All my life, I felt like an outsider in my own family. My mother loved my sisters, but I always felt like a burden to her. I never understood why until I discovered the truth about my real father, and everything changed. But not in the way my mother expected.
They say children often pay for the sins of their parents, and my mother made sure I did. She never admitted it, but all my life, I felt like a stranger in my own home. It turned out there was a reason for that.
I grew up with two older sisters, Kira and Alexa. I watched as our mother showered them with love and attention. She bought them new clothes, gave them the best toys, and took them out for ice cream on sunny days. She brushed their hair, kissed their foreheads, and told them how much she adored them.
But I was treated differently. I wore their hand-me-down clothes, played with their old toys, and ate their leftovers. No bedtime stories, no hugs. Instead, I was given orders. “Olivia, clean the kitchen.” “Olivia, fold the laundry.” “Olivia, stop standing around and do something useful.” I felt like a servant in my own home, and no one seemed to care.
My father tried to protect me. I remember how he’d pull me into a hug whenever my mother’s words cut too deep. He used to tell me I was special, that I mattered. But as I grew older, he did it less and less. His voice lost its strength, and the kindness faded into silence. That’s when the fights started.
“I’m telling you, she’s your daughter!” my mother screamed one night.
“How can she be mine?! We’re both brunettes, and she’s blonde with blue eyes!” my father shouted back.
“That happens! Maybe someone in the family had lighter features!” my mother insisted.
“Then let’s do a paternity test!” my father yelled, his anger boiling over.
The arguments became a routine. They always ended the same way—my mother crying, accusing my father of hating her, and him backing down. But I never forgot those words. The words that made me wonder who I really was.
By the time I was fourteen, I couldn’t stand being at home anymore. I got a job—not just for the money, but to escape. I was determined to learn the truth.
With my first paycheck, I bought a DNA test. I sent it off, hoping for some kind of answer. And when the results came back, everything I thought I knew fell apart.
One evening, I came home to find my father standing in the living room, holding an envelope. He was staring at the name on the front, my name.
“What is this?” he asked sharply. “Why is this letter addressed to you?”
My heart sank. I knew exactly what it was.
“Give it back,” I said, my voice trembling as I reached for the envelope.
He pulled it away. “Explain first,” he demanded, his grip tightening on the paper.
My hands shook. “It’s… a DNA test,” I barely whispered.
He tore it open, his eyes scanning the page. Then, his face twisted with rage.
“SIMONA!” he roared.
My mother rushed in, her face filled with concern. “What is it, darling?”
“Olivia, go to your room,” my father ordered, his voice thick with fury.
“But—” I started to protest.
“NOW!” he shouted, his anger cutting through me.
I turned and fled to my room, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn’t need to hear any more. I already knew the truth.
The fight between my parents raged on through the thin walls of the house.
“She’s not mine?!” my father shouted, his voice breaking with disbelief.
“It doesn’t matter!” my mother snapped, her voice cold.
“It matters to me! You lied to me, Simona! For fourteen years!”
“You don’t understand! I had no choice!”
The anger in my father’s voice filled the house as I pressed my hands to my ears, trying to block out the truth. My father wasn’t my biological father. My mother had cheated on him.
A few days later, my father tested my sisters. Alexa was his, but Kira wasn’t. I watched as my father packed his bags, his face a mix of sadness and determination.
“You’re leaving?” I whispered, stepping into the hallway.
He didn’t look at me. “I have to.”
He filed for divorce, paid child support for Alexa, and cut ties with the rest of us.
After he left, my mother’s hatred for me grew. “This is your fault,” she hissed at me. “If you didn’t look so much like him, none of this would have happened.”
She ignored me unless she needed something. “Olivia, wash the dishes. Olivia, mop the floor.” I was invisible to her, unless it was time for me to clean.
But Kira? She never had to lift a finger. My mother still adored her. “My beautiful girl,” she would say, gently tucking Kira’s hair behind her ear. “You look just like me.”
I was nothing to her. I had never been.
One day, my mother stormed into the room with an icy expression. “I’ve decided you will start paying rent,” she announced.
I blinked in disbelief. “What? I already buy my own groceries!”
“You earn money. It’s only fair,” she said dismissively.
I clenched my fists, my heart pounding in my chest. “Then make Alexa and Kira pay too!” I demanded. “Why only me? Why do you treat me like this?!”
Her eyes darkened. “Because you ruined my life!” she shouted.
I felt like I’d been slapped. My throat burned, but no words came. I ran to my room, slamming the door behind me.
But it didn’t matter. She never changed her mind. I had no choice. I paid the rent.
Alexa made things worse. She dumped my makeup in the sink, cut holes in my shirts, and threw my food away.
One day, I found my entire paycheck missing. I stormed into her room, my anger boiling over.
“Why are you doing this?!” I demanded.
She glared at me. “Because Dad left because of you!” she screamed. “If you had just looked like Mom! Like Kira!” Her voice was venomous, as though I had any control over that.
As soon as I graduated high school, I knew I had to get away. My manager from my old job saw my determination and offered to help.
He spoke to his son, who owned a company, and got me a position as a sales representative. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid well.
With my first few paychecks, I found a small apartment and moved out immediately.
For the first time in my life, I had my own space. No one telling me what to do, no one stealing my things.
I felt free. But my mother and sisters didn’t disappear. They always found a way to contact me, but never to ask how I was. They only wanted money.
The older I got, the more they demanded. At first, I gave in, hoping they would leave me alone. But they never did.
One day, my mother knocked on my door, as expected. But this time, I had a request.
“I want to know my biological father’s name,” I said, my voice steady.
She scoffed. “I told you, he doesn’t want you. He abandoned you.”
I stared at her, not backing down. “Then I won’t give you any more money.”
She glared at me but finally relented. “His name is Rick,” she said, scribbling down an address. “Go ahead. Waste your time.”
I scraped together my savings and made the thirty-hour trip to find him. But when I arrived, I learned she had lied. Again.
Furious, I returned straight to her house. I didn’t knock. I just walked in.
“This is not your home!” she screamed at me.
“You gave me the wrong address!” I shouted.
“Because he doesn’t want you!” she yelled. “You make everyone’s life harder!”
Her words cut deep, but I didn’t let her break me. “Give me the real address, or you’ll never see another cent from me.”
She scowled but wrote it down. Rick didn’t live thirty hours away—he was only five hours away.
When I arrived, my heart raced. I knocked on the door, my hands clammy.
The door opened, and a middle-aged man stood before me, his eyes widening. He stared at me as if he had seen a ghost.
“Are you Rick?” I asked, my voice shaking.
He nodded. “Yes.”
“I—” I started, but he cut me off.
“You’re my daughter,” he said, stepping aside to let me in.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. He didn’t hesitate. He knew.
“You recognize me?” I asked, barely able to speak.
“Of course,” he said. “Come in.”
I stepped inside, my mind spinning. His home was warm, filled with pictures of family vacations, birthday parties, and smiling faces. A life I had never been a part of.
“Why didn’t you try to contact me?” I asked, forcing myself to stay calm.
“I did,” he said. “I paid child support until you turned eighteen. But your mother told me you hated me. She said you didn’t want anything to do with me.”
My heart shattered. “I never knew,” I whispered. “She told me you didn’t want me.”
Rick’s jaw tightened. “That’s not true. You’re my daughter. Of course, I wanted you.”
Tears filled my eyes as he pulled me into a hug. It was firm, real, and safe. I had never felt anything like it.
From that day on, we stayed in touch. He invited me over, introduced me to his wife and two sons.
They welcomed me without hesitation, like I had always been part of the family.
One day, Rick handed me a folder. “What’s this?” I asked.
“A house,” he said.
I gasped. “What?!”
“It’s the least I can do,” he said. “For the years we lost.”
I threw my arms around him, overwhelmed by emotion. No one had ever cared for me like this before.
I moved into the house Rick had given me. For the first time in my life, I had my own space. No one could barge in, take my things, or tell me what to do. It felt safe. It felt like home.
One day, I ran into Kira at the store. I mentioned, almost without thinking, that I had my own house now.
Her expression changed instantly. Her jaw tightened, and her eyes narrowed. She didn’t congratulate me. She just stared at me, her jealousy obvious.
A few days later, I left for a business trip. While I was away, my phone rang. My neighbor’s voice was frantic.
“Two women moved into your house,” they said.
I rushed back home, only to find my mother and Kira lounging on the couch, as if they belonged there.
“What are you doing here?!” I shouted.
“Oh, Olivia, you’re back,” my mother said casually, not even looking up.
“Answer me!” I demanded, my hands shaking with anger.
She sighed and finally looked at me. “I lost my job. We couldn’t pay rent for three months. We got evicted. So, Kira and I decided to stay here.”
I was stunned. “Are you insane? You didn’t even ask me!” My voice echoed through the house.
My mother waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
Kira smirked. “There are only two bedrooms, so you’ll have to sleep on the couch for now.”
“This is ridiculous! Why don’t you go to Alexa’s?!” I shouted.
“Alexa has a husband and kids. It would be too crowded,” my mother replied coolly.
I stared at them in disbelief. “You are not staying in my house!”
Kira rolled her eyes. “Well, you can sleep on the couch if you don’t want to move.”
Something inside me snapped. “This is my house! I will sleep in my bed! You are leaving right now!”
My mother jumped up, her face twisted with rage. “How dare you?! I raised you! I gave you everything!”
“Raised me?” I scoffed. “You treated me like a servant! I bought my own groceries! I even paid you rent!”
“You had a job,” she said defensively.
I shook my head. “In the short time I’ve known my real father, he has done more for me than you ever did!”
Her face darkened. “If you don’t let us stay here, I will sue you for this house!”
“You have no legal right to it! Either you leave now, or I’ll call the police.”
My mother’s expression changed in an instant. She forced a smile. “Olivia, sweetheart. You’re my daughter. I’ve always loved you. Let us stay.”
For a moment, doubt crept in. But then, I remembered everything.
“No,” I said firmly.
“Ungrateful!” she screamed. “But we are not leaving!”
They stood their ground, but the moment I grabbed my phone, panic flashed across their faces. Neither of them expected me to follow through.
Without another word, they bolted out of my house. I watched them leave, my heart pounding.
When the door slammed shut behind them, I sank onto the couch, exhausted. It hurt to know my own mother only remembered me when she needed something.
But in that moment, I knew what I had to do. I changed the locks, blocked their numbers, and that was the last time I saw them. I had never felt so free.
