When I was seventeen, I finally gathered the guts to tell my parents something huge. I didn’t want to go to medical school like they hoped. Instead, I wanted to chase my dreams of acting and maybe even start my own business.
My dad laughed harshly and threw his hands up. “You think this is a joke? We’re a family of doctors! It’s in our blood. It’s who we are!”
“But that’s not who I am,” I replied, my voice shaky. “I don’t want that life, not for me.”
I thought they would calm down, but my dad’s expression turned cold. “Then leave. If you can’t carry on the family name, you don’t belong here.”
Just like that, I was cut out of the family. All I had was a bag of clothes, a hundred bucks in my pocket, and a swirl of questions about what my future would look like. I crashed on friends’ couches, took any small jobs I could find, desperate to make ends meet.
Acting jobs were rare, but I kept hustling. I worked hard and eventually started a small business on the side. Those early days were tough—no family support, no safety net. Meanwhile, my family packed their bags and moved to the UK, sending my siblings off to medical school.
My older brother became the family star, a successful neurosurgeon. He even worked on dangerous surgeries and won awards. As for me? I was the forgotten son—the one they didn’t talk about, the one who had “failed” by choosing a different path.
When my parents decided to return to Sydney, I didn’t expect them to notice me much. Sure, they called every now and then, asking the usual questions: “How are you?” and “What are you up to?” But they never seemed interested in the details of my life.
Their focus was always on my brother, especially when he landed a surgical position that paid an astonishing $750,000 a year. Talk about pressure!
But then, house hunting took a turn. The real estate market in Sydney was insane. In the nice neighborhoods, houses started at around $20 million!
After a long day of searching for properties, my dad sighed, looking defeated. “I guess we’ll have to settle for something smaller,” he said, slumping his shoulders. “Or just wait.”
Suddenly, an idea popped into my head. “Hey, why don’t you come see my place before dinner?” I tried to sound casual. “It’s nearby.”
“Your place?” my dad’s eyebrows shot up.
“Yeah, of course. You’ll love it.”
When we arrived at my house—a modern, sleek property tucked away on a quiet street—my parents’ faces went blank with shock.
“This is yours?” my dad asked, disbelief written all over his face.
“Yep.” I grinned and pushed open the gate. They followed me, their eyes scanning the beautifully manicured lawn, the fancy landscaping, and the glistening pool in the backyard.
Inside, the polished hardwood floors gleamed, the big windows let in tons of light, and the designer furniture looked amazing.
“How much do you pay to rent a room here?” my mom asked, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief.
“Rent?” I stifled a laugh. “I don’t rent here, Mom. I own it.”
They stared at me, completely speechless.
“This is how you’ve been living?” my mother snapped, her eyes darting around the house, stopping at the large glass wall overlooking the pool. “And you… you never said anything? You’ve been lying to us all these years?”
“Lying?” I shot back, feeling a rush of anger. “You never even asked what I was doing! You thought I was just struggling, didn’t you? You didn’t care then, so why do you care now?”
“Don’t turn this around!” my father barked, waving his hands. “This,” he said, gesturing dramatically, “is just a show! Are you trying to flaunt your possibly illegal money in our faces?”
I crossed my arms, unfazed. “You really think I’m involved in some shady business? No, Dad. I worked my way up in the world of banking. But I guess you wouldn’t know that since you never bothered to ask.”
“Well, it seems you’re doing well,” my mom said, her tone softening a little.
“So, we’ll stay with you,” she continued. “Not your brother. We can’t be seen living in a worse place than our own son’s home.”
I couldn’t help it; I burst into laughter—a real, hearty laugh. “You think you can just stroll back into my life after seventeen years of silence, judge me, throw accusations, and then expect to live here? No way!”
“You’re our son,” my dad said, trying to sound authoritative. “We supported you as best we could.”
I tilted my head, feeling the weight of their words. “You chose to support my siblings. When I needed help, you turned your back. That was your choice.” I paused, letting my words sink in. “Honestly, your better chance of living with my neighbors than with me.”
My dad’s face turned stormy. “Fine,” he said slowly, each word dripping with anger. “You’re out. We’ll cut you from the will. Not a single cent for you.”
“Wow, what a threat,” I replied dryly. “What will I do without an inheritance from people who can’t even afford to live in my area?”
My mom looked hurt. “We… we just wanted the best for you.”
I stared at her, shaking my head. “No, you wanted what was best for you. You wanted another doctor in the family to carry on your legacy. But guess what? I built my own.”
My dad sneered, his eyes narrowing. “Is that so? Well, don’t come crying to us when this little dream of yours crashes and burns. You’ll regret pushing us away like this.”
“Pushing you away?” I repeated, disbelief flooding me. “You pushed me away seventeen years ago. I’m just keeping my distance.”
After that, I moved to the door, holding it open wide for them. My parents stood there, stunned. My mom looked like she wanted to say something, but no words came. Finally, they stepped out onto the porch, their expressions a mix of anger and confusion.
“You’re making a mistake,” my dad warned, his voice low and threatening. “You’re going to regret this.”
I met his gaze, steady and calm. “No, I won’t,” I replied firmly. “I already made peace with it.”
What did you think of this story? Share your thoughts in the comments below!
