My own mother threw me out of our flat because she cared more for my stepfather than she did for me.
I lived with my father until I was five, and those were the happiest years of my childhood. After he died, my mother stopped looking after me and began creating a new life for herself. By the time I was eight, I had a stepfather, who insisted on controlling every detail of my and my mothers lives, and everything changed from that moment.
My world became a regimented routine drawn up by my stepfatherhe handed out chores and schedules each day, while he himself did nothing because he was too tired after work. My mum forced me to do everything he demanded, out of fear that hed get cross and start a row.
When I reached my teenage years, I couldnt take it anymore. After coming home from school, Id have to cook, clean the house, wash my stepfathers car, and handle whatever new chore they cooked up for me. Meanwhile, the happy couple lounged on the sofa, glued to the telly. Any sign of frustration from me earned me a slap across the face and yet another lecture about how ungrateful I was, considering how much they provided for me.
But aside from a roof over my head and mealswhich I earned by keeping the flat spotlessI got nothing. If I wanted to join a club, take lessons, or go to the gym, theyd laugh, telling me I needed to learn to earn money before I could spend it. Rarely did they buy me new clothes. And if they did, I was reminded of it for weeks after.
As soon as I turned eighteen and finished school, my mother announced it was time to get a place of my own. She told me not to bother with university, but to start working immediately because I couldnt stay with them any longer.
We came from a small town, and decent jobs were hard to find, but deep down, I didnt want to spend my whole life working for nothing. I still hoped my parents would change their minds when they saw I could handle my own studies, but my mother kept pressing me, so that last term I hardly studied for my A-levels. Instead, I waited tables in a café from ten until twelve at night for pitiful wages, barely any tips, and I scraped enough together to pay rent for two months. After that, I didn’t even know how I would afford food. My grades suffered from skipping too many crucial classes, so I didnt get into a state university and had no one to help pay tuition.
By summer, Id quit that job and started searching for something better paidmy mother and stepfather kept asking every day when Id finally move out. Eventually, they threw me out.
I tried working in a shop that sold household cleaning products, but after just a couple of days I was exposed to something toxic and ended up ill. When I tried to return, they told me Id been replaced. Time slipped by as I searched for anything that would allow me to support myself, but nothing worked.
In the middle of July, my birthday came. My Aunt Margaret came to visit me that day. I hadnt told anyone how desperate things had become, but when she asked me privately what was wrong, I broke down in tears, unable to hold it all in any longer. That very same day, she helped me pack my things and took me home with her. I finally did what my parents wantedI left, and honestly, it was a relief.
Aunt Margaret helped me find work at a little bookshop in town, letting me study for my exams at the same time. The following year, I finally passed my A-levels and earned my own spot at a proper university. My aunt stood by my side, never leaving me to fester in those dark thoughts, even when my mother and stepfather crept back in to remind me how awful and ungrateful Id been.
Time passed, I finished my degree, and found a steady job. Now I can thank Aunt Margaret for never abandoning me at my lowest. I take her on grand holidays, and Im there for her always.
