All my life, I wished I were in my brother’s shoes, but soon everything changed.
My mother found out she was expecting me when she was just eighteen. My dad left us as soon as he heard the news—he wasn’t interested in starting a family; he just wanted to keep partying with his friends. My grandparents were furious. In the small town near Bath where they lived, having a baby without a husband was considered a disgrace, and my grandfather threw her out, yelling, “I don’t want to see such a reckless daughter!” I can’t even imagine what it was like for her—young, alone, with a baby to care for. Yet, she persevered: she took classes remotely, found a job, and worked tirelessly. She was given a room in a hostel, and the two of us started our lives together. I had to grow up faster than other kids—doing grocery runs, cleaning, heating up meals. Playing games? There was no time for that. From a young age, I was her support, her only man.
I never complained; I was proud of it. But soon Victor entered our lives. I liked him; he brought sweets, shared delicious treats, and took care of my mum. She seemed to blossom beside him and one day announced, “Victor and I are getting married, and moving to a big house.” I was over the moon—dreaming of having a real dad and hoping Victor would be that person. At first, it was like a dream. I got my own space, could relax, listen to music, and read books. Victor helped mum out, and her eyes shone with happiness.
Then she announced she was expecting a baby. Soon after, Victor remarked, “Stan, you’ll have to move into the cupboard. It’ll be the nursery.” I didn’t get it—there were plenty of rooms in the house, so why me? The next day, all my things were already shoved into a cramped storage room barely big enough for a bed. It felt unfair, but I stayed silent—I’d gotten used to enduring things.
When my little brother Mike was born, the nightmare began. His cries kept me up at night, and I walked around like a zombie. My grades started slipping, the teachers scolded me, and my mum yelled, “You should set an example for your brother! Stop letting us down, you lazy bones!” Mike grew up, and I was given new responsibilities—taking him out for walks, pushing his pram around the yard. The other kids laughed at me and I felt ashamed, but I kept my silence. Everything nice—the toys, clothes—was bought for Mike. I’d ask for something for myself and Victor would dryly reply, “We can’t afford it.” I’d take my brother to daycare, pick him up, feed him, clean the house—I lived just waiting for him to grow up and give me my freedom.
When Mike started school, my mum told me to help him with homework. He was spoiled, demanding—a terrible student, and my attempts to guide him ended with him complaining to mum. She always took his side, and I’d get scolded: “You’re older, you should be more patient!” Mike was moved from school to school, but he failed everywhere. Eventually, he was sent to a private one where money made teachers overlook his bad grades. As for me, I went to a trade school to become an auto mechanic—not because I wanted to, but to escape the house.
Later, there were part-time courses, work—I slaved away day and night, saving for my own place. I got married and found peace. But Mike? Victor gifted him a flat, yet he still lives with our parents, rents out the apartment, and wastes the money on rubbish. He avoids work, lounging in front of the TV. One New Year, we gathered at our parents’ place. His latest girlfriend, Ellen, was there. I overheard her speaking with my wife, Tanya, in the kitchen.
“You’re lucky with your brother,” she said to Tanya. “Stan is such a hard worker, so responsible. Why isn’t Mike the same? I want us to live together, start a family, but he’s glued to his mum. There’s rent money, but what’s the use?”
“Yes, Stan’s great,” Tanya smiled. “Leave Mike, he’s not worth it. He’ll never make a good husband.”
I was stunned. Mike switched girlfriends like gloves, but none stayed long—mum chased them all away, thinking they weren’t good enough for her “golden boy.” And he didn’t fight it, living his life of laziness like it was an unbreakable shell. That’s when I realized: I no longer envy him. Everything I’d dreamed of—being in his place—was empty. Fate tested me, but it also rewarded me. I have my own family, a loving wife, a daughter, and a home I built with my own hands. I am proud of myself, and for the first time in my life, I don’t regret not being Mike. My life—it’s my triumph, hard-earned and genuine.
