Daughter Blames Me For Her Obesity

My 20-year-old daughter was obese. She started gaining weight in middle school, and now she weighed 200 pounds. I worried about her health, so I prepared nutritious meals for her and encouraged her to exercise every day, but she didn't take the problem seriously. "I was born weighing 7 pounds. It's your fault for making me so fat when I was in your womb." For eight years, every time I urged her to lose weight, that was her reply. Just as I was losing hope and considering giving up, I received a FaceTime call from my daughter 10 years in the future. "Mom! Please help me one more time!" My daughter cried on the phone. "I now weigh 500 pounds. I can't even leave home, and I struggle to breathe every day. I feel so miserable!" My heart softened, and I spent $30,000 to send my daughter to a weight loss camp. However, in the camp, my daughter indulged herself and even started a food vlogging channel. "Eat as much as you want, drink as much as you want. Don't take life so seriously. We only have about 80 years to live, so enjoy your food!" I was completely disappointed and chose to respect her decision. My daughter from ten years later cried hysterically on the phone. "The doctor said I don't have long to live! Please stop feeding me!" But this time, the FaceTime call was made to my daughter's phone. Chapter 1 My daughter's medical report showed a bunch of abnormal readings: high blood sugar, high blood pressure, high cholesterol. On the way back from the hospital, my daughter crumpled the report into a paper plane and threw it out the window, but I caught it. She rolled her eyes and leaned back, scrolling through her phone. "I was born weighing 7 pounds. It's your fault for making me fat when I was in your womb." She took one earbud out and lazily said to the rearview mirror, "Being fat or thin is genetic. It's not something I can control." I had heard this line hundreds of times in the past eight years. Whenever I asked her to eat less or exercise more, she would use that line to silence me. My mother-in-law, sitting in the passenger seat, turned around and patted her hand. "Exactly! My granddaughter has been chubby since birth. It's her mother's fault for feeding her too much in the womb, so she can't help it. Lara, don't listen to your mother." My grip on the steering wheel tightened, but I said nothing. A few days later, my daughter returned to the hospital for a recheck due to her high readings. The doctor sternly suggested she lose weight. "Your blood sugar level and cholesterol level are too high. How can a 20-year-old be pre-diabetic?" My daughter sighed and complained, "I was born weighing 7 pounds. My mom made me fat in the womb. Being fat or thin is genetic. It's not something I can control. Even if naturally fat people lose weight, they'll just end up binge eating, so it's not worth it," she repeated. My mother-in-law patted her on the back sympathetically and said, "Yes, that's right! My granddaughter was born chubby. It's not her fault." The doctor was stunned at first, then patiently explained to my daughter, "First of all, your birth weight of 7 pounds is a very healthy weight for a newborn. Babies under 5 pounds are considered underweight, and babies under 8 pounds are considered healthy." "Moreover, both genetics and upbringing have a combined effect on a person's weight. Through a reasonable diet and exercise, you can still achieve a healthy weight." My daughter just chuckled. "What's the point of just being healthy? I think being pretty is more important. Besides, my mom could've just held back a bit during pregnancy, so I could've been born super thin, but she couldn't control her own mouth and made me born chubby." My mother-in-law chimed in, "Yeah, when Lara was little, she ate such bland, watery food, it was heartbreaking to watch. Even adults can't stand the hardship of holding back their appetite, yet my daughter-in-law made a child eat like that. How could she do that to her own child? She's worse than a stepmother." I pursed my lips, feeling a mix of emotions. Upon returning home, my mother-in-law urged me to cook. For years, I maintained a healthy diet at home to help my daughter lose weight. I insisted on cooking for the family regardless of how tired I was from work. But today, I calmly said, "Mom, why don't you cook today. I'm exhausted." She grumbled but went to the kitchen. I returned to my room, feeling despondent. Suddenly, my phone automatically accepted a Facetime call. On the screen was my daughter from ten years in the future, looking disheveled and occupying the entire screen like a mountain. When she spoke, her words were slurred and unclear; I could barely understand her. "Mom, please don't give up on me. Save me. I weigh 500 pounds now. I can't even leave the house. It's like being in prison." Outside, my mother-in-law yelled excitedly. "Lara, dinner's ready! Grandma made a feast for you!" Chapter 2 My mother-in-law made fried chicken, butter scallops, and mutton curry, all high in oil and salt. She happily brought the dishes to the dining table. "Lara, you had blood drawn today, so you need to replenish your energy!" But my daughter's blood sample was severely elevated in yellow fats. The doctor had warned her about her dangerously high cholesterol level and told her to stop eating high-salt, high-oil foods. In the Facetime call, my daughter from ten years later pounded her fist against the screen. She looked furious. "Grandma, didn't you hear what the doctor said? Why are you still making food that harms me?" Sadly, besides me, no one could hear her desperate cry. My present-day daughter gleefully picked up a piece of fried chicken and looked at me defiantly. Usually, I would remind her not to eat so much, but today, I stayed silent. "Why aren't you saying anything, Mom? I even managed to convince the doctor. You know you're in the wrong." I calmly picked up my utensils and began to eat. In the Facetime call, my daughter pleaded with me, "Mom, say something to stop me from eating the fried chicken. I'm suffering from all this cholesterol, it's hard to breathe." I hesitated but finally spoke up. "Lara, I must say something. Don't eat so much fried chicken. It's fine if you're chubby as long as your readings are healthy. All I want is for you to be healthy." My daughter victoriously turned to my mother-in-law. "See? I told you Mom still wants to control me. She's such a pain." My mother-in-law heaped more food onto my daughter's plate. "Your mother's not a doctor. What does she know? A few pieces of fried chicken won't hurt anyone. You only have to worry about high blood pressure and cholesterol when you're in your sixties or seventies. If you have to eat like someone in their sixties when you're still so young, what's the point of living?" She said that even though the doctor had just advised my daughter to control her diet because her cholesterol level was even higher than that of someone in their sixties. My daughter finished off all four dishes on the table. My mother-in-law smiled broadly. "If you like my cooking, I'll make you delicious food every day." I lost my appetite due to my mood and put my utensils down early. After dinner, I passed my daughter the blood pressure and cholesterol medications the doctor prescribed. "Here's the medicine the doctor prescribed. He said to take it after meals." My daughter scoffed and said, "Mom, stop lying. I heard you conspiring with the doctor in his office." I was taken aback and asked, "How did I conspire with the doctor?" "You insisted he prescribe me this medication, which he wasn't going to do initially." She pointed to the name on the medication: "Jasmine Lane, 56 years old." The name on the bottle was mine. After the check-up earlier today, I consulted the doctor with my daughter's report. He said he couldn't prescribe the medication directly without the patient willingly registering for treatment. However, given my daughter's dangerous indicators, I pleaded with him to make an exception. He finally agreed to prescribe the medication based on my medical history. My mother-in-law snatched the medicine away. "I have this too. It's for people over 60. Lara is only in her twenties. How can she take this? Besides, this medication could cause side effects like stroke and paralysis. Do you want to harm your daughter? What kind of mother are you?" I felt heartbroken. The medication I had painstakingly asked the doctor for was being claimed as something that would harm her. In the Facetime call, my daughter from ten years later screamed in anguish, "Take your medication! You're only pre-diabetic, so you can still keep it under control! Do you know how serious diabetes is? It's an irreversible lifelong condition! If I forget to take one injection, I could suddenly faint!" Unfortunately, no one could hear her. Chapter 3 When my mother-in-law realized that I didn't care anymore, she began to cook even more extravagant meals for my daughter. My husband praised my mother-in-law's cooking. "Mom makes excellent food. Jasmine always makes bland meals because she can't cook properly." Wanting to eat less, I was subtly encouraged by my husband to eat more grilled pork. "You saw your check-up results. You're very healthy. Eating a bit more won't hurt. Besides, in modern society, if your cholesterol level is normal, it's a sign of poverty. People who are well-off usually have some issues with cholesterol and blood pressure." Since my daughter became obese, I had started researching weight loss and nutritious meals. My husband and mother-in-law's high blood pressure gradually improved after years of eating my nutritious meals. However, my husband dismissed all my efforts with a single comment: "You can't cook properly." I set down my plate full of pork. Ignoring my mother-in-law's disapproving gaze, I calmly said, "I can't eat this anymore. You guys enjoy yourselves." Three months later, my daughter suddenly fainted, and we took her to the hospital. The doctor said she was insulin resistant. After a saline drip, she returned home. "It's not that serious. You're always overreacting, as if a bit more food would endanger my life. You said I would get heart diseases, diabetes, vascular hardening… but the doctor let me leave after I received the saline and lied down for a bit. If the problem was serious, would he let me discharge?" My daughter sent me a text. I sighed deeply and didn't reply. In the Facetime call, my daughter from ten years later pleaded with me, "Mom, this fainting incident is a crucial indicator of my impending diabetes. This is my last opportunity for recovery." She struggled to show me her lower body. Her legs were gone. "I had to amputate my legs. Due to vascular hardening and lack of exercise, my lower limbs have necrosed from poor blood flow. The only way to survive was to amputate my legs." I was horrified. After much hesitation, I finally expressed my suggestion. "Perhaps the only way you can change your past self is to contact her directly. I'm not you, so what I can do is limited." In the Facetime call, my daughter from ten years later hung her head. She sighed deeply and resigned herself. She Facetimed her past self. Before she could say a word, her younger version exclaimed, "You ugly freak, stop calling me! You keep whining about how I'll have to amputate my legs if I keep eating, but there are countless future timelines. You went down this path because of the choices you made! I'm not sloppy and unmotivated with no self-control like you. I can lose weight whenever I want, I just haven't started yet." She hung up. My daughter from ten years later looked sad and helpless. "Mom, you're my last hope. Please, save me." I felt a lump in my throat. I couldn't abandon my daughter. I decided to try one last time. I spent $30,000 to send my present-day daughter to a weight loss camp. The day I took her there, she sat in the backseat of the car, arms crossed, silent the entire way. At the camp entrance, she slammed the car door shut and walked inside without looking back. I called out, "Eat well." She paused for a moment, then waved her hand in dismissal, as if brushing off a bothersome stranger. Chapter 4 I stood at the camp entrance, watching her disappear down the hallway as the cold wind blew into my collar. Before entering the camp, my daughter had started a channel on a short video platform with the homepage titled "Weight Loss Journey – Reshaping Life." She posted a pinned video, dressed in black athletic wear with her ponytail held high, showing a fist to the camera. "Starting today, I'll post a video daily. My goal is to slim down to 120 pounds. I won't give up until I achieve my goal!" At the end of the video, she added, "This time, I'll take matters into my own hands. No one can stop me." The comments section was filled with fans praising her determination. She took a screenshot and posted it in the family group chat, captioning it, "See? Losing weight is easy. I can do it whenever I want." My mother-in-law sent a voice message with the sound of food frying in the background. "Good job, Lara! You have my full support! When you come back, I'll make delicious food for you." I stared at that message, opened my mouth, but ultimately said nothing. In the first few days of the camp, Lara could still stick to her diet. She posted pictures of various diet meals – boiled chicken breast, broccoli, brown rice – with captions that exuded vitality. But on the seventh day, she fainted twice in a row. The camp coach called to say her blood sugar level was fluctuating too much and needed monitoring. I drove there overnight. Lara lay on the infirmary bed, her face pale, lips chapped. When she saw me walk in, she turned her back on me and faced the wall. The nurse said she had been caught hiding snacks but refused to admit it. "I didn't eat anything," she mumbled from beneath the blankets. The nurse placed an opened bag of potato chips on the bedside table, still with fingerprints on it. My daughter said nothing more. She had also started ordering takeout. The camp's fence was low, and delivery personnel could slide the food through the gaps. She would eat crouching behind the electrical box in the fire escape at night. At first, it was just a light bowl of soup. In the video, she said, "Eating this occasionally is fine." Then came fried chicken, pasta, and barbecued food. The quantity kept increasing too. She even changed her account name from "Weight Loss Journey" to "Lara's Daily Life," and changed the profile picture to one of herself holding a fried drumstick. In a video, she took big bites of the drumstick, grease dripping from her mouth. She wiped it with the back of her hand with a smile. "Eat as much as you want, drink as much as you want. Don't take life so seriously. We only have about 80 years to live, so enjoy your food!" Comments started rolling in: "I thought you're a weight loss influencer." Lara gnawed on the drumstick and replied, "I can't change my mind? I'm just being real. Viewers love people who keep it real." Three months later, not only did my daughter fail to lose weight, she gained another thirty pounds. The coach called, expressing frustration: "I can't help her anymore. She hoarded an entire box of snacks in the dorm. We confiscated them three times, but she just bought new ones." I drove to pick Lara up. She walked out of the camp with the zipper of her athletic outfit unable to close, so she wore it open, with a tight T-shirt underneath. The flesh on her face squished her eyes into two tiny slits. She pushed her suitcase to my feet and climbed into the back seat, saying, "This camp is inhumane. If I had followed their rules, I would have starved to death in there." Back home, my mother-in-law had prepared a feast of meat for Lara. She pulled my daughter to the table and shoved utensils into her hands. "Lara has suffered greatly in the camp. Eat more to make up for it. I think that camp is just a scam. They were just starving my granddaughter." My daughter picked up a piece of barbeque meat and chewed it with her cheeks puffed out. She smiled at me and mumbled, "Aren't I clever? If I hadn't ordered takeout, I would have starved to death." My mother-in-law stroked her head. "I don't mind you being chubby. I'll never send you to any weight loss camp. I'll make you delicious food." My husband sat across, reading a newspaper. He didn't even lift his head and just grunted, "Mmh." Chapter 5 I stood at the kitchen door, holding my daughter's camp completion notice, which stated: "Family members are advised to step up psychological counselling and dietary supervision". The paper crinkled in my grip. That night, I returned to my room, folded the paper into thirds, and stuffed it at the bottom of the drawer. I turned off the light and lay down, staring at the ceiling while listening to the cicadas outside. I couldn't sleep a wink that night. Because my daughter had fainted several times at the camp, she was sent to the hospital for another check-up. The doctor held the report with a frown, still repeating the same warnings: high cholesterol and excess blood sugar. He advised strict dietary restrictions, or Lara's condition would develop into diabetes soon, which was irreversible. My daughter sat outside the examination room scrolling through her phone with headphones on. When the doctor spoke, she occasionally responded with a muffled "Mmh." My mother-in-law lowered her head to watch videos with the phone's sound on loudspeaker. On the way home, my daughter crumpled the report and tossed it into a trash can by the roadside, saying, "It's all the same old rhetoric. My triglyceride level is 170, and the normal level is 150. A few points higher than normal is nothing." My mother-in-law agreed alongside her. "I, an old lady, don't have many normal markers on my report, yet I'm still alive. The hospital's standards are too strict, just like food expiration dates. One day over won't kill you." My daughter's phone rang. She glanced at the number, frowned, and dismissed it. I caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar Facetime call request on her screen, marked with a string of garbled characters. "It's that crazy lady again," my daughter rolled her eyes. "She's always calling to scare me, saying I'll weigh 500 pounds in the future and can't even leave the house. Please, I'm only 230 pounds. 500 pounds is ridiculous. Am I going to eat until I double my weight?" My mother-in-law nodded in agreement. "Calls like that should be ignored. I read that many scammers nowadays use AI to create fake videos and photos! These days, scams are everywhere. They may not want your money now, but later, they'll trick you when you lower your guard." Right then, my phone vibrated. I looked down at the screen. It was a Facetime call request showing a garbled string, exactly like the one my daughter received on her phone. I went to the balcony and answered the call. The screen revealed my enormous future daughter. Her hair was clumped together, matted with snack residue. She appeared even larger than last time, her face swollen like dough that had risen, with droopy eyelids that barely opened. She sat in an oversized custom-made chair, the armrests stuffed tightly against her body. She opened her mouth, her lips moving several times, but no sound came out. After a long silence, she bowed her head, said nothing, and hung up. The screen went dark. I stood on the balcony, feeling the night breeze on my face. The cold edges of the phone pressed against my palm. Suddenly, my legs felt weak, and I slowly crouched down, holding onto the railing. I could understand my future daughter's feelings. She did all she could, only to be ignored, misunderstood, and be treated as a liar. That loneliness, I was all too familiar with. That night, I packed a suitcase with only a few changes of clothes and my IDs. My husband was in the living room watching a basketball game, my mother-in-law was washing dishes in the kitchen, and my daughter was in her room live-streaming herself eating late-night snacks. No one noticed me dragging my suitcase down the hallway. I placed the keys on the shoe cabinet by the door and quietly closed the door behind me.