On the road, I accidentally saw my daughter with my grandson, dressed in dirty clothes, begging: “My daughter, where are the house and the money I gave you?” 

Her husband and mother-in-law took everything from her and threw her out onto the street with the child. After what I did to put them in their place, everyone was horrified 

I was driving along the central avenue and stopped at a red light. I was coming back from the hospital; my head was pounding and my thoughts were tangled. I just wanted to get home and not talk to anyone.

Suddenly, my gaze caught a woman between the cars. She was walking with her hand outstretched, pressing a child to her chest. An ordinary sight that people pass by every day.

And suddenly I felt cold inside. It was my daughter.

At first, I didn’t believe it. The thin face, the messy hair, the bare feet, the child in a carrier — and that look… ashamed, frightened, as if she was afraid I would recognize her.

I rolled down the window.

— My daughter…

She flinched, sharply raised her head, and immediately covered her face with her hand.

— Dad, please… go away.

But I was already out of the car.

— Get in. Now.

Cars behind us started honking, but I didn’t care. I saw only her — and my grandson, pressed against her chest, red from the heat and crying.

We drove off. I turned on the air conditioning, stayed silent for a few seconds, and then couldn’t hold back:

— Where is the apartment? Where is the car we gave you? Where is the money I transferred every month? How did you end up on the street? And where is your husband?

At first, she was silent. Then a tear rolled down her cheek.

— My husband took everything… he and his mother. Everything. The apartment, the car, the money. They simply threw us out. They said that if I resisted, they would take the child away.

I pulled over to the side of the road and turned to her. She shrank back, as if expecting a reproach. She probably thought I would say, “I warned you.”

But I simply took her hand. It was cold and far too light.

— Don’t cry, my daughter. I know what to do with them.

And what I did next… made everyone’s hair stand on end.  Continuation in the first comment 

I didn’t take my daughter home. I went to the police.

At first, she was frightened.

— Dad, no… they said you wouldn’t be able to prove anything anyway.

I looked at her and answered calmly:

— We will prove it. Because that house is mine.

We went together with the police. To that very house I once gave to my daughter. The house from which she was thrown out with a baby in her arms.

The door was opened by my son-in-law. When he saw the police officers, he turned pale. The mother-in-law immediately started shouting that it was “their home,” that “everything was legal,” that “she is the mother and has the right.”

I silently took out the documents.

— These people are living illegally in my house. The money I transferred to my daughter was stolen. The car, registered in her name, was taken by force.

The apartment fell silent.

The police officers asked a few questions. Then more. Ten minutes later, my son-in-law was already in handcuffs. The mother-in-law screamed, clung to the walls, tried to prove something, but she was taken away as well.

They were arrested right there.

The apartment, the car, and the money were returned to my daughter. Everything — officially, by the documents.

I looked at her. She stood there, holding the child close to her, and smiled for the first time in a long while.

And then I did one more thing. Through my connections, I made sure the case was not swept under the rug. That the threats, the thefts, and throwing a woman with a baby onto the street were not dismissed as a “family conflict.”

I will do everything to make sure they receive a real sentence.