I Ruined Myself to Save My Mother-in-law

My account has held 32 followers for almost half a year. The profile picture is a casual shot of the neighborhood greenery, and the nickname is "Viola"—nothing special. Most of the videos I posted were of breakfast arrangements or the sunset on my way home from work. The one with the highest views was a clip of a stray cat rubbing against my pant leg downstairs—and it only had 127 views. I thought this account would remain quiet forever, until that evening. That day, when I came home from work and had just pushed the door open, I heard a loud clang coming from the kitchen. When I went inside, I saw Lily kneeling on the cold tile floor, using her thin fingers to pick up noodles scattered everywhere. The noodles were covered in dust, sticking to her pant legs, but she seemed not to notice and kept gathering them into her hands. James Carter sat on the living room sofa, legs crossed, watching TV, muttering curses: "You old useless fool, can't even hold a bowl of noodles steady." Mike Carter—my husband—sat beside him, absorbed in his mobile phone, not once lifting his head, as if deaf to his father's insults and blind to his mother kneeling on the floor. I gripped my purse tightly, my nails digging into my palm. This was not the first time I had witnessed them treating Lily like this. Since marrying into the Carter family three months ago, such scenes have unfolded almost daily. I quietly took out my mobile phone and pressed the record button. In the frame, Lily's white hair was messy, with a few strands of noodles stuck in it, her back bent like an old tree bowed by a fierce wind. I took a deep breath and deliberately made my voice sharp and biting, starkly different from my usual gentle tone: "The way you pick up noodles—it's like that stray dog in our courtyard. Whenever it sees food, it just rushes right over." After saying that, I felt my throat tighten. Lily's hand froze mid-air as she picked up the noodles, her fingertips trembling slightly, but she didn't dare to look up. James Carter shot me a glance, a mocking smile curling at the corner of his mouth: "Smart enough. You know who calls the shots here." Mike Carter also looked up and winked at me, as if praising me for being "sensible." I ignored them and quickly turned off the recording, saving the video to my drafts. At dinner, I used washing the dishes as an excuse to hide in the kitchen and quickly applied a blur filter to the video—not to conceal Lily's face, but to muffle my voice and James Carter's harsh curses in the background, so as not to expose the deception too soon. After hesitating for three minutes, I finally clicked 'Publish.' The moment the post went live, my palms were sweaty. That night, I barely slept. Every half an hour, I got up to check my mobile phone; the views rose from 10 to 50, then to 100, while my follower count stayed at 32. I even began to wonder if my plan was too absurd, whether anyone would actually pay attention to this video. Just before dawn, my mobile screen suddenly flooded with countless message notifications, almost causing it to freeze. My heart jumped violently, and my fingers trembled. That video's views had already surpassed one million, with over fifty thousand likes, and the comment section had erupted. "Are you even human? Bullying an elderly woman like this!" "Someone expose her! I want to know where she lives so I can find her and teach her a lesson!" "She's lost even the most basic conscience just to get famous!" "Where is her husband? Just watching his own mother get abused like this? Is he even a man?" There are even more messages in my private inbox, almost all of them abusive. Some said they want to dig up my personal information, some threatened to 'settle the score' with me, and others cursed me with the worst words. As I scrolled through these messages, tears almost fell—not from feeling wronged, but because I saw hope. Their anger actually shows that they care, which means this plan might succeed. I haven't replied to any private messages, nor have I deleted any comments. Instead, I opened the Drafts and found another clip secretly recorded a few days ago—in the video, Lily is squatting in the corner of the balcony, eating a hard steamed bun, while Mike Carter sits nearby, enjoying the fried chicken he just bought. Crumbs fall everywhere, but he doesn't offer Lily a single bite. I added a caption to the video: "Old people only deserve to eat leftovers." Then, click publish.