Was Given a House and Suddenly Mum Remembered She Had a Son
I grew up in a broken home; my father left before I was even two years old. For reasons I never quite understood, my mother always favoured my older sister, showering her with love and gifts, while I received nothing but the back of her hand. Thats how my whole childhood and school years unfolded. I was constantly lectured and landed with all the most thankless and unpleasant chores. All the while, I longed for the day I would finish school and escape to the city.
To make it happen, I knuckled down at my studies, often revising long into the night. Thankfully, my efforts paid off. Getting accepted to university was a breeze, but Mum never even asked where Id got in, or what kind of halls I was living in. She merely sighed and muttered, About time you wised up.
After my first year, I came back to the village and quickly realised nobody there was the least bit fussed about my return. I caught up with a couple of old mates and then hurried back to my room in halls. The next five years seemed to slip by without me noticing. I rang Mum from time to time, though her only concern was whether I was earning yet, so I could send some money to help her and my sister. At that stage, all I had was a slightly larger grant.
Once I started work, the questions about my income started up again. Id send the odd bank transfer home, but only when I could. Renting a place in London took a hefty chunk out of my paycheck. My family never asked if I actually had enough for basic thingsafter all, living in the city means youre loaded. Gradually, we spoke less and less. Meanwhile, my sister married a lad from our village, had two kids, divorced, remarried, had another child, and then divorced again. I cant say I was surprised; knowing her argumentative nature, I always thought she might be difficult to live with.
Then one day a letter from a solicitor landed on my doormat out of the blue. After a visit to their office and a long chat, I found out my grandfathermy dads fatherhad decided to leave me a house just outside the city after his death. I never really understood why, since the direct heir shouldve been my father, a man I have absolutely no memory of.
Chances are, the solicitor tipped my mother off about the inheritance. When I saw Mums number blinking on my phone after years of silence, I was taken aback. The surprise didnt last long thoughno sooner had I answered than she explained my sister desperately needed help getting a flat. Mum wanted me to sell the house and give my sister the proceeds. This wasnt part of my plan. When I told Mum as much, she tried every trick in the book to convince me otherwise, with my sister ringing me up to complain about her miserable life. When I asked her if shed ever spared a thought for how Id scraped by these past years, she shot back, spitting with rage, You never loved me! When I turned the question round and asked if shed ever really cared about me, the line suddenly went dead.
Six months later, I inherited the houseand sold it for a tidy sum. On the day I married Alice, we had our own two-bedroom flat, where we live to this day.
I havent spoken to my mother or sister since. Asking me to give up my one bit of luck to please themall after years of being neglectedwas just too much. If theres a lesson to be learned, its this: you dont owe your happiness to those who overlooked you, no matter how much they claim to be family.
