My brother got 6 women pregnant and always asks me for money. Recently, he said he’s going to have another child soon. I firmly said, “Get a vasectomy!
Why do you keep having kids you can’t afford?”
I was stunned when he dropped a bombshell: “Actually, it’s because… I want a big family like Dad always dreamed of. I thought if I had enough kids, maybe something would finally feel right.”
I stared at him, mouth half open, trying to make sense of it. Our dad died ten years ago, and I hadn’t realized how deep that grief had settled into my brother’s bones.
But still—six kids? From six different women? None of whom he really took care of?
That wasn’t a family. That was chaos. “Dean,” I said, slowly, “wanting a big family doesn’t mean scattering children all over town like confetti.
You don’t even see them!”
He looked away, jaw tight. “You don’t get it, Maddie. You have a stable job, a husband who actually stuck around, and you live in a house you didn’t inherit from Grandma.
I’m barely hanging on, and this—having kids—makes me feel like I’m someone.“
I didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe a part of me pitied him, but mostly I was furious. Furious because every time one of those women threatened legal action, or a kid needed school clothes, or groceries, or even a toothbrush, I was the one he called.
“I can’t keep bailing you out,” I said, crossing my arms. “You keep telling me this is about Dad, but you’re just running from yourself. You want to feel important?
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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