Puppets of the Pop-ups

My daughter, Jessie, just 22, put down her phone at dinner and dropped a bomb: "I want all my rent money back. Plus interest." I sat there, stunned. But then, above her head, words pulsed in a glowing rectangle only I could see: *"It's time. Your boomer parents are exploiting you! Demand financial freedom!"* That night was the start of a nightmare. The pop-ups raged, screaming about my 'theft' and Jessie's 'emotional labor,' twisting her into a demanding, entitled stranger. She threatened court, stole family heirlooms to sell them online, and manipulated her soft-hearted father, David, into handing her cash for 'self-improvement courses' that never existed. He, bless his naive heart, just wanted peace, even as Jessie shredded our family unit. I watched, helpless, as she descended into a greed I barely recognized, fueled by those insidious voices. Was this truly my daughter, or was some digital entity puppeteering her every cruel demand? Why was I the only one who saw the glowing commands pushing her further into depravity? My family was crumbling, my husband enabling, and my daughter turning into a monster, all thanks to these invisible whispers. The final straw came when, driven by those very pop-ups, Jessie destroyed her own life chasing a wealthy, deadbeat fiancé, leaving behind ruin and a neglected baby. That's when David and I decided: we'd stop fighting her battles. We'd save her son, but the daughter we knew was gone. We had to sever ties, for our own survival.