I get cyberbullied by the elderly people in my community. Apparently, they've uploaded videos, claiming that my charity kitchen that sells one-dollar meals not only sells bad food, but I've also sold them at ridiculously high prices.

During the first year of the kitchen's establishment, I've sunk 420 thousand dollars and given it my all in running the kitchen. But all I receive in return is the Internet's backlash on me, which calls me for being a vile person.

So, I decided to go along with the public opinion by shutting down the kitchen entirely. Then, I transform the venue into a card room that costs ten dollars per hour.

As soon as the notice is posted, the entire community goes nuts. The elderly people's children soon show up on my doorstep and beg me to reopen the kitchen.

"Ms. Lawson, come out here!"

The door slammed open, followed by a booming male voice that startled me out of a pile of account books.

I frowned and set down my pen.

This was the office of the "Sunset Joy" community kitchen I ran. Aside from delivery people, hardly anyone came here—and they certainly wouldn't come bursting in like this.

Outside, Warren Hewitt from the neighborhood association looked flustered as he tried to stop a spirited old man in his 60s.

"Mr. Fletcher, please, let's talk calmly. Don't do this. Ms. Lawson is a good person—"

The man called Mr. Fletcher shoved Mr. Hewitt aside and thrust a phone in front of my face.

"A good person? Mr. Hewitt, don't let her fool you. See for yourself!"

On the phone screen, a short video was playing. The footage was shaky and shot at the kitchen's serving window. On the tray was a plate piled with braised pork ribs, collard greens, mashed potatoes, a bowl of bean soup, and some grains.

A young lady with heavy filters and carefully done makeup prodded at the pieces of braised pork, looking disgusted.

"Look, everyone. This is what they call the dollar charity meal."

The woman's voice was sweet and syrupy, but her tone was dripping with sarcasm.

"One dollar for a meal sounds cheap, but look at the food. It's more fat than lean, and the greens are overcooked. My grandmother eats this every day. I offer to get takeout for her, but she insists this place is cheaper and doesn't want to spend the money.

"What I don't get is—pork is so pricey these days, so how can the owner charge a dollar per meal? She claims it's for charity, but is she really not getting any government subsidies?

"She calls this charity while serving food like this to the elderly. Does her conscience not bother her at all?"

The poster's username was "MaisyLovesLife".

The likes and comments on the post had already exceeded 50 thousand. The comment section was a mess, with foul language practically jumping off the screen.

"Isn't this just slop? I think even a dollar is too expensive! How disgusting!"

"I've always said there's no such thing as a free lunch. The people who run charities to make money are the worst!"

"Investigate her! She must be embezzling government subsidies! People like her need to go to jail!"

"@JorrinPD @JorrinFTC, take action now! Don't let this greedy businesswoman get away!"

"These poor old folks. They think they're getting a deal, but they've been eating garbage every day."

"Miss, we support you in exposing the truth! We need more people like you who dare to speak up!"

I looked at the woman called "Maisy" in the video. She seemed familiar.

When Mr. Fletcher saw that I hadn't spoken up, he thought I was feeling guilty. He raised his voice, saying, "Ms. Lawson, you see that? The Internet is bashing you right now!

"That's my granddaughter, Maisy Fletcher. She's a big influencer with hundreds of thousands of followers! Since she said something's wrong with your store, then there must be a problem!"

Behind Mr. Fletcher stood a few other regulars of mine. Now, they all regarded me with suspicion and scrutiny.

"Gary's right, Ms. Lawson. Your food… Honestly, it's too greasy. It's unhealthy."

"Yeah. For a dollar… Really, it's not like we can't afford it. Can't you improve the dishes?"

"Every day, it's either braised pork ribs or smoked ham. It gets tiresome."

I almost laughed at the absurdity of these people.

Sunset Joy was something I had set up with my own money after my retirement.

This old neighborhood had many empty-nesters. Their children were busy, and a lot of the elderly struggled to get a decent meal.

I paid to rent this space and hired a cook and staff because I wanted them to have hot, decent meals. After considering the elderly residents' financial situation, I priced the meals at a dollar each.

The dollar didn't even cover the utilities, let alone the cost of ingredients and labor. For every meal, I had personally subsidized at least 20 dollars out of my own pocket.

Over the past year, while running this kitchen, I had already put in nearly 400 thousand dollars of my own money.

They didn't know any of this. All they knew was that the one-dollar meals no longer suited their tastes.

I turned off the video and looked at Mr. Fletcher.

"So, what exactly do you want?" I asked.

"Our demands are very simple!" Mr. Fletcher cleared his throat, acting like he was the voice of the people.

"First, improve the food! Stop trying to pass off fatty meat to us. We want seafood and lean meat!

"Second, transparency! How many subsidies from the government are you actually getting? How much does each meal cost? You need to disclose everything! You can't have us eating this without knowing the truth!"

An old woman next to him quickly added, "That's right! And variety too! You need to learn from those fancy restaurants—stop repeating the same dishes every day!

"It would be even better if you offered some afternoon tea, fruit, and the like."

Another old man mentioned something even more outrageous.

"I've seen some senior living communities offer massage and foot care services too. Ms. Lawson, if you're really serious about charity, why not go all the way?"

I felt nothing but disgust as I listened to these ridiculous demands.

These people had taken my goodwill for granted. They had turned my generosity into leverage they could use against me.

Instead of addressing their demands, I asked Mr. Fletcher a question.

"Mr. Fletcher, is Maisy your granddaughter?"

"Yes, she is!" Mr. Fletcher puffed up with pride. "My granddaughter is successful and has talent! Unlike some people who only make money the shady way."

His words were pointed, drawing a round of snickering agreement from those around him.

I nodded. "Okay. I understand."

I took a deep breath and turned to Mr. Hewitt, who was standing beside me. "Mr. Hewitt, please notify all the elderly in the neighborhood who have meal cards at the kitchen to gather in the hall at noon tomorrow.

"I will give everyone a clear answer then."

Mr. Hewitt froze for a moment. Then, seeing the unamused expression on my face, he quickly nodded. "Alright. I'll go notify them right away."

Mr. Fletcher grinned smugly when he saw that I had "backed down".

"That's more like it! Ms. Lawson, a smart woman knows when to adapt. Don't worry. If you do as we say, I'll have my granddaughter post another video praising you to help restore your reputation."

With that, he clasped his hands behind his back and walked away, like a triumphant general leading his people.

I stood there, watching their retreating figures and feeling my blood run cold.

I remembered when the kitchen first opened—how the elderly would hold my hand with tears in their eyes and thank me repeatedly.

I recalled Chef Lewis Galvan, who came in at five every morning to start preparing food and ensure everything was tender and well-seasoned.

I remembered how I stayed here every day, overseeing purchasing and sanitation to make sure there were no mistakes.

It turned out that giving your all didn't mean anything to some people. It could even be used as a weapon for them to bite the hand that fed them.

I laughed in self-deprecation. I was too naive.

I thought I was doing something good, but to them, I was just a "sucker" they could take advantage of whenever they wanted.

I went back to my office and closed the door.

Outside the window, the sunset was a brilliant red, matching the name of the community kitchen—Sunset Joy.

When I first chose that name, it was in hopes that the elderly could have a little more joy in their sunset years.

Now, looking back, it felt like bitter irony.

I took out my phone and dialed a number.

"Hello, is this James Knight? It's Wendy Lawson. Do you still have the proposal for the project you mentioned last time—the one converting the neighborhood's retail space into a card room?

"Yes, send it to me. I need it right away."

…

The next day at noon, the community kitchen's dining hall was packed. Nearly a hundred elderly people filled the small space to the brim.

Every face was filled with expectation and excitement.

Mr. Fletcher stood at the center, surrounded by a crowd, and was talking loudly. "Everyone, relax! Once my granddaughter posted that video, she got scared! We're definitely getting answers today! If she doesn't agree to our demands, we'll keep making noise!"

"Yeah! Make her give back the subsidies!"

"We have to have seafood! I haven't had shrimp in so long!"

The whispers and muffled laughter mixed together, as though it were a victory celebration waiting to begin.

Maisy Fletcher had also come. She wore a stylish dress and perfect makeup, standing out clearly among the group of elderly people in their plain clothes.

She held her phone, live-streaming and smiling charmingly for the camera.

"Folks, I'm here at the scene right now. You guys see this? All these seniors are here, waiting for the greedy owner to explain herself.

"The wheels of justice turn slowly, but they never stop. Today, we're going to make sure these elderly people get what they deserve!"

Mr. Fletcher, standing next to her, immediately leaned into the camera and waved at the screen with a flushed, excited face.

I pushed open the door and walked into the hall.

In an instant, all the noise stopped, and hundreds of eyes turned to me in unison. Some were filled with curiosity, others with scrutiny, and others with smugness and disdain.

I ignored their stares and walked straight to the small makeshift platform at the front.

There was no microphone, so I raised my voice to address the crowd.

"Thank you all for taking time out of your busy schedules to attend today's meeting."

My opening remark drew a low ripple of laughter from the audience.

"First, regarding the video you saw online about the kitchen's food and pricing…"

I directed my gaze directly toward Maisy in the crowd as I spoke. She looked me right in the eye without any fear, even wearing a slight, provocative smile.

"The video mentioned that the kitchen charges a dollar per meal and serves dishes like braised pork ribs and collard greens. All of that is true."

As soon as I finished speaking, the crowd erupted.

"See! She admitted it!"

"It's slop indeed!"

Mr. Fletcher immediately seized the opportunity and loudly questioned, "Ms. Lawson, since you've admitted to it, what do you plan to do? Have you considered our demands?"

Maisy also turned her phone camera toward me and shouted, clearly trying to stir up more trouble, "Everyone, look! The owner is here! Let's see what she has to say!"

In an instant, the comment section started scrolling rapidly.

"Here we go! The big showdown!"

"The owner looks pretty rich. Why is she so stingy?"

"She's probably going to apologize and pay up, right? The public pressure is huge."

As I looked at the twisted faces in the crowd, the last of my sympathy for them completely vanished.

I picked up a document from the table and said, "Regarding your demands for better food, more variety, and extra services—after careful consideration…"

Everyone held their breath and craned their necks. The smiles on Mr. Fletcher's and Maisy's faces showed they thought they had already won.

"I've decided that…"