work. I didn’t want him to see me—or more accurately, smell me.
Things changed when my boyfriend, Henry, came over. We had been dating for a few months, and he was the one bright spot in my otherwise gloomy days.
Henry has always been the supportive boyfriend we all wish for. He’s always been kind to me, and he came over that day because he noticed I had been avoiding him.
“Where have you been, Amy?” he asked, holding me by my arms.
“I was… just busy with some stuff, Henry,” I said with a fake smile. “I’m fine.”
“Really? You don’t look fine, babe,” he replied.
“I’m okay, Henry,” I said, holding his hand. “Tell me one thing… Do I smell bad?”
He laughed, thinking I was joking.
“No, babe. You smell fine. Why?”
“Nothing. I just…” I mumbled. “Forget it.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said before heading to the bathroom.
A few minutes later, I saw him come out of the bathroom holding the soap bar. He didn’t look happy at all.
“Who gave you this?! Are you taking cold showers with this?!” he asked, his eyes wide open.
How did he know this? I thought.
“Yeah, my dad. Why?” I asked, trying not to panic.
“They didn’t tell you, did they?! Baby, this isn’t soap! It’s used to clean industrial machines!”
“Wait, what?” I was in shock.
“This stuff is toxic, Amy. It can cause chemical burns.”
I can’t explain how betrayed and heartbroken I felt in that moment. How could my father do this to me? To his daughter whom he loved so much?
That’s when everything started to make sense. The dry, itchy skin and the strange texture of the soap. It also made me wonder if my mom knew about this.
“I think we need to go to the hospital to get you checked,” Henry said. “And then we’re going to the police. This is abuse, Amy.”
I don’t know why, but I stopped him.
I knew he was right, but I just couldn’t connect the words “abuse” and “Dad.” I had never seen my dad in a negative way, and it felt wrong to think of him like that.
I couldn’t accept that my father had tried to hurt me.
“We can’t do that,” I told Henry. “We can’t go to the police.”
“But why?” he asked.
“I’ll explain later,” I said. “Please just help me get out of here. I’ll talk to my parents later.”
He agreed, and a few days later, we moved into a small apartment. It was cramped and not well-furnished, but it felt like a safe place compared to what I had been through.
Then it was time for me to confront my parents. The next day, I drove back to their house.
When I arrived, Dad was in his usual spot, watching TV in the living room, and Mom was in the kitchen. I walked in with the soap bar in my hand and stood in front of my dad.
“I never thought you’d do this to me, Dad,” I said, holding the soap bar up for him to see. “This is toxic. It’s poison. It ruined my skin. Why did you do this?”
“Oh, so you finally figured out what it is, huh?” he smirked. “You needed to learn a lesson.”
“A lesson?” I laughed. “You nearly killed me. For what? Because you thought I smelled bad?”
“Please stop this!” My mother finally spoke up. “Amy, you—”
“You knew, Mom, didn’t you?” I interrupted. “You were part of this crazy plan, right?”
I saw tears rolling down my mom’s face, but she didn’t say anything.
“Why did you do this to me, Dad?” I demanded. “I need to know!”
I wasn’t prepared for what he was about to say. I had no idea it would change everything.
“You want to know why?” he said, almost to himself. “Okay. When your mother and I went on that vacation last year, we had too much to drink. We ended up in a crowd, and a fortune teller told me that your mother had been unfaithful.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, my heart racing.
“That’s the truth,” he went on. “When I confronted your mother the next morning, she told me everything. She said you weren’t mine. You’re the result of an affair she had while I was working hard for us in another country.”
I looked at my mom, but she couldn’t look me in the eye. Then I turned back to Dad as he kept talking.
“Your mother begged me not to leave her because she didn’t want to break our family apart,” he said, shaking his head. “So, I agreed. But on one condition. I had to make her pay, and you too. Because YOU ARE NOT MY DAUGHTER!”
My heart broke into a million pieces that day. I couldn’t believe my father had this cruel side. He was filled with a need for revenge that was so unfair.
“You mean you gave me that toxic soap because you were angry at Mom? Because you thought I wasn’t your daughter?” I asked, my tears making it hard to see.
“You’re not my daughter,” he replied, turning away. “You’re not my blood.”
For a moment, I just stared at him, confused about why he would punish me for something I didn’t do.
“Alright, I’m done with you,” I said, wiping my tears. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
With that, I walked out of the house that used to feel like home. Over the next few days, I went to the hospital several times for my skin treatment and talked to my lawyer about how to file a case against my parents.
Before long, my father got a notice about the restraining order and the lawsuit that was coming. This shattered his smug confidence, and his reputation was ruined. Everyone he knew was disgusted by what he had done.
Meanwhile, my mom tried to reach out to me, but I didn’t answer her calls or texts. If she couldn’t stand up for me, why should I talk to her? I was done with that.
Now that I’m living with Henry, I feel a sense of peace I haven’t felt in a long time. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much in my own home. I’m really grateful to have a man like Henry in my life. I honestly don’t know what I would do without him.
If you liked this story, you might enjoy another one about Bobby. He found a stash of expensive gifts hidden in his teenage daughter’s closet, along with a photo of an unknown older man and a note about a café meeting. He decided to follow her to the café, not knowing he would uncover a secret that could break his family apart.
This story is inspired by real events and people, but it’s been changed for creative reasons. The names, characters, and details have been altered to protect privacy and improve the story. Any similarity to real people, living or dead, or real events is just a coincidence and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher don’t claim that the events or characters are accurate and aren’t responsible for any misunderstandings. This story is presented “as is,” and the opinions expressed are those of the characters, not the author or publisher.
Priest Conducting Funeral Service for Wealthy Woman Leaned over Her Coffin – He Was Stunned to the Core by What He Saw
When Father Michael is conducting a funeral service for a woman, he notices an oddly shaped birthmark on her neck, exactly like his own. What comes next is a journey of self-discovery through the grieving process. Will Father Michael get the answers he so desperately wants to find?
The cathedral was silent, veiled in the heavy air of loss. Shadows from towering candles flickered along the marble floor as mourners dressed in black filled the pews, their heads bowed in reverence.
A funeral in a cathedral | Source: Midjourney
Eleanor, known throughout the community as a generous but reserved woman, had left behind both a sizable fortune and an enduring mystery.
Father Michael took a deep breath, the weight of yet another funeral pressing on him as he approached her casket. He’d never met Eleanor in person, yet something about her presence had always seemed familiar, almost hauntingly so.
As he moved closer, a strange compulsion stopped him. It was something that he couldn’t explain.
A priest in a cathedral | Source: Midjourney
He paused, then leaned in, bowing his head to begin the prayer. But as he did, his gaze drifted to her neck, and he froze.
Just behind her ear, a small, purplish birthmark stood out against her pale skin. It was almost shaped like a plum, the same shape and color as the one he had carried his whole life.
“How?” he muttered. “What does this mean?”
A woman in a casket | Source: Midjourney
A chill shot through him, his hand reaching up to press against his neck. He was well aware that everyone was looking at him, but still, he couldn’t help himself.
This is impossible, he thought.
His heart hammered as memories flooded him, half-forgotten sounds and incidents from his years in the orphanage, from the searches for any record of his parents. The longing he’d held onto for so long stirred within him, demanding answers.
A little boy standing in a room | Source: Midjourney
Is there a connection between Eleanor and me? he wondered.
After the service, as the organ played its final verse, the mourners began to disperse, and Father Michael approached Eleanor’s children. They were all clustered near the altar, as her daughters decided who was taking home the floral bouquets.
His request hung on his lips like a prayer he wasn’t sure he was ready to speak.
A close up of a priest | Source: Midjourney
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” he said. “But I… I need to know something.”
“Of course, Father,” Jason, the youngest son, said. “Whatever you need.”
“I just wanted to know if there’s any chance that Eleanor… if she might have had a child. Another child, I mean. Years ago. Many years ago?”
Eleanor’s eldest son, Mark, frowned deeply, exchanging a wary glance with his siblings.
A frowning man | Source: Midjourney
“I’m sorry, Father, but what are you saying?” he asked. “Do you know something we don’t?”
“Did our mother come to you in confidence? Was there a confessional?” one of the daughters asked.
Father Michael took a deep breath and swallowed his nerves.
A close up of a priest | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t know,” he said, looking at Mark. “And no, your mother didn’t come to confessional. But I have reason to believe that it is true… If… if I could request a DNA test, just to put this to rest, I would be grateful.”
A wave of discomfort swept over the group, some of them shifting uncomfortably. Mark’s face hardened, skepticism clearly written all over.
“With all due respect, Father, this sounds preposterous. Trust me, our mother was an upstanding woman. She would have told us if something like this were true.”
A woman looking surprised | Source: Midjourney
Father Michael shifted on his feet.
“I understand that,” he said. “It’s just that Eleanor could have had her child very young, and while she wouldn’t have done anything wrong by allowing that child to be adopted, the child still exists.”
Father Michael knew he was speaking as a priest, but he couldn’t turn it off. He had been trained to speak softly and objectively. And even now, he didn’t know how to fight for this DNA test.
A priest looking uncertain | Source: Midjourney
Instead, he nodded and began to back away before anything else happened.
“Wait,” Anna, Eleanor’s youngest daughter, said. She stepped forward, her gaze soft as she studied him.
“If you believe that it could be true, then I’ll do the test. I’d want answers, too. Are you the child?”
“I could be,” Father Michael said. “It’s that birthmark on her neck. I have it, too. And when I was at the orphanage, the old woman who was in charge of the kitchen said that all she could remember of my mother was the birthmark on her neck.”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
A week crawled by, and each day, Father Michael found himself tossing in his bed as he imagined what it would mean if it were true. Then, one morning, an envelope arrived at the rectory. He tore it open, barely able to see through his shaking hands as he read the results.
It was a match.
Days later, Father Michael sat alone in the rectory. Since the results had come out, he had visited Eleanor’s family, hoping they would be willing to listen now the results were concrete information.
DNA testing | Source: Midjourney
Eleanor’s daughters, his half-sisters, were ready to welcome him into the family, but the brothers didn’t want anything to do with him. It was as though having a new “big brother” was too threatening for them.
He didn’t know what else to do. He wasn’t going to fight for a way into their lives and their family. He wasn’t going to push himself in. But it did help that he knew where he belonged now.
Except… the one person with all the answers wasn’t around anymore.
A priest sitting in a cathedral | Source: Midjourney
“Father Michael?” an elderly woman’s soft voice brought him back to the present. “I’m Margaret, a friend of your mother. I was Eleanor’s best friend. Her daughter, Anna, told me everything when I went to have tea with them.”
“How can I help you?” he asked.
Her words struck him like a blow. Your mother. He motioned for her to come in, barely able to speak as they settled into chairs across from each other.
An elderly woman standing in a doorway | Source: Midjourney
Margaret took a deep breath, her eyes misting over.
“Father,” she said. “Eleanor and I were close, closer than sisters, even. She told me things that no one else knew.”
He leaned forward, his heart pounding.
“Please, I need to know everything. I spent my entire life wondering where I came from.”
A priest sitting in an office | Source: Midjourney
Margaret gave a sad smile.
“She was always so careful, our Eleanor. Always afraid of what people would think. But one summer, she met a man, a traveler, a free spirit. He was very different from who we were back then. And she said that he was like no one she’d ever met.”
Father Michael closed his eyes, imagining his mother as a young woman, full of life, swept away by the prospect of love. He didn’t speak; he was afraid that if he interrupted, the truth would slip through his fingers.
A smiling young couple | Source: Midjourney
“She didn’t even tell me at first,” Margaret continued. “When she found out she was pregnant, she was terrified. Her family had expectations. A child born out of wedlock would have ruined her. So, she concocted this story, and she told everyone that she was leaving for the North Pole, studying penguins of all things.”
The old woman chuckled and sighed.
“I thought it was absurd, but she left. She had you in secret and arranged for you to be taken to the orphanage.”
A pregnant woman holding her belly | Source: Midjourney
Father Michael’s throat tightened, emotions too tangled up to unravel.
“She gave me away to protect her reputation?” he asked.
“Oh no, Father,” she said. “It wasn’t about reputation, it was about survival. Eleanor loved you. I knew that. She would check in at the orphanage from time to time.”
“She asked about me?” he asked.
The exterior of a building | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, yes,” Margaret said, smiling. “She kept track, as best she could. She couldn’t be in your life, but she made sure you were safe.”
Father Michael’s heart ached.
“I spent my life thinking that she’d abandoned me. And all this time, she… she was watching from a distance?”
A smiling older woman | Source: Midjourney
“She didn’t forget you. It broke her heart, Father. She loved you in her own, quiet way. She just had to do this because it was either this or… who knows what your grandfather would have done.”
She’d loved him, even if he’d never felt it, even if she’d never told him herself.
In the weeks that followed, Eleanor’s family decided to embrace Father Michael with cautious but open arms. Anna became a steady presence at the rectory, often stopping by with scones or muffins and ever-ready to fill him in on family stories, recounting memories of Eleanor.
A basket of muffins | Source: Midjourney
One afternoon, as Father Michael sat in his office, Anna came by with a small, worn photo album.
“I thought you might want this,” she said, placing it in his hands. “It’s… all the photos we have of Mom. Maybe they’ll help you piece her together.”
An old album on a table | Source: Midjourney
The next day, Father Michael found himself at Eleanor’s grave.
“I forgive you,” he said. “And I thank you for watching over me.”
Flowers on a grave | Source: Midjourney
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
A Homeless Man Approached Me and Showed Me a Birthmark on His Neck Identical to Mine
I never imagined a quick lunch break would lead me to the man who might be my father — a homeless stranger with the same birthmark as mine. As we wait for the DNA test result that could change everything, I can’t shake the feeling that my life is about to take a turn I never saw coming.
I stepped out of the office, loosening my tie as I hit the street. The sun was glaring, and the city buzzed around me, but all I could think about was grabbing a quick bite before my afternoon meetings. Work was nonstop these days, but that’s what comes with the territory. I’ve worked too hard to get here to complain now.
Man walking in the city | Source: Pexels
Growing up in that old trailer with Mom, life wasn’t easy. We didn’t have much, but she made sure we had enough. Mom, Stacey, was a force of nature.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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