My Mother and Sister Saw Me Only as a Wallet – They Never Truly Cared to Know Me

Long ago, in a small town near Manchester, I was raised in a house that never truly felt like a home. It was just the three of usmy mother, my elder sister, and me. My father? A ghost of the past, nothing more than a name on my birth certificate. Whenever I dared ask about him, my mother would swiftly change the subject, as though his very existence was forbidden.

So it was us threeme, my mother, and my sister, Eleanor. She was five years older, yet I always felt the roles were reversed. I was the sensible one, the one who bore responsibility, while she was the pampered princess of the household.

My mother adored her. Eleanor always had the finest dresses, the most expensive gifts, anything her heart desired. Me? I made do with her hand-me-downs, threadbare and often too large. I still remember those jumpers with sleeves so long my mother would clumsily roll them up, muttering, “Thesell do for another year or two.”

Dinner? If Eleanor was hungry, she could have seconds, thirdswhatever she pleased. But if I dared ask for more, I was sharply reminded of my mothers sacrifices.

Birthdays? Christmas? For me, they barely existed. No presents, no affectionjust my mothers weary sighs, a constant reminder I was nothing but a burden.

By sixteen, I knew no one would ever help me. My mother and Eleanor were inseparable, and I was an outsider. So I began workingafter school, on weekends, whenever I could. I delivered newspapers at dawn, scrubbed tables in a café, hauled crates at a grocers. And though exhausted, I was proud. For the first time, I had my own money.

But my mother saw it differently.

“So, youre earning now?” she asked one evening, her voice oddly sweet.

I nodded, unsuspecting.

She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Its time you contributed to this household.”

By “household,” she meant her and Eleanor. My sister never even considered work. Why would she? Someone had always cared for herfirst my mother, now me.

Leaving was my only choice.

When I finished school, I deliberately chose a university hundreds of miles away. It wasnt just about educationit was survival.

When I told my mother, her face turned cold.

“Youre abandoning us? After all Ive done?”

I nearly laughed.

I moved into a cramped dormitory. For the first time, I tasted freedom. I worked nights as a porter at a train stationgruelling, but the pay was fair. I could finally buy decent clothes, treat myself without guilt.

My mother and Eleanor? Not once did they call. Not once did they ask if I was eating, if I was managing.

But when I visited at Christmas, my mothers first words werent “How are you?” or “Weve missed you.”

She eyed me and said, “Youve got money now.”

It wasnt a question. It was an accusation.

From then on, every visit became a negotiation. They needed moneyEleanor wanted a new phone, new clothes. They didnt ask. They demanded.

When I told Eleanor to find work, she scoffed.

“Me? Work? Are you serious?”

Then came the inheritance that changed everything.

After university, I secured a steady job. Then, unexpectedly, my employer offered me a company flat. It wasnt grand, but it was mine.

When my mother and Eleanor found out, they were furious.

“Youve got a flat?! And youve given us nothing?!”

I tried explaining it was part of my employment. They didnt care.

Then fate struck one last time.

My grandfathermy mothers fatherpassed away. I wasnt close to him, but hed always treated me with respect.

At the reading of the will, I couldnt believe it.

Hed left me his house and land.

When my mother and Eleanor heard, they erupted.

“This isnt fair!” Eleanor shrieked. “I have a child! I need that house!”

Shed married, had a child, divorcedand now demanded I sell my inheritance and give her the money.

But my mind was made up.

When I told them, they exploded. My mother called me selfish. Eleanor screamed, wept, called me ungrateful.

I let them rage. Then, calmly, I said:

“Ill sell the house. But Im using the money to buy a larger flat. Because Im married. And my wife is expecting.”

Silence.

No joy for me. No interest in my family. All that mattered was they werent getting their way.

That was the last time we spoke.

I sold the house and bought a home for my family.

My mother and Eleanor?

Theyve never met my son. Never tried to.

But you know what?

I dont miss them.

For the first time in my life, I know what a real family is.

And Ill never let my child endure what I did.