I Offered the Neighbor’s Kid Cake and Got Called a Creep

At two in the morning, my phone vibrated like crazy, and SnapChat messages flooded in one after another.

I was going through math practice questions, and the noise irritated me so much that I picked up my phone and saw—the apartment complex homeowners’ group chat, with more than four hundred unread messages.

Someone had tagged me.

I scrolled up, and the first message was from Daisy’s mom, Carla, who lived downstairs in 602. “Warning to all parents: there is an adult man in our complex using food to lure little girls, and he is suspected of having improper intentions.” “How can someone like this live in our complex!

All parents must keep a close eye on their children!” Below it was a photo of me giving cake to Daisy, who was six years old, whose parents were divorced, and who lived with Carla.

The little girl did not like to talk and was often outside the door, squatting alone in the hallway and playing by herself.

Yesterday was my birthday, and because the wiring was being repaired, the whole building lost power, so I went downstairs and bought a small cake.

When I got back to my door, I ran into her squatting there. She stared at the cake for several seconds, and her eyes lit up for a moment. I cut a small piece and handed it to her.

She took it, turned around, and ran off. The door had been open the whole time, and it lasted less than two minutes.

The messages in the group chat exploded. “Isn’t that the guy in 302 studying for grad school?

I always see him wandering around the hallway, acting all sneaky.” “Young people these days are terrifying. They look decent on the outside, but who knows what they’re thinking.

I suggest calling the police!” “People like this don’t deserve to live in our complex.

Is management going to do anything?” Carla sent another message: “I’ve already called the police. All parents, watch your kids carefully.

Trash like this deserves to be publicly ruined.” I gritted my teeth and typed: “Yesterday was my birthday, and I bought a cake and came home, and Daisy was squatting by my door, so I shared a small piece with her.” “The door was open the whole time, and it lasted less than two minutes.

You can ask Daisy.” Carla replied instantly: “My daughter has autism and doesn’t speak.” “You’re taking advantage of the fact that she can’t tell anyone, aren’t you?

A grown man in his twenties giving cake to a little girl he doesn’t know, and you think that’s normal?” Someone immediately echoed her: “Exactly, what normal person would do that?” “Studying for grad school fried his brain, pervert.” My fingers trembled as I typed a long paragraph and sent it, explaining what had happened and emphasizing that the door had been open the entire time and that it lasted less than two minutes from start to finish.

After the message was sent, it sank into the chat history, and no one paid attention.

New messages kept refreshing: “Do a background check on him, what school is he from?” “I heard he’s from some noname college and has been trying for grad school for two years without getting in.” “No wonder he’s mentally twisted.” My phone kept vibrating.

I turned off the screen, took a deep breath, and opened it again. I saved every message insulting me and every screenshot from the group chat one by one—these were all evidence.

At four in the morning, someone posted a long article on Ins titled “Grad School Exam Guy in Certain Apartment Complex Lures Little Girl, Parents Terrified.” The article included my photo, listed the building and unit where I lived, and even dug up the school where I was preparing for the exam.

There were more than five thousand comments. “Expose him and make his school expel him.” “A pervert like this should be castrated.” “Grad school?

Even if he gets in, he’ll still be a danger.” By daybreak, the article had over five hundred thousand views. My landlord, Mr.

Harris, called me. “Ethan, it’s not that I’m unreasonable, but this has gotten way too big, the other residents are upset, and management has talked to me too.” “You’d better move out as soon as possible, I’ll return your deposit, and I won’t charge you this month’s rent.” I gripped my phone, and my throat tightened: “Mr.

Harris, I’m being falsely accused.” “I know, I know, but you have to understand my side too, I’m running a business here.” “If you move out, everyone can have some peace.” I said nothing.

Mr. Harris added, “Within three days, okay?” I did not answer and hung up.

After sitting for a while, I felt there was no point staying in the room, so I went downstairs to pick up a package. In the elevator, I ran into Mrs.

Wilson from next door, and when she saw me, she took a step back and pulled her child behind her.

When we got out of the elevator, I heard her say to the person beside her, “That’s him, the one in the group chat.” The woman at the package station tossed my package onto the table and did not reach out to hand it to me.

I bent down to pick it up myself, and she pulled her hand back. I carried the package and walked back, and someone behind me took a photo.

The shutter sound was very soft, but I heard it. When I returned to the rental apartment, I sat on the bed and stared at the ceiling. My phone rang again.

My college roommate, Ryan, sent me a message: “Dude, is that you online? It’s already spread to the alumni group.” I replied with one word: “Yes.” “It’s really you?

Why would you randomly give cake to a little girl?” “It was my birthday.” “She was squatting at my door, staring at the cake in my hand.” “I cut a small piece for her.” “The door was open, and the whole thing lasted less than two minutes.” Ryan sent a sighing emoji. “It doesn’t matter if I believe you, man, the internet has already exploded.” “You need to find a way to clear things up fast.” I opened my laptop and started organizing evidence.

Screenshots from the group chat, abusive text messages, posts on Ins and Twitter—I saved them all into one folder in chronological order.

I named it “Evidence.” By the time I had organized everything until three in the afternoon, my fingers were numb from typing.

More than three hundred abusive messages, fortyseven post links, and six screen recordings. One thing was still missing.

I went downstairs to management and asked to pull yesterday’s surveillance footage. The property manager was Mr.

Lewis, a middleaged man in his forties, and although he spoke politely, his attitude was firm. “Ethan, you know there was wiring maintenance yesterday, and the whole building lost power, so the cameras weren’t on either.” “It’s not that I don’t want to help you, but there really is no footage.” “Not even in the hallway?” “No.” “The entire system was down.” I stood at the door of the management office, my mind racing.

Seeing that I was standing there and not leaving, Manager Lewis added, “Why don’t you ask the other residents and see if anyone recorded anything on their phone?” I said nothing and turned to leave.

Without surveillance footage, there was no direct evidence. All I had were a few cake photos on my phone and the receipt, proving that I had indeed bought cake yesterday.

That was not enough. After returning to the rental apartment, I started contacting Daisy’s father.

After the divorce, Carla had brought Daisy here to live, and Daisy’s father occasionally came to pick her up.

I found his SnapChat in the homeowners’ group chat and added him as a friend.

He accepted quickly. “Mark, I’m Ethan from 302.” “Did you see what happened yesterday?” “I saw it.” “That crazy woman Carla only knows how to cause trouble.” “I wanted to ask you, is it true that Daisy can’t speak?” “She has mild autism and doesn’t like communicating with people, but it’s not that she can’t speak at all.” “It’s just that Carla has never had the patience to teach her.” I took a deep breath. “Mark, can you help me confirm with Daisy that when I gave her the cake yesterday,” “whether I did anything I shouldn’t have?” The other side was silent for a long time. “Man, I believe you.” “But you know Daisy’s situation too, and even if I ask her, can her words be used as evidence?” “The court won’t accept the words of a sixyearold autistic child.” I knew he was telling the truth.

After hanging up, I stared at the folder on my computer screen called “Evidence,” which only contained more than three hundred records of insults and my own shopping receipt.

I opened the homeowners’ group chat again. The messages had already reached more than nine hundred. Someone had started a petition, demanding that management kick me out.

More than forty households had already signed the petition.

Carla sent another new message: “I’ve already contacted the media, and reporters will come for an interview tomorrow.” “Trash like this should be known to everyone.” The group chat was full of cheers.

I turned off my phone. My phone vibrated a few more times. I opened it and saw private message notifications from Ins.

Someone had sent me a message, and when I opened it, I saw: “You’re that pervert?

Hope you fail your grad school exam and get hit by a car when you leave the house.” I took a screenshot and saved it into the folder. That day, I did not read a single page.

The next day, reporters came to the complex. At eight in the morning, I was woken by the noise downstairs.

I pushed open the window and looked down, and an interview van was parked at the entrance of the complex, with the local TV station’s logo printed on the side.

A female reporter holding a microphone stood downstairs with a cameraman beside her and was interviewing Carla.

Carla wore a floral dress, her hair loose over her shoulders, and cried pitifully in front of the camera.

Daisy stood beside her with her head lowered, tugging at the hem of her shirt and saying nothing. “My daughter has autism and doesn’t speak,” Carla said, wiping her tears. “That man targeted my daughter exactly because he knew she couldn’t talk.” “A man in his twenties giving cake to a little girl he doesn’t know—is that normal?” “All you parents, judge for yourselves.” The red light on the camera was on.

I shut the window. My phone rang again, and it was my landlord, Mr.

Harris. “Ethan, even the reporters are here, can you move out today?” “I’ll return every cent of your deposit, and I’ll refund this month’s rent too, okay?” “Mr.

Harris, I haven’t finished packing my things yet.” “Then hurry up, hurry up.” “I have no choice either, management has called me three times.” I hung up and continued organizing evidence.

I opened my laptop and continued organizing evidence.

Today, there was new material—the reposts on Ins had exceeded one hundred thousand, and someone in the comments had posted my ID number, my home address, and even my mom’s phone number.

I did not know how they got them.

I called my mom. “Mom, have any strangers called you recently?” “Yes, several yesterday, saying something about you getting into trouble and telling me to control you.” “I said my son is studying for grad school, what trouble could he get into, and hung up on all of them.” “If anyone calls again, don’t answer.” “What exactly happened?” “It’s nothing, just a small misunderstanding, and I can handle it.” “Okay, take care of yourself and don’t stay up too late.” After hanging up, I sat in my chair and stared at the ceiling, my mind blank.

At noon, I went downstairs to eat.

A crowd had gathered at the entrance of the complex, including residents, people there for the drama, and several people livestreaming with their phones.

I pushed open the building door, and everyone’s eyes turned toward me at once. “That’s him!” someone shouted. The crowd stirred.

Carla stood at the very front, and when she saw me, her tears fell again. “How do you still have the nerve to come out?” “How can you face my daughter?” I looked at her. “Carla, I’ll tell you one more time.” “Yesterday was my birthday, and I bought a cake and came home, and Daisy was squatting by my door, so I shared a small piece with her.” “The door was open, and it lasted less than two minutes.” “You can go check.” “My daughter can’t speak, so whatever you say is the truth?” Carla’s voice sharpened.

A woman beside her immediately chimed in. “Exactly, a grown man giving cake to someone else’s little girl, do you think everyone else is stupid?” Another man shouted, “Call the cops and arrest him!” I took out my phone and dialed 911 in front of everyone. “Hello, I want to report a crime.” “Someone is defaming me, spreading false information about me online, and personally attacking and insulting me.” “I need the police to intervene and investigate.” The crowd was quiet for two seconds.

Carla froze for a moment, then started crying again. “You still have the nerve to call the police?” “You had bad intentions toward my daughter, and now you think you’re right?” The dispatcher on the phone told me to go to the nearest police station to make a statement.

After hanging up, I walked through the crowd and headed outside. On the way to the police station, my phone kept vibrating.

Someone on Ins had posted a video of me at the entrance of the complex, with the title “Pervert Man Actually Dares to Call Police, Arrogant Beyond Belief.” The comments section was full of insults.

When I arrived at the police station, the officer who received me was a young cop named Officer Brooks. I told him what happened and showed him the evidence saved on my phone.

After Officer Brooks finished looking through it, he frowned slightly. “You’re sure the door was open the whole time?” “I’m sure.” “The lock on my rental apartment has a problem, and if it isn’t fully shut, it pops open automatically.” “Before I went inside, I deliberately pushed it and confirmed that the door was open.” “Can anyone prove that?” “No.” “At that time, there was only me and Daisy in the hallway.” Officer Brooks was silent for a while. “Carla also reported this matter to the police.” “She said you had improper intentions toward her daughter.” “Both sides insist on their own version, and there’s no surveillance footage, so this is difficult.” “Then what gives her the right to spread rumors about me online?” “She also provided evidence—the photo of you handing Daisy the cake.” “In her view, that is evidence.” I took a deep breath. “Officer, let me ask you something.” “If I didn’t do anything, but because of one photo, the entire internet curses me out and I’m forced out of my home, is no one going to do anything about that?” Officer Brooks looked at me and said nothing.

After a long while, he spoke. “You can take legal action and sue her for defamation.” “But that takes time, and it also requires evidence.” “I know.” When I came out of the police station, it was already dark.

I stood by the road, opened my phone, and the homeowners’ group chat had exploded again.

Someone had posted about me calling the police, and the group chat was full of mockery. “Guilty conscience, calling the police to act tough.” “Trash like this, even the law can’t do anything to him.” “Is management doing anything or not?” “Are they still letting someone like this live in the complex?” I closed the group chat and called my college roommate Ryan. “Ryan, do me a favor.” “Do you know any reliable lawyers?” “I do.” “My cousin is a lawyer, and he specializes in reputation rights cases.” “Are you really going to sue?” “I’m really suing.” “Okay, I’ll send you his SnapChat.” After hanging up, I walked back to the complex.

There was a notice posted at the entrance of my building by management. “Regarding matters involving the resident of Unit 302, property management has already intervened and is handling the issue.

Please remain calm and do not spread false information.” Under it, someone had written a line in pen: “Make him get out.” I looked at it for a few seconds, then went upstairs.

After returning to my room, I opened my laptop and continued organizing evidence.

Today, there were more than a dozen new posts and several hundred comments, and I saved screenshots of all of them.

I sent my mom a SnapChat message: “Mom, don’t go online for the next few days.” “What’s wrong?” “Nothing, it’s just that some people are talking nonsense online, and it’ll only upset you if you see it.” “Okay, I won’t look.” “Study well.” I turned off my phone and sat by the window.

Outside the window was the complex courtyard, where several children were playing on the slide. Adults sat on benches chatting, occasionally looking up toward my building.

I knew what they were looking at. They were looking at the window of 302. I drew the curtains shut.

On the third day, things completely spiraled out of control. When I woke up in the morning and opened my phone, the third trending topic on Ins was: #GradSchoolGuyLuresLittleGirl.

When I clicked in, that article had already been reposted three hundred thousand times, and its views had exceeded twenty million.

Someone started a topic in the comments section: #ExposeThisPervert.

Below it, someone posted a photo of my ID, screenshots from my student records, and even a group photo from a school event I attended in junior year.

Under the official Ins account of my university, thousands of comments demanded that they “investigate this person thoroughly.” Someone tagged the dean of my college, and someone tagged the Department of Education.

My phone number had been leaked, and my text inbox was overflowing.

When I opened it, it was all abuse. “Animal, go die.” “How did your mother raise a thing like you?” “Hope you fail your grad school exam and never get in for the rest of your life.” I saved a screenshot of every single one.

Ryan sent a message: “Dude, you’re trending.” “Our alumni group has exploded, and someone is organizing a joint letter to the school asking them to expel you.” “Let them write.” “You really don’t care?” “I care.” “But the way I care isn’t by arguing with them.” “What exactly are you planning to do?” “Sue.” “How much will that cost?” “If it needs to be spent, I’ll spend it.” Ryan sent me his cousin’s SnapChat.

I added him as a friend, and the other person was named Nathan Price, in his early thirties, and he spoke briskly. “Ethan, Ryan told me about your situation.” “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you answer truthfully.” “Ask.” “Did you touch that little girl?” “No.” “Did you hand her the cake on your own initiative?” “Yes.” “She was squatting at my door, looking at the cake in my hand.” “I cut a small piece and gave it to her, and she took it and ran.” “The door was open?” “It was open the whole time.” “The lock on my rental apartment has a problem, and if it isn’t fully shut, it pops open automatically.” “Before I went inside, I pushed it and confirmed that the door was open.” “Did anyone else see it?” “No.” Nathan was silent for a while. “No surveillance footage, no witnesses, and the other party is an autistic child.” “This case won’t be easy.” “I know.” “But if I don’t fight it, my whole life is over.” “Fine.” “Then I’ll explain the process to you.” “First, we need to preserve the evidence and have all online posts and comments notarized.” “Then I’ll obtain her identity information and draft the complaint.” “After the court accepts the case, there will be a hearing.” “The whole process will take two or three months if it’s fast, and half a year if it’s slow.” “I can wait.” “Good.” “Send me all the evidence first, and I’ll help you organize it.” “Also, you need to go to a notary office for the notarization, and make sure you save the links to those posts.” After hanging up, I went out to the notary office.

When I went downstairs, a middleaged man in the elevator saw me and moved one step into the corner. When we reached the first floor, he rushed out first.

Several people were gathered at the entrance of the complex, and when they saw me, they whispered among themselves.

I lowered my head and walked past, and a voice came from behind me: “Shameless.” I did not look back.

At the notary office, the staff member was a young woman, and after looking at my materials, she looked up at me. “You’re that guy online?” “Yes.” She did not say anything else and lowered her head to process the paperwork.

The whole process was very quiet, with only the sound of typing on the keyboard. After finishing the notarization, I returned to the rental apartment.

When I reached the entrance of the building, I saw Daisy squatting on the steps, playing with stones by herself. When she saw me, she raised her head, and her eyes lit up.

I stopped for one second, said nothing, and went straight upstairs. It was not that I did not want to respond to her, but that I did not dare to.

Any contact could be magnified into new evidence. After returning to my room, my phone rang.

It was Nathan. “Ethan, I checked Carla’s information.” “She and her exhusband have been divorced for two years, and Daisy’s custody is with her.” “There are records showing that community services once got involved because Daisy had been locked outside multiple times.” “A neighbor called the police.” My heart skipped a beat. “There’s a police dispatch record?” “Yes.” “I’ve asked someone to retrieve it.” “Great.” “Can this prove that she’s emotionally unstable and has a motive to frame me?” “It can.” “But it still isn’t enough.” “We need more evidence, preferably something that can directly prove your innocence.” “Like what?” “Like Daisy’s own words.” “Even though she has autism, if she can express the meaning of ‘that man did not touch me,’ it can be used as supporting evidence.” “Her father said he could help me ask, but the court may not accept Daisy’s words.” “Whether they accept it is one thing, but whether we have it is another.” “Ask her father to ask her first and record the audio for me.” I sent Daisy’s father a message.

He quickly replied: “I asked.” “Daisy said, ‘Ethan gave cake, then I left.’” “That’s all.” “That’s enough.” “Can you send a recording?” After a while, an audio recording came through.

The voice was very soft, and the little girl’s voice came in broken pieces: “Ethan... cake... I left.” I forwarded the recording to Nathan.

After Nathan listened to it, he was silent for a while. “This can be used.” “Although it’s not direct evidence, at least it can prove she wasn’t harmed.” “That’s good.” After hanging up, I opened my laptop and continued organizing evidence.

Today, there were more than two hundred new abusive records, and I saved them all into the folder. The folder now contained more than a thousand records.

Looking at the number on the screen, I suddenly felt very calm. The harsher they cursed, the stronger my evidence became. For these three days, I had not read a single page.

There were still four months left before the grad school entrance exam, and I had fallen three days behind. But I did not regret it.

If I did not resolve this now, even if I got into grad school, this stain would follow me for the rest of my life. I picked up a pen and circled a date on the calendar.

Today was day one. I would get back every last bit of this, exactly as it happened.

On the fourth day, the news that the court had accepted the case had just come down when Nathan called me. “Ethan, the complaint is ready.” “It’s a reputation rights infringement case against Carla.” “The compensation claims include emotional distress damages, financial losses, and attorney fees, totaling fifty thousand.” “We’re also demanding that she publicly apologize in the homeowners’ group chat, on the community bulletin board, and on every online platform where the rumor was spread.” “Good.” “When can the case be filed?” “I’ll submit the materials to the court, and if it’s fast, the case can be accepted within a week.” “But I need to make something clear to you: once this case is accepted, it means there will be a public hearing.” “By then, all materials will become public records, and people online will know even more details.” “I know.” “Are you sure?” “I’m sure.” Nathan was silent for a moment. “Fine.” “Then I’ll submit the materials tomorrow.” After hanging up, I went downstairs to buy food.

When I reached the entrance of the complex, I saw Carla standing there, chatting with several older women. When she saw me, her face changed, and she turned to leave.

I called out to her: “Carla.” She stopped and turned back, her expression complicated. “Carla, I’ve already hired a lawyer to sue you.” “The court summons will arrive in a few days.” Her face turned pale at once. “You’re suing me?” “You spread false information online without verifying anything, defamed me, caused me to be cyberbullied, forced out of my home, and prevented me from studying normally.” “We’ll settle all of that in court.” The older women beside her looked at one another.

Carla’s voice sharpened. “You think you’re in the right?” “You did that kind of thing to my daughter, and you still have the nerve to sue me?” “What did I do to your daughter?” “Show me the evidence.” “My daughter can’t speak, and you’re taking advantage of the fact that she can’t say anything!” “Your daughter may not speak much, but you’re not her.” “How do you know what I did to her?” “Did you ask her?” “Did you see it with your own eyes?” Carla opened her mouth but could not speak.

One older woman stepped forward to back her up. “She’s a mother, could she really falsely accuse you?” I looked at her. “Ma’am, what if she did falsely accuse me?” “What if I didn’t do anything at all?” “Who is going to compensate me for the losses I’ve suffered these past few days from being cursed at, driven out, and cyberbullied?” The older woman stopped talking.

Carla’s lips trembled. “Who are you trying to scare?” “Sue if you want, do you think I’m afraid of you?” I said nothing more and turned to leave.

Her voice came from behind me, choked with tears: “What kind of person does something bad and still acts this arrogant...” That afternoon, Nathan sent a message: “The materials have been submitted.” “The court said they’ll reply within a week.” “Okay.” I put down my phone and wanted a moment of quiet, but I still could not help opening the homeowners’ group chat, and it had exploded again. “That guy in 302 actually dares to sue?” “Where does he get the confidence?” “I support Carla, fight this scum to the end!” There was nothing worth saying.

I left the group chat.

My phone rang, and it was Daisy’s father. “Ethan, I just got a document from community services.” “Last year, Carla locked Daisy outside for three hours, and a neighbor called the police.” “After the police arrived, Carla cursed Daisy in front of them, saying she was baggage and that if it weren’t for her, she would have remarried long ago.” “Is there a record?” “Yes.” “It’s clearly written in the police dispatch record.” “Can you give me that document?” “I’ll send it to you.” A few minutes later, a PDF file came through.

I opened it and saw that it was a police dispatch record, and it said: The caller, a resident named Wilson, reported that the neighbor’s child had been locked outside for three hours, and no one answered when the door was knocked on.

After officers arrived at the scene, they contacted the child’s mother, Carla. After Carla opened the door, she became emotionally agitated and verbally abused the child.

The officers criticized and educated the child’s mother. I took screenshots and sent them to Nathan.

Nathan replied instantly: “Good stuff.” “This can prove that Carla is emotionally unstable and has a history that supports framing others.” “Can we use it?” “Yes.” “Although it doesn’t directly prove your innocence, it can weaken the credibility of her testimony.” I let out a breath of relief.

It was dark outside the window. I turned on the desk lamp and opened my book. I had not studied for four days.

I picked up my pen and wrote one word on a practice exam, but my mind was buzzing, filled with images from the past few days. I put down the pen and closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, my phone lit up. Nathan had sent a message: “The court has accepted the case, and the hearing is next week.”