understand,” I said coldly. “I’m glad I know where I am.” Then I turned, walked out of the house, ignored her protests, and slammed the door behind me.
They had made their decision; now it was my turn. I never returned to that house on the outskirts of Chicago. I didn’t call them, I didn’t call them again. For the first time in years, I let them solve their problems on their own.
If there’s something that needs fixing, they should fix it themselves. If they run out of food, they should go grocery shopping themselves. And most importantly: when the mortgage comes due, it’s no longer my problem.
The silence lasted about two weeks. I think at first they thought I was just in a bad mood and would go back to my old self. Maybe they were hoping I’d calm down and apologize for daring to question their decision.
But the days passed, and I heard nothing from them. And, most importantly, there was no money. You could almost sense the change in their attitude.
Then one day my phone vibrated. A text from Dad. The tax filing deadline was approaching.
And that’s it. No “Hi, how are you?” No “I’m sorry.” No “We really appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”
A cold, serious message, as if I were still their personal ATM, accessible at any time. I stared at the screen, almost amused by its predictability. Did they really think they could ask for money as if nothing had happened?
That I would continue to be their financial savior, even after they made it clear they no longer needed me. I promptly responded, “I think Eric will be fine, since the house belongs to him now.”
Exactly five minutes later, my mother called me. I didn’t answer. Then I got a text.
Mother: “Jacob, please don’t do that. We need to talk.”
“Oh, so you need to talk now?” With the bills piling up and reality finally catching up, I waited an hour before replying, “There’s nothing to discuss. You’ve made your decision.”
“Now you’ll have to live with it.” I thought that settled the matter. I was absolutely certain I’d made my position clear, and I didn’t regret it at all.
But then Eric decided to intervene. That same evening, I received a message from him. As soon as I saw his name on the screen, I knew it would be annoying.
I opened it, and it was, indeed, pure arrogance: “Jacob, man, what’s all the fuss about? It’s not the end of the world. Just help them, like always.”
I almost burst out laughing. “Isn’t this the end of the world?” I was absolutely convinced I had no right to be angry. I immediately replied:
“No, I think it’s your responsibility now. After all, you’re the favorite.” Eric:
“Jesus Christ, are you really getting mad about a will? Grow up, buddy. It’s just about money. Yeah.”
Now that the money belonged to him, it suddenly didn’t matter anymore. It was a real irony. I replied:
“Well, it’s just money. It shouldn’t be too hard to spend on the mortgage, right?” Silence. A few minutes later, another text from his mother. This time he was tormented by guilt.
Mother: Jacob. We are your parents.
As a family, we care for each other. We did so much for you when you were little. And now you’re leaving us.
I took a deep breath to keep from throwing the phone against the wall. Abandon them? For years, I’d made sure they were well cared for, while I coddled Eric and encouraged his laziness.
And now that they finally had to face the consequences of their decisions, was I the bad guy? But this time I didn’t believe it. I retorted, “You made it clear I wasn’t part of the family when you disinherited me.”
Eric will take care of you now. I could almost hear Mom’s theatrical gasps in my head, the way she always did when she wanted to pretend to be innocent, even when she was in the wrong. A few minutes later, I got a text from Dad, and it infuriated me…
Father: “We’re not asking for much. Just help us with the mortgage for a few more months while we get things sorted out. Don’t be selfish.”
Selfish? That word filled me with anger. For years I had helped them out of difficult situations, sacrificing money, time, and energy to make their lives easier. I had done everything a good son should do.
And how did they thank me? By leaving me empty-handed. And now that I was finally asserting myself, was I the selfish one? I gritted my teeth, took a deep breath, and wrote: “No, I’m done.”
After that, I simply turned off the phone. They had made their decision. Now they had to accept it.
The silence lasted exactly one day. I knew my parents wouldn’t give up so easily, but I wasn’t ready. The next morning, I woke up to a notification: “Money transfer request.”
I frowned, unlocked my phone, and checked. It was my mother’s. She had actually asked me for money, as if I were at the ATM.
The amount: $5,000. I stared at the screen, half-astonished and half-amused at the audacity. There was no message.
