Raise Your Bastard? Nah, Reborn to Return Your Future Jailbird! - Chapter 118: Chapter 118
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As the hospital bills piled up, the Millers were bleeding money fast.
So they got desperate—tried to come after Sera to test her as a kidney match.
Every day, they came screaming outside our old house, cussing and yelling like lunatics.
But after the last mess, I'd already moved.
Took my parents and Sera and started fresh in another town.
That old house was empty.
After a while, even the neighbors started questioning Imogene's story.
They got tired of the circus.
The Millers had always been bullies, and when folks called them out, they'd just scream louder.
Eventually, people had enough.
One day, after yet another angry outburst, the neighbors snapped.
They beat the crap out of Barnabas, Cletus, and Thad.
Black eyes, busted lips, boot prints all over.
By the time the cops arrived, those three looked like roadkill.
Too many people had joined in, and they couldn't even say who'd hit them.
No arrests, no charges—just hospital bills.
And those bills cleaned them out for good.
With no money left, their precious grandson couldn't stay in the hospital anymore.
Thad started texting me constantly.
"Elsie, I know I messed up. Please… help the last hope of the Miller family."
"It's just one kidney. Sera won't even miss it."
"We're out of options."
"If Sera can't donate, can you at least lend us some money?"
"I still love you, Elsie."
"Let's get back together."
I just laughed.
The nerve of that guy.
Every number he used, I blocked immediately.
But I never changed my phone number.
Why?
Because every new text cost him money.
Let him waste his dollars—every penny burned felt like justice.
Eventually, they had to sell everything just to keep the boy alive.
Sold the house, sold their car.
But even that cash only bought them two more months.
When I heard they were broke again, I felt nothing but cold satisfaction.
I wondered—when they really hit bottom, would they finally give up on that kid too?
Then, like it was Thad's brilliant idea or something, they turned to the internet.
Started milking sympathy from strangers online.
"Please, kind people—my grandson is six years old and fighting kidney cancer."
"We sold everything we had to try and save him."
"Please help us keep him alive."
They wept on camera, all shaky voices and red eyes.
And it worked.
A bunch of clueless folks donated out of the goodness of their hearts.
They raised over thirty grand in no time.
The Millers were thrilled.
Imogene even bragged,
"Can you believe all it took was some tears?"
"These suckers just handed over their money!"
"When my grandson gets better, I'll cry on the internet every day—easy money!"
Once the hospital was paid, they came for me again.
Imogene wasn't satisfied with online donations.
She started posting lies about me, stirring up hate.
"Y'all don't know the truth—my grandson could've had a transplant right away."
"But my cold-hearted ex-daughter-in-law ran off with her kid and divorced my son the minute she found out."
"She didn't just refuse to help—she stole every penny we had!"
"She's the reason my grandson's still sick!"
The same old twisted lies.
And people bought it. Again.
"She's a monster—we need to expose her!"
"Let's dig up everything on her—she deserves to pay!"
So they started digging, trying to dox me online.
When I heard about it, I just shook my head.
To Imogene, the world is full of idiots—unless they're Millers, they must be fools.
But I was ready.
I'd saved every voicemail, every text, every video of them yelling at our door.
I posted everything.
And the internet exploded.
So they got desperate—tried to come after Sera to test her as a kidney match.
Every day, they came screaming outside our old house, cussing and yelling like lunatics.
But after the last mess, I'd already moved.
Took my parents and Sera and started fresh in another town.
That old house was empty.
After a while, even the neighbors started questioning Imogene's story.
They got tired of the circus.
The Millers had always been bullies, and when folks called them out, they'd just scream louder.
Eventually, people had enough.
One day, after yet another angry outburst, the neighbors snapped.
They beat the crap out of Barnabas, Cletus, and Thad.
Black eyes, busted lips, boot prints all over.
By the time the cops arrived, those three looked like roadkill.
Too many people had joined in, and they couldn't even say who'd hit them.
No arrests, no charges—just hospital bills.
And those bills cleaned them out for good.
With no money left, their precious grandson couldn't stay in the hospital anymore.
Thad started texting me constantly.
"Elsie, I know I messed up. Please… help the last hope of the Miller family."
"It's just one kidney. Sera won't even miss it."
"We're out of options."
"If Sera can't donate, can you at least lend us some money?"
"I still love you, Elsie."
"Let's get back together."
I just laughed.
The nerve of that guy.
Every number he used, I blocked immediately.
But I never changed my phone number.
Why?
Because every new text cost him money.
Let him waste his dollars—every penny burned felt like justice.
Eventually, they had to sell everything just to keep the boy alive.
Sold the house, sold their car.
But even that cash only bought them two more months.
When I heard they were broke again, I felt nothing but cold satisfaction.
I wondered—when they really hit bottom, would they finally give up on that kid too?
Then, like it was Thad's brilliant idea or something, they turned to the internet.
Started milking sympathy from strangers online.
"Please, kind people—my grandson is six years old and fighting kidney cancer."
"We sold everything we had to try and save him."
"Please help us keep him alive."
They wept on camera, all shaky voices and red eyes.
And it worked.
A bunch of clueless folks donated out of the goodness of their hearts.
They raised over thirty grand in no time.
The Millers were thrilled.
Imogene even bragged,
"Can you believe all it took was some tears?"
"These suckers just handed over their money!"
"When my grandson gets better, I'll cry on the internet every day—easy money!"
Once the hospital was paid, they came for me again.
Imogene wasn't satisfied with online donations.
She started posting lies about me, stirring up hate.
"Y'all don't know the truth—my grandson could've had a transplant right away."
"But my cold-hearted ex-daughter-in-law ran off with her kid and divorced my son the minute she found out."
"She didn't just refuse to help—she stole every penny we had!"
"She's the reason my grandson's still sick!"
The same old twisted lies.
And people bought it. Again.
"She's a monster—we need to expose her!"
"Let's dig up everything on her—she deserves to pay!"
So they started digging, trying to dox me online.
When I heard about it, I just shook my head.
To Imogene, the world is full of idiots—unless they're Millers, they must be fools.
But I was ready.
I'd saved every voicemail, every text, every video of them yelling at our door.
I posted everything.
And the internet exploded.
End of Raise Your Bastard? Nah, Reborn to Return Your Future Jailbird! Chapter 118. Continue reading Chapter 119 or return to Raise Your Bastard? Nah, Reborn to Return Your Future Jailbird! book page.