I was raised in an environment that lacked the essence of what one calls a ‘home’. The three of us—my mother, my older sister, and I—formed our family unit. My father was merely a shadow, a name on a birth certificate that meant nothing to me. Any attempt to discuss him was swiftly redirected by my mother, as though acknowledging his existence was forbidden.
Thus, life went on with just the three of us: myself, my mother, and my sister Larisa. Although she was five years my senior, the dynamics were reversed; I found myself taking on the more mature role while she lived like a cherished princess.
My mother adored her. Larisa received the finest clothing, extravagant gifts, and all her desires were catered to. In contrast, I was left with her hand-me-downs—often worn-out and sometimes too large. I can still vividly recall those sweaters with overly long sleeves, which my mother would neglectfully roll up, grumbling, “This will do for another year or two.”
The same pattern applied to our meals. Should Larisa desire seconds, they were readily available to her. Yet, if I dared to ask for an extra piece, I would be reminded of how much my mother was already spending on us.
Celebrations such as birthdays or New Year? Those occasions were nonexistent for me. No presents, no affectionate words, only my mother’s sighs indicating I was an unwelcome burden.
I came to realize a harsh truth: in her eyes, I was not a child. I was merely a financial liability.
The Day I Became Their Cash Cow
By the time I reached sixteen, I understood distinctly that assistance would not come my way. My mother and Larisa had formed an unbreakable alliance, leaving me feeling like an outsider among my own.
I began working part-time jobs after school and on weekends, whenever I found the opportunity. I delivered newspapers at dawn, washed dishes in a café, and unloaded boxes in a store.
Despite the fatigue, I felt a sense of pride. For the very first time, I had my own money.
However, to my mother, that meant something else entirely.
“So now you’re earning?” she inquired one evening, an unnaturally sweet smile on her face.
I nodded, completely unaware of what was to come next.
She approached and placed her hand on my shoulder.
“It’s time for you to start contributing to the household expenses.”
By “household expenses”, she was indicating her and Larisa’s needs.
My sister didn’t even consider finding a job. Why would she? Throughout her life, someone else, first our mother, had resolved all her problems—now that burden was shifted to me.
Escaping Became My Only Option
After completing school, I knew it was time to leave.
Our town had a college, but I purposefully chose one located hundreds of kilometers away. It was not solely about pursuing an education; it was about survival.
When I told my mother about my decision, her demeanor turned cold.
“You’re abandoning us? After everything I’ve done for you?”
I had to suppress my laughter.
I moved into a student dormitory, and for the first time, I experienced what true freedom felt like. I continued working as a loader at the train station. The exhaustion was intense, but the pay was worthwhile. I finally could afford decent clothes and treat myself to coffee without feeling guilty.
Mother and Larisa? They never called.
They never once inquired about how I was doing, if I had enough food, or whether I was managing.
But during my holiday visit, the first remark from my mother wasn’t “How are you?” or “We missed you!”
She sized me up and snapped, “Looks like you’ve got money now.”
This was not a question; it was an accusation.
From that moment on, each of my visits became a series of relentless requests for money. Larisa wanted a new phone and new clothes. They didn’t ask; they demanded.
When I suggested to my sister that she look for work, she laughed out loud.
“Me? Work? Are you serious?”
An Inheritance That Changed Everything
After college, I secured a steady job. Then, an unexpected development occurred: the company provided me with an apartment.
It wasn’t luxury, but it was my own space.
When my mother and Larisa learned about it, they exploded.
“You have an apartment?! And you didn’t give us anything?!”
I tried to explain that the housing was provided by my employer, but they refused to listen.
Then fate dealt a final blow.
My maternal grandfather passed away.
Although we were not close, he was the only family member who treated me with respect.
When the notary read the will, I could hardly believe my ears.
He left me his house and land.
Upon hearing this, my mother and sister went into a frenzy.
“This is unfair!” Larisa shrieked. “I have a child! I need that house!”
In the meantime, she had married, had a child, and then divorced. Now, she expected me to sell the inheritance and hand over the money.
But I had already made up my mind.
When I conveyed my decision to them, they erupted.
My mother accused me of being selfish.
Larisa cried and screamed, berating me for my supposed ingratitude.
After letting them calm down, I calmly responded:
“I will sell the house. But with that money, I will buy a bigger apartment because I am married, and my wife is expecting a child.”
Silence.
They did not congratulate me, nor did they ask about my family.
What mattered was that they didn’t receive what they wanted.
This was our final conversation.
The Family I Chose
I sold the house and purchased a spacious apartment.
Mother and Larisa?
They have yet to see my son. They didn’t even attempt to reach out.
But you know what?
I don’t miss them.
For the first time in my life, I understand what a true family means.
And I will ensure that my child never experiences what I had to endure.