01/05/2026
Might I assume that some of these “family dramas” are true stories? Sad testament to the times we’re living! 😞
I had been sending my brother 5k every month to support him, yet on my birthday he called me a freeloader who couldn’t survive without him. When I finally spoke up, my mother threw me out, screaming that I was trash and never to come back. I left without looking back. A few days later, they were at my door, on their knees, begging.
For three years, I lived like a monk in a shabby one-bedroom apartment, driving a rattling sedan, just to transfer a "blood tithe" of 5k every single month to my brother. I convinced myself this sacrifice was the rent I paid for belonging to this family.
But on my thirty-second birthday, that facade was r!pped away.
Mark—the family's "golden boy"—sat at the head of the table, flush with alcohol, sporting a brand-new watch he supposedly couldn't afford. He let out a sharp, barking laugh that silenced the room, which smelled faintly of stagnation and old potpourri.
"Funny thing," he announced, his smirk twisting into something ugly. "You know what I realized? People who live off others… they always act the most generous, don't they?"
The clinking of silverware stopped instantly. I frowned, looking up from my plate.
"What are you talking about, Mark?"
"You," he spat, his eyes glassy with resentment and envy. "I'm talking about you. You’re a freeloader. A leech. You act like you’re better than us, but you couldn't survive a day in the real world without this family backing you up."
I actually laughed, a bitter, incredulous sound escaping my throat. "Mark, I send you five thousand dollars a month. I have for three years! I pay your mortgage!"
He waved his hand dismissively. "That? That’s crumbs. That’s nothing compared to what you owe this family for tolerating you."
My blood ran cold. I turned to my mother, Carol—the woman who saw every bank statement, who begged me to support him. Surely, she would shut this madness down.
"Mom?"
She didn't look at me. Instead, she slammed her hand onto the table with shocking violence, making the china jump.
"Don't you dare talk back to your brother," she hissed, her eyes flashing with a venom I had never seen. "You ungrateful garbage. After everything we’ve done for you? After we let you sit here and eat our food, you dare count pennies?"
I stood up slowly. The chair screeched against the floor, echoing the tearing sensation in my chest.
"Your food?" I asked, my voice trembling as I looked at the expensive catering I had paid for. "Right."
"Get out," she pointed a shaking finger at the door. "Get out of my house. And don't you dare show your face here again until you learn some respect."
The room spun. I looked at them, really looked at them, and realized I was surrounded by greedy strangers. They didn't hate me because I was a burden.
They hated me because they NEEDED me, and they resented the need.
I walked out into the cold night without a word. I pulled out my phone, the screen glowing bright in the darkness.
First action: Cancel recurring transfer.
By the time sunrise hit the asphalt, my sadness had calcified into something harder. Something colder. They called me ungrateful? Fine. I was about to show them exactly what happens when the "leech" decides to stop...
Full in the first c0mment 👇
