My Mother Wants to Give the Flat and Money My Father Left to Me to Her Own Son!

My parents hardly lived together at all. When I was four, my father walked out the front door one rainy evening and never came back. It was a terrible accident All he left behind were some cherished family photos and a sizeable sum tucked away in a savings account under my name, quietly growing each year.
A few years later, Mum remarried and gave birth to my little brother. From that moment on, I felt like nothing more than a housemaid for my stepfather and mother, and a makeshift nanny to my younger sibling.
Watching Mum fawn over my little brother nearly broke me. She showered him with affection, kissed him goodnight, embraced him, told him fairy tales, and bought him every toy and smart outfit he could ever want.
My stepfather, too, doted on his only son. But there was no love left for me and then things only got worse. The rows between Mum and my stepfather became more frequent, the shouting louder, and bottles began to disappear from the cupboard. The house filled with arguments, and I was always the one to bear the brunt. I took all the blame and the blows, simply because I was the unloved one. After a few years, their marriage ended with a bitter divorce.
Later, I moved to Manchester for university, leaving Mum and my brother behind in my late fathers flat in London. I would come home rarely, as I was juggling part-time jobs alongside my studies.
When I finally returned home after a long absence, I found unfamiliar young people lounging in the living room. My mother, to my disbelief, was sleeping on a pull-out sofa in the kitchen, while my brothers friends seemed to have made themselves at home. I decided to confront them. But the nightmare deepened. The next morning, they woke me up early and forced me to go to the bank to withdraw the money my father had left for me. My little brother had lost a huge amount gambling on cards.
I felt like the terrified girl from my childhood, always being ordered about and punished.
The strange part was, Id come home wanting to share joyous news: I was pregnant. I truly believed it could rekindle some sense of family. Instead, fate handed me a different solution. I told my mother and brother to pack their things from now on, theyd be moving to Grans cottage in the countryside. The flat was mine, and I wasnt about to let strangers rule my home.
They both laughed at me, mocking and dismissive, which only confirmed I was right. I rang the police, who came and helped my so-called family gather their things and leave. My fiancé and I changed the locks, and were planning to sell the flat to buy a fresh start for our family somewhere new. I also switched my bank details, as Mum had already tried to get her hands on my money.
I know in my heart that Dad would have approved. He only ever wanted what was best for me.