All my life, I wished to be in my brother’s shoes, but everything changed soon after.
My mum got pregnant with me at eighteen. My father abandoned us as soon as he heard the news—he wanted nothing to do with family life, only endless parties and friends. Mum’s parents, my grandparents, were furious. In our small town near Bristol, having a child without a husband was considered shameful, and Grandad kicked her out, yelling, “I don’t want to see such a careless daughter!” I can’t even imagine how tough it was for her—young, alone, with a baby in her arms. But she persevered: enrolled in distance learning, found a job, and pushed through exhaustingly. We were given a room in a hostel, and we started life together. I had to grow up faster than other kids—I did the shopping, cleaned, and heated up meals. Games? There was no time for them. Since I was little, I was her support, her only man.
I never complained—I took pride in it. But then Victor entered our lives. I liked him: he brought sweets, treated us, and took care of Mum. She thrived around him and one day announced, “Victor and I are getting married, and we’re moving to a bigger house.” I was thrilled—I dreamed of a real father and hoped Victor would become that for me. At first, everything was like a fairytale. I had my own space; I could relax, listen to music, read books. Victor helped Mum, and her eyes shone with happiness.
But then she revealed she was expecting a baby. Soon after, Victor said, “You’ll have to move into the storage room, Stan. That’ll be the nursery.” I didn’t understand: the house was full of rooms, why me? The next day, my things were already crammed into a tiny cupboard where barely a bed fit. It felt unjust, but I stayed silent—used to enduring.
When little Michael was born, it turned into a nightmare. His cries kept me awake, I wandered around like a zombie. My grades at school dropped, teachers scolded me, and Mum yelled, “You should be setting an example for your brother! Stop shaming us, you lazy boy!” Michael grew, and new responsibilities fell on me—taking him for walks, pushing the stroller around the yard. The boys made fun of me, and I blushed with embarrassment but said nothing. All the best toys, clothes—everything was bought for Michael. I asked for something for myself, and Victor would bluntly reply, “There’s no money.” I took my brother to nursery, picked him up, fed him, tidied the house—I lived, waiting for the day he’d grow up and give me my freedom.
Michael started school, and Mum instructed me to help with his homework. He was spoiled, demanding—his studies were atrocious, and my attempts to reason with him ended with his complaints to Mum. She always sided with him, and I’d get a scolding: “You’re the elder one, be more patient!” He was moved from school to school, but he failed everywhere. Finally, he was placed in a private school where money glossed over his poor grades. Meanwhile, I left for technical college to become a mechanic—not because I wanted, but to escape home.
Then came evening courses, work—I toiled day and night, saving for my own place. I married and found peace. And Michael? Victor gifted him a flat, yet he still lived with our parents, rented out the property, and squandered the money on nonsense. He refused to work, lazing about in front of the TV. One New Year’s Eve, we gathered at my parents’. His current girlfriend, Eleanor, was there as well. I accidentally overheard their conversation in the kitchen.
“You’re lucky with Stan,” she told my wife, Tanya. “He’s a hard worker, so responsible. Why isn’t Michael like that? I ask him to move in together, start a family, but he clings to his mum. He has rental income, but what’s the point?”
“Stan’s a gem,” Tanya smiled. “Ditch Michael, he’s not worth it. He’ll never be good husband material.”
I was taken aback. Michael switched girlfriends like gloves, but none stayed—they were all shooed away by mum, deemed unworthy of her “golden boy.” And he never resisted, dwelling in his laziness like a cocoon. At that moment, I realized: I no longer envied him. Everything I had ever wished for—being in his place—turned out to be empty. Life tested me, but it also rewarded me. I have a family, a loving wife, a daughter, a home I built with my own hands. I’m proud of myself, and for the first time in my life, I’m not sorry that I’m not Michael. My life is my victory, earned and real.
