My parents only ever lived together for a very short time. When I was four years old, my father walked out the door and never came backa tragic accident, they said. Still, he left me some old photographs of us together from when I was a child, and a substantial sum in a bank account under my name that accumulated interest year after year.
A few years later, my mother remarried and gave birth to my brother. As luck would have it, I became little more than the housemaid for my stepfather and mother, and the babysitter for my younger brother.
Watching my mum dote on my brother used to bring me to tears. She showered him with love, tucked him in at night, hugged him, read him stories, and bought him toys and new clothes.
My stepfather adored his only son, too. No one cared much for me, though. Then things took a turn for the worse. Their rows became more frequent; he started drinking, and the house filled with arguments. I ended up bearing the brunt of it all, taking the harshest punishments because, frankly, they didnt care for me. Eventually, a few years on, they divorced.
Later, I moved to Manchester for university, leaving my brother and mum in the flat that once belonged to my late father. I rarely came home, as I was working part-time alongside my studies.
When I did finally return after a long absence, I found strangers living in my flat. My mother was sleeping on the sofa in the kitchen, the unfamiliar faces around her were so-called friends of my brothers. I decided to confront the situation, but things only got worse from there. The next morning, they woke me up and forced me to go to the bank to withdraw the money my father had left mewhich had grown nicely over the yearsbecause my younger brother had lost a huge amount gambling, playing cards.
It felt as if I was a little girl again, bossed around and told what to do.
The most ironic part was that Id come home to share happy news about my pregnancy, hoping we could somehow rebuild our family ties. Id imagined bringing us closer together. Instead, the solution became clear: I told them to pack up their things, as from that moment on, theyd be moving to Grandmas cottage in the countryside. The flat belonged to meI wasnt about to tolerate anyone else taking advantage.
Mum and my brother just laughed in my face, which only reinforced that I was doing the right thing. I rang the police for help, and they assisted my family in gathering their belongings and leaving the flat. Afterwards, my fiancé and I changed the locks, and now were planning to sell the place and buy a home for our own family in another city. Ive also changed all my bank account details, since my mother had already tried meddling with my finances.
Im sure my dad would have approved of what I didhe always wanted the best for me. My biggest lesson has been that sometimes, protecting yourself and the family youre building means letting go of toxic relationships, no matter who they are.
