Dad kicked me out until I said sorry to his precious favorites—my sister and her kid. I simply said,
“Okay.” By morning, I was gone, just like the account they used. What happened after that tore their whole world apart? They say blood is thicker than water, but in my case, money and manipulation proved thicker than both.
I lived with my dad, my sister Jenna, and her seven-year-old son Milo for 3 years. Not because I was struggling to make it on my own, but because they were. My dad was pushing retirement. Jenna hadn’t worked in years, and Milo needed everything all at once—clothes, dentist visits, school fees, more clothes.
I paid for more things in that house than I care to admit. It started small, chipping in for the electricity. Then I was covering the Wi-Fi. Next, it was groceries, then school supplies, then somehow I was the one paying for Netflix, the water bill, and the Costco runs.
I even bought the bunk bed for Milo’s room.
They called it temporary help.
It never ended.
I didn’t complain. I figured it was family and we were all just getting through a rough patch.
But then came the record incident.
Dad’s prized vinyl collection.
He kept them in a cabinet and never let anyone touch them.
That day I got home from a brutal shift, opened the door, and found records spread across the floor, black discs covered in neon marker.
Milo was sitting in the middle of it all, legs crossed, uncapped Sharpies in both hands.
I didn’t yell. I asked him calmly who gave him the markers. He said Jenna had, that she told him to stay busy while she ran to the store.
The entire living room looked like a toddler art studio.
Jenna came home half an hour later and went ballistic.
Not at Milo.
At me.
She said I had no right to question her son. She claimed I had traumatized him.
I was stunned.
She wasn’t even apologetic about the records.
She just launched into this tirade about how I was always judging her parenting.
Dad walked in during the middle of it. He looked at the wrecked records, then looked at me like I’d done it myself.
Jenna turned on the waterworks and said I made Milo cry.
He stood there, arms crossed, and told me I needed to apologize.
I thought he was joking. I waited for him to laugh, or at least realize how backwards it all sounded.
But no.
He doubled down. He said this wasn’t the first time I had overstepped.
I asked him straight up if he was serious.
He said either I apologized or I left.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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