My Father is the True Hero

The lights in the auditorium blazed harshly. I gripped my father's worn and polished old badge tightly, my knuckles white. Today, the company is holding a ceremony to honor those who performed an Act of Courage. But standing on the stage to receive flowers and applause wasn't my father, who had sacrificed his life, but the social media influencer Sara Scott, who was holding her mobile phone by the shore, filming. The host's voice echoed through the speakers, clearly and formally recounting Sara Scott's "heroic deeds." I watched as Sara, dressed in an elegant gown, accepted the Act of Courage trophy with both hands, then took the eighty-thousand-dollar check from Mr. Wyatt, her smile so bright it made me want to vomit. It was clearly Father who saved the child who fell into the water. But Sara was just standing on the shore, clicking away nonstop; she even complained about the angles while Father was struggling to lift the child. I clenched my anger and tried to step forward to reason, but Mr. Wyatt firmly stopped me. Mr. Wyatt's face showed no expression, but his tone was clearly displeased: "Yvonne Johnson, watch your expression. Don't cause trouble in a situation like this." I gritted my teeth and asked, "Mr. Wyatt, it was my father who truly sacrificed himself to save that child. Why is she the one being honored?" Mr. Wyatt sneered, eyes brimming with disdain: "Yvonne, you don't understand." "Sara Scott's video went viral online. Do you realize how much attention it brought to the company? It's free publicity." I couldn't believe my ears, my voice trembling: "So my father's life is worth less than that kind of attention?" Mr. Wyatt frowned, his tone turning colder: "Don't say things like that." "Your father was just an ordinary employee, with no real social value. Whether he died early or late, it makes no difference. Sara Scott is different; she brings profit to the company." That sentence felt like a sharp knife, piercing straight into my heart. I looked at Mr. Wyatt's cold expression, then at Sara Scott on stage, basking in all her glory, and a wave of absurdity and anger welled up inside me. I took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in my throat, and said slowly and clearly, "Mr. Wyatt, I want to withdraw all my investments from the company." Mr. Wyatt was momentarily stunned, clearly not expecting me to say that, then sneered coldly, "Yvonne, don't be impulsive." "Withdrawing your investment won't benefit you. Your father's compensation still depends on the company." "I don't want the compensation." I clenched my father's badge tightly and turned to leave. "From today on, our family has nothing to do with your company."