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.