When Amelia’s father gave her a soap bar and told her to take cold showers with it, she never thought he had an evil, hidden agenda behind it. Her world turned upside down when her boyfriend told her the horrifying truth about that soap.
I’ve always been Daddy’s little girl, but now I feel like throwing up when I say those words. I’m not his little girl, and he’s not the man I always thought he was. Let me tell you why.
A woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
So, I’ve always been close to my father, like REALLY close. I’m 23, and I lived with my parents up until a month ago because Dad never wanted me to move away.
He had given me the second floor of the house where I had my bedroom and a bathroom. Those two rooms of the house solely belonged to me. They were my safe space until the day Dad began to complain.
A man standing near a door | Source: Midjourney
My father is one of those people with a personality resembling a coconut. You know, hard on the outside and soft on the inside. He has these strict rules and principles that he abides by, but he also has this empathy inside that makes him the best Dad ever.
“Character is built in discomfort,” he’d always tell me. “You gotta face the worst now if you want a life full of luxuries ahead.”
But he’d also buy me chocolates and ice cream on days I didn’t feel good.
A woman holding an ice cream cone | Source: Pexels
Meanwhile, my mother has always been the typical loving mom. She’s always ready for hugs and kisses and never says no whenever I ask her to cook my favorite pasta. She has always been a sweetheart.
However, I recently felt that my parents were not the same anymore. Over the past few months, they had grown cold, and the love and care had suddenly vanished.
A woman sitting in her living room | Source: Midjourney
Honestly, I sometimes felt like I was living with two strangers in the house. It felt like we had lost the connection we always had.
Then began the unnecessary complaints and nitpicking from Dad’s side.
“You and your friends were too loud last night!”
“You’re staying out too late, Amy.”
“You’re spending too much on unnecessary things!”
Then came the complaint that really snatched my self-confidence.
A woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
“You smell horrible, go take a cold shower and use the soap I gave you!”
I smell horrible? What? I thought. Where did that come from?
That was the day when Dad handed me this soap I had never seen before. It was a green, chunky soap bar that smelled a bit weird, but Dad had asked me to use it, assuring it would help get rid of the unpleasant body odor.
A woman holding a soap bar | Source: Pexels
His words made me feel so self-conscious that I had even stopped hanging out with my boyfriend, Henry.
I often found myself smelling my skin, clothes, hair, and even my breath, just to check what made my father feel so uncomfortable around me.
I followed his advice and used that soap whenever I took a shower. Or, if I may put it correctly, I took five showers a day just to use that soap and get rid of the smell that had apparently been haunting my father.
A woman taking a shower | Source: Pexels
I scrubbed my skin so hard that I stripped it of the moisture it needed. My skin had begun to look dry, scaly, and so rough.
Even then, my father said I still 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 mother didn’t say a word when Dad humiliated me like that every day. She didn’t say anything in my defense or stop me from being so hard on myself.
A woman sitting on a chair, looking down | Source: Pexels
Mom and I had always been close. She was the only person I shared everything with since I was a kid. I’d always tell her about my latest crush, my new boyfriend, and even the new slang I’d learned at school.
I couldn’t believe it when she stood silently, avoiding my gaze, while Dad kept grilling me. I won’t ever forgive Mom for not being there for me when I needed her the most.
A woman looking down | Source: Pexels
I kept showering with the soap, and my clothes always clung to me because they were damp from the frequent showers.
Besides, I began avoiding my father. I’d always scurry up to my room and lock the door whenever he returned home from work. I didn’t want him to see me. Or, more specifically, smell me.
The turning point came when my boyfriend, Henry, came over. We had been dating for a few months, and he was the one bright spot in my increasingly bleak days.
A woman talking to her boyfriend | Source: Midjourney
Henry has always been the supportive boyfriend, the green flag we all look for. He’s always been kind to me, and he came over that day because he had noticed I had been avoiding him.
“Where have you been, Amy?” he asked as he held me by my arms.
“I was… I was just busy with some stuff, Henry,” I faked a smile. “I’m fine.”
“Really? You don’t look fine, babe,” he said.
“I’m okay, Henry,” I said as I held his hand. “Tell me one thing… Do I smell bad?”
A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
He laughed, thinking I was kidding.
“No, babe. You smell fine. Why?”
“Nothing. I just…” I mumbled. “Forget it.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said before going to the bathroom.
A few minutes later, I watched him step out of the bathroom with the soap bar in his hand. I could see he wasn’t too happy about it.
“Who gave you this?! Are you taking cold showers with this?!?” he asked with eyes wide open.
A man looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
How did he know this? I thought.
“Yeah, my Dad. Why?” I asked, trying my best not to panic.
“They didn’t tell you, did they?! Baby, this isn’t soap! It’s used to strip industrial machinery of grease and grime.”
“Wait, what?” I was shocked.
“This stuff is toxic, Amy. It causes chemical burns.”
I can’t explain how betrayed and heartbroken I felt at that point. How could my father do this to me? To his daughter who he loved so much?
A woman looking straight ahead, shocked | Source: Midjourney
That’s when it all started to make sense to me. The dry, itchy skin and the weird texture of the soap bar. It also made me wonder if my mother 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.
A man sitting in his girlfriend’s house | Source: Midjourney
I knew he was telling the truth, but I couldn’t put the words “abuse” and “Dad” together. I had never seen Dad in a negative light, and I didn’t like how those words fit in the same sentence and made so much sense.
In short, 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 that later,” I said. “Please just help me get out of here. I’ll confront my parents later.”
A woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
He agreed, and we moved into a small apartment a few days later. It was cramped and barely furnished, but it felt like a safe haven compared to what I had endured.
Then, it was time for me to confront my parents. I drove back to their house the next day.
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.
A man holding a remote | Source: Pexels
“I never thought you’d do this to me, Dad,” I said as I held the soap bar high enough for him to see. “This is toxic. It’s poison. It ruined my skin. Why did you do this?”
“Oh, so you finally found 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 intervened. “Amy, yo—”
“You knew, Mom, didn’t you?” I cut her off. “You were a part of this ridiculous plan, right?”
A woman in her parents’ living room | Source: Midjourney
I watched tears trickle down her cheeks, but she didn’t say a word.
“Why did you do this to me, Dad?” I confronted my father. “I need to know!”
I wasn’t ready for his response. I had no idea it would turn my world upside down.
“You want to know why?” he said, almost to himself. “Fine. When your mother and I went on that vacation last year, we had a little too much to drink. We ended up in a crowd, where a fortune teller told me that your mother had been unfaithful.”
A man looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
“What are you talking about?” I asked as my heart flipped.
“That’s true,” he continued. “When I confronted your mother the next morning, she told me the truth. She told me 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, who couldn’t meet my gaze. Then, I looked back at Dad as he continued to speak.
A sad woman looking down | Source: Pexels
“Your mother begged me not to leave her because she didn’t want to break our family apart,” he shook 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 shattered into a million pieces that day. I couldn’t believe my father had this evil side. The evil personality that was so hungry for unjust revenge.
A close-up shot of a woman, shocked | Source: Midjourney
“You mean you gave me that toxic soap because you were angry at Mom? Because you thought I was not your daughter?” I asked as the tears in my eyes blurred my vision.
“You’re not my daughter,” he said and turned around. “You’re not my blood.”
For the next few seconds, I stared at his back in silence, wondering why he punished me for something that wasn’t my fault.
“Alright, I’m done with you,” I said as I wiped away my tears. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
A woman about to leave her parents’ house | Source: Midjourney
And with that, I stepped out of the house that was once my haven. Over the next few days, I visited the hospital multiple times for my skin treatment and talked to my lawyer regarding how I could file a case against my parents.
Soon, my father received a notice of the restraining order and the impending lawsuit. With that, his smug confidence was shattered, and his reputation was in ruins. His entire circle was disgusted by his actions.
A man reading a legal notice | Source: Midjourney
Meanwhile, Mom tried to get in touch with me, but I didn’t reply to any of her calls or texts. If she couldn’t take a stand for me, why should I even bother talking to her? I was done.
Now, living with Henry, I feel a sense of peace that had been missing from my life for ages. I don’t remember the last time I had laughed this much in my own house. I can’t thank fate enough for blessing me with a man like Henry. I have no idea what I’d do without him.
A man sitting in his apartment | Source: Midjourney
If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might like: Bobby discovered a hidden stash of expensive gifts in his teenage daughter’s closet, along with a photo of an unknown older man and a note about a café meeting. He discreetly followed her to the café, unaware he’d uncover a secret that would tear his family apart.
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.
A Mysterious Van Was Parked Across My House for a Month—One Night, I Heard a Baby Crying Inside
A mysterious van showed up across the street one day and never left. I told myself it wasn’t my business to snoop. But sometimes, the things we ignore are the ones meant to find us. I just didn’t know how much that van would change everything… until I heard a baby crying inside one night.
I’m Catherine, 32, a single mom to twin 13-year-old twin daughters… and someone who clawed her way up from nothing. People see my nice house in Willow Brook now and assume I’ve always had it together. They don’t see the terrified 18-year-old girl who once had nowhere to go.
A woman looking through the window | Source: Pexels
“Mom, we need more milk,” Phoebe called from the kitchen one Tuesday evening as I kicked off my heels by the front door.
“And can Jasmine come over this weekend?” Chloe added, not looking up from her phone.
I dropped my work bag with a thud. “Hello to you too, my precious dolls who I haven’t seen all day.”
The twins exchanged that look, the one that said they were humoring me, before both mumbling their hellos.
I smiled despite my exhaustion. My girls were growing up so fast… both with their father’s golden curls and my stubbornness. I’d done everything for them, and somehow, we made it.
Twin teenage sisters | Source: Pexels
“Yes to milk, maybe to Jasmine!” I said, heading to the kitchen. “Let me get dinner started first.”
That’s when I noticed it through the window—a faded red minivan parked directly across the street. It was a strange spot. Nobody ever parked there.
“Hey girls, do either of you know whose van that is?” I gestured out the window.
Phoebe shrugged. “It’s been there since morning. Thought it was Mrs. Carter’s nephew visiting.”
A red vintage minivan parked on a barren lawn | Source: Pexels
I frowned but let it go. In our neighborhood, everyone generally minded their own business… a policy I’d appreciated plenty of times over the years.
“Just seemed odd,” I said, turning back to the pantry.
But over the next few weeks, the minivan became a quiet obsession. It never moved. Nobody got in or out whenever I noticed. The windows were tinted just enough that you couldn’t see inside. I even asked Mrs. Carter about her nephew.
“Don’t have one,” she replied, squinting across at the mysterious vehicle. “Thought it belonged to your friend.”
“Not mine,” I said.
Days passed and the van remained.
Close-up shot of a red van | Source: Pexels
Sleep had been my enemy since the girls were babies. That night, exactly four weeks after I’d first noticed the van, insomnia hit hard again.
At 2 a.m., I gave up on sleep and decided a walk might help. The neighborhood was silent as I slipped out in sweatpants and a hoodie. The spring air held a chill that made me hug myself as I walked.
Thirteen years ago, I’d walked neighborhoods like this one… nicer neighborhoods where I didn’t belong. I still remember pushing a second-hand double stroller, desperately trying to get the newborn twins to sleep while I had nowhere to go.
“You don’t know how lucky you are!” I whispered to my sleeping street.
A lonely woman walking on the street at night | Source: Unsplash
I was rounding the block back toward home when I passed the minivan again and stopped dead in my tracks.
A cry—unmistakably a baby’s cry—was coming from inside.
I froze, my heart suddenly hammering. The cry came again, followed by a soft shushing sound. Someone was in there.
Before I could think better of it, I approached the van and knocked gently on the window.
“Hello? Are you okay in there?”
A baby crying | Source: Pixabay
Silence fell instantly. Then rustling. The side door slid open just a crack, and a young woman’s face appeared. She looked pale, exhausted, and absolutely terrified.
“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t call anyone.”
Her eyes were red and puffy. In her arms was a baby girl, couldn’t have been more than six months old. The little one was letting out the faintest, broken whimper.
“I’m not calling anyone,” I said, raising my hands slightly. “My name’s Catherine. I live right there.” I pointed to my house.
She hesitated, then opened the door a bit wider. The inside of the van was neat but obviously lived-in, adorned with a makeshift bed, a small cooler, and clothes neatly folded in plastic bins.
A van interior | Source: Pexels
“I’m Albina,” she finally said. “This is Kelly.”
The baby looked up at me with huge, dark eyes that were all too familiar. I’d seen those same scared, uncertain eyes in the mirror 13 years ago.
“How long have you been living here?”
“About a month. I move around…. and try not to stay in one place too long.”
The spring breeze picked up, and she shivered. That did it for me.
“Come with me,” I said. “It’s too cold for the baby out here.”
“I can’t—”
“You can. Just for tonight. No strings, no calls to anyone. Just a warm place to sleep and maybe a decent meal.”
A mother holding her baby | Source: Pexels
Albina looked at me like I was offering her the moon. “Why would you help us?”
I thought about giving her some line about being a good neighbor, but something in her eyes demanded honesty.
“Because thirteen years ago, I was you. And someone helped me.”
***
My kitchen felt too bright after the darkness outside. Albina sat rigidly on the couch, Kelly dozing against her shoulder as I warmed up leftover chicken soup.
“She’s beautiful,” I said, nodding toward the baby.
Albina’s face softened. “She’s everything.”
“How old?”
“Seven months next week.”
An emotional mother holding her baby close | Source: Pexels
I placed a bowl of soup in front of her. She hesitated, then shifted Kelly to one arm and picked up the spoon with her free hand. She ate like someone who hadn’t had a proper meal in days.
“Where’s her dad?”
Albina’s jaw tightened. “Gone. The second I told him I was pregnant.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Mine too.”
Her eyes met mine, surprised. “You have kids?”
“Twin girls. Thirteen now.” I smiled slightly. “They’re sleeping upstairs. Phoebe and Chloe.”
“Alone? Just you?”
“Just me. Always has been.”
A depressed woman | Source: Pexels
Albina looked down at her soup. “I don’t know how you did it with two children.”
“Barely,” I admitted. “We were homeless for a while. Living in my car until it got repossessed. Then shelters. Crashing on acquaintances’ couches. It was… rough.”
“That’s where I’m headed,” she whispered. “I had to leave my apartment last month when I couldn’t pay the rent. Dad left me this van when he died last year. It’s all I have left.”
She gestured to a small sewing kit on the table. “I make baby clothes. Sell them at the flea market on weekends. It’s not much, but…”
“But it’s something,” I finished for her.
A vintage sewing kit on the table | Source: Pexels
“I’m scared they’ll take her,” Albina said, her voice cracking as tears welled up in her eyes. “If anyone official finds out we’re living in a van… they’ll say I can’t provide for her.”
I reached across the table on impulse and squeezed her hand. “It’s not gonna happen. Not on my watch.”
Sometime after midnight, my twins discovered our guests.
“Mom?” Phoebe stood in the kitchen doorway, looking confused. “There’s a baby in the guest room.”
Albina had finally fallen asleep, Kelly tucked beside her on the bed.
I sighed. “Come here, you two. We need to talk.”
Twin sisters holding hands and standing in the hallway | Source: Pexels
The girls sat across from me at the kitchen table, still half-asleep but curious.
“That’s Albina and Kelly,” I explained. “They needed a place to stay tonight.”
“Why?” Chloe asked.
I took a deep breath. “Because they’ve been living in that van across the street.”
Their eyes widened.
“Living there?” Phoebe echoed. “Like… actually living?”
“Yes. Just like we lived in our old car for a while after your dad left.”
The twins exchanged looks. We didn’t talk about those days often.
Two little girls sitting in a car trunk | Source: Freepik
“You never told us it was that bad,” Chloe said, her eyes downcast.
“You were babies. You don’t remember. And I’ve tried very hard to forget.”
“What happens to them now?” Phoebe interrupted.
I looked at these amazing young ladies I’d somehow raised despite everything and felt a certainty settle over me.
“Do you remember Ms. Iris?”
They both nodded. Ms. Iris was practically family and the kind older woman who’d given me my first real chance.
“She found me crying outside the diner where she worked. Two babies, no home, no hope. And you know what she did? She hired me on the spot. Let us stay in her spare room. Watched you two while I took night classes.”
An older woman standing outside a store | Source: Pexels
I looked toward the guest room where Albina and Kelly slept. “Someone did that for us once. Maybe it’s our turn now.”
The next morning, I called in sick for the first time in three years.
“You sure about this?” Albina asked, bouncing Kelly on her hip as I made pancakes. The twins had already left for school, surprisingly excited about our new guests.
“About pancakes? Definitely. About you staying here? Very much.”
“You don’t even know me.”
I flipped a pancake. “I know enough. I know you’re a good mom. I can see it.”
A woman making pancakes | Source: Pexels
Albina’s eyes welled with tears. “I’m trying so hard.”
“That’s all any of us can do.” I set a plate in front of her. “Now eat. Then show me these baby clothes you make.”
Her designs were beautiful and simple but unique. Delicate embroidery on onesies, handmade bonnets, tiny cardigans… all made with obvious care despite her limited resources.
“Albina, these are amazing,” I said, examining a tiny dress. “You should be selling these online, not just at flea markets.”
A woman with folded baby clothes | Source: Pexels
She shrugged. “Online? I don’t even know where to start.”
I smiled. “Lucky for you, e-commerce marketing is literally my job.”
***
It’s been four years since that night. Four years since I heard a baby crying and found my past sitting in a minivan across the street.
Kelly often runs through my living room now, a whirlwind of curls and laughter at four years old. “Auntie Cathy! Look what I drew!”
“It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” I’d tell her, taking the colorful scribble.
A little girl flaunting her drawing | Source: Freepik
One day, Albina visited with a laptop under her arm. “Guess who just got an order from that boutique in Vancouver?”
“No way! That’s international shipping now!” I high-fived her.
“Albina’s Little Blessings” has grown from a desperate mother’s side hustle into a thriving business. Albina’s handmade children’s clothes now ship nationwide, and she has three part-time employees helping with production.
They moved into their own apartment two years ago, though Kelly still has regular sleepovers with her “aunties” Phoebe and Chloe when they’re home from school.
Sometimes I look at Albina and can hardly believe she’s the same frightened young woman I found in that van.
A woman sewing clothes | Source: Pexels
“You saved us,” she told me once.
But that’s not quite right. What I did was simple: I recognized myself in her story and refused to walk away. I broke the cycle that might have trapped another young mother in the same desperation I once knew.
That minivan is long gone now. Albina sold it last year and used the money to expand her business. But sometimes when I can’t sleep, I still find myself looking out my window at that empty spot across the street… the spot where everything changed.
A woman looking out the window | Source: Pexels
Not every cry in the night needs to go unanswered. Not every struggle needs to be faced alone. Sometimes, the kindness of a stranger is all it takes to rewrite a story.
And sometimes, the people we help end up helping us heal parts of ourselves we didn’t even know were still broken.
Lending a helping hand | Source: Pexels
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