Grandma Ellen appeared, wearing her simple cotton blouse, a wide-brimmed hat, and carrying a reeking barrel of fermented fish sauce. Calmly, she spoke:

“You thought I was senile. But I was only pretending… and then…”

“…I recorded and filmed every word you two schemed, including that fraudulent contract you tricked me into signing. I already took everything to the local authorities and the police. For the past 48 hours, I wasn’t wandering—I was with a lawyer, filing papers to cancel that transfer and restore the house to my name. And this…”

She tapped the barrel, sending an even stronger stench across the room. Faces twisted in disgust.

“This barrel is my gift to you. I’ve been fermenting this sauce for more than two years. Whenever someone lives with cruelty and greed, the whole village will know their stench. I thought of keeping it hidden, but no… I’ll leave it right here, to remind you that a filthy reputation is just like this smell—money will never wash it away.”

Grandpa William stepped in behind her, leaning firmly on his cane, his voice sharp:

“We don’t need your money or your care. But don’t think your greed can fool old people. This house belongs to your mother. If you want to take it, you’ll have to step over my dead body first.”

The son and daughter-in-law turned pale, trembling:

“M… Mom… we only… only wanted to manage it for you…”

Grandma Ellen gave a cold laugh, her eyes burning with rare defiance at 82:

“Manage it for me? Let’s see if the police, the neighbors, or the relatives believe that. I may be forgetful, but I’m not stupid. Whoever is ungrateful will carry this stench for life—no matter how hard they try, they’ll never scrub it off.”

The neighbors gathered, whispering among themselves. The son and his wife could only hang their heads in shame, while the stench of rotten fish sauce spread through every corner of the house—like a curse that would never be cleansed.