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My Ungrateful Daughter: She Inherited It All, But Forgotten Who Raised Her!
My daughter is so ungrateful! I handed her the family business, and she’s forgotten who built it up for her!
I could title my story similarly to Alec Constan’s “Beware, Lord, of the blind man who has gained his sight.”
As I reflect on the past, I realize I am not alone in this situation. History offers many tales of children who, presented with everything on a silver platter, cease to appreciate those who raised them.
I wish no ill will upon my daughter. She may carve her own path.
But I will no longer provide her with work or profits, especially since she believes there is no room for me in the business I built.
I entrusted her with a thriving enterprise. I have worked hard all my life, starting from nothing and incrementally achieving success.
Now, I own a chain of hotels and several restaurants—all the fruits of countless years of effort, sleepless nights, mistakes, and ups and downs.
When my daughter grew up, I decided to pass some of the business to her. She was bright and ambitious. I hoped she would carry on my legacy, preserving and amplifying what I built from scratch.
I entrusted her with one of the restaurants. Moreover, I gifted her 30% of the company.
I introduced her to the industry.
I shared with her my clients, connections, and knowledge.
But the more she received, the less she valued it.
She concluded that I was no longer necessary to her. Over time, her attitude towards me shifted. She began to believe herself the owner not only of the restaurant but the entire company.
She started to meddle in the management of the hotels, making decisions without consulting me.
It grew to the point where, when I would step into the restaurant in the mornings for a cup of coffee and a bite to eat from the buffet, she would shout:
— You’re eating on my dime!
I was stunned.
— How is this your dime? Didn’t I give you this restaurant? Isn’t it part of the business I built for years?
She merely waved me off.
— It’s my restaurant now. I am not obligated to feed you.
I felt as if I were listening to a complete stranger, not my own child.
She allied with travel operators against me. But it didn’t stop there.
She found common ground with the tour operators, making deals behind my back.
She was the only one with the bank details and received all the payments.
And as for me…
She would allocate me some paltry sums, tossing them my way with the words:
— This should be enough for you.
Enough?
For me, who built this business?
Who spent years, nerves, and energy on it?
I expelled her from the company.
When the season ended, I could no longer bear it.
I arranged a meeting.
I stripped her of her rights to that 30% stake.
I regained control.
I removed her from the business I had given her.
She thought I wouldn’t take such action.
She assumed I would endure it.
She was mistaken.
She filed lawsuits against me… twice!
That’s when the real war began.
She filed two claims.
In the first, she demanded half of the business.
In the second, she sought to reclaim the 30% I had once gifted her.
She lost both cases.
Yet, instead of learning from her defeats, she opted for revenge.
My daughter reported me to the tax authorities!
She filed an accusation against her own father.
As a result, I faced a tax audit covering the last five years.
For a year, I had no peace.
For a year, I navigated through agencies to prove my integrity.
For a year, I watched my own daughter trying to dismantle the enterprise that should have been her inheritance.
I recalled how I once held her tiny hand in mine, taught her to take her first steps, and wished for her to have the very best.
And now…
Now she was willing to destroy me just to gain more.
Gratitude? Care? Family? Don’t make me laugh.
How easily people forget where they came from.
How quickly they forget who gave them their chances.
How readily they betray their closest ones.
My daughter has forgotten who she was.
She believes she achieved everything on her own.
Well then…
Now she will truly forge her own path.
Without my support.
Without my business.
Without my legacy.
I do not curse her.
But I no longer intend to help her.
Let her learn what it means to build a life from scratch.
Let her understand what it means to have nothing and achieve everything on her own.
All I can do is repeat:
Beware, Lord, of the one who has suddenly gained their sight…
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Bitterness at the Bottom of My Soul “The children’s home has been waiting for you for ages! Get out of our family!” I screamed with a trembling voice. The target of my wild indignation was my cousin, Dima. God, how I loved him as a child! Blond hair, bright blue eyes, cheerful nature — that was Dima. …Relatives often gathered around the festive table. Of all my cousins, I singled out Dima. He could spin tales with his tongue like a lace maker and he drew brilliantly. Sometimes he would churn out five or six sketches an evening. I would stare, entranced by their beauty, quietly gathering his drawings and hiding them in my desk. I carefully treasured my cousin’s artwork. Dima was two years older than me. When he turned 14, his mother died—gone so suddenly, she just didn’t wake up… The question arose—what would happen to Dima? Naturally, they first turned to his father, but finding him was no easy feat. He and Dima’s mother were long divorced, and the new family “couldn’t be disturbed.” The rest of the relatives just shrugged: “We have our own families, our own problems.” Turns out, during the day, family is there, but come nightfall, not a soul to be found. So, with two kids of their own, my parents became Dima’s guardians—after all, Dima’s late mother was my dad’s younger sister. At first, I was happy that Dima would be living with us. But then… On his very first day in our home, Dima’s behavior set me on edge. To comfort her orphaned nephew, my mum asked, “Is there anything you’d like, Dima? Don’t be shy, just say.” And Dima immediately replied, “A model train set.” Now, this wasn’t a cheap toy. I was shocked—your mum just died, the most important person in your life, and all you want is a train set? How could you even think of that? But my parents immediately bought him his dream. Then it was, “Buy me a tape player, jeans, a designer jacket…” This was the eighties, mind you, and not only was this stuff pricey, but it was impossible to get. My parents made sacrifices for the orphan, even at our own expense. My brother and I understood and didn’t complain. …When Dima turned sixteen, he discovered girls. And he wasn’t afraid to show his affection. Worse yet, he started making advances toward me—his own cousin. But as a sporty girl, I skillfully dodged his unwelcome attention. We’d even come to blows. I would cry and cry. I never told my parents—they didn’t need the heartache. Kids don’t talk about such things. After I fended him off, Dima wasted no time turning to my friends, who actually competed for his attention. …But Dima was also a shameless thief. I remember my piggy bank: saving on school lunches to buy presents for my parents, only to find it empty one day! Dima denied everything—didn’t bat an eye, didn’t blush, just outright lied. It broke my heart. How could he steal while living under our roof? He was wrecking our family from within, but Dima really didn’t understand why I was upset. He truly believed everyone owed him. I began to hate him. That’s when I finally screamed at him: “Get out of our family!” I lashed him with my words—said things that can never be taken back… My mum barely managed to calm me. From that day on, Dima ceased to exist for me. I ignored him completely. Later, I learned the other relatives knew what a “character” Dima was—they lived nearby and seen it all. Our family lived across town. Even Dima’s former teachers warned my parents: “You’re making a big mistake. Dima will ruin your other children too.” …At a new school, he met Katy—she loved Dima all her life. She married him straight out of school. They had a daughter, and Katy put up with his lies and cheating without protest. As they say: single life is hardship, married life is double. Dima joined the Army, stationed in Scotland. There, he started another family—he somehow managed it during leave. When his service ended, he stayed in Scotland. He had a son there. Katy, not hesitating, went after him and, by hook or by crook, brought him back home. My parents never received a word of thanks from cousin Dima—not that they expected it. Now, fifty years on, Dmitri is an active member of the local Anglican church. He and Katy have five grandchildren. On the surface, all seems well, but the bitterness of life with Dima remains… No amount of sugar could ever sweeten it.
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Bittersweet Happiness – “What’s wrong with that young lady? She’s a good girl. Modest, neat, a hardworking student. She loves you,” Helen Edwards chastised her son. “Mum, I’ll handle it…” Denis clearly ended the pointless conversation. Helen left the room. “He’ll handle it… How many girls has he turned away… Nearly forty, and soon no one will do. Nothing’s ever right for him…” she thought with a heavy sigh. “Son, dinner’s ready,” Helen called from the kitchen. Denis responded instantly, tucking into his mother’s homemade stew. “Thank you, Mum. Delicious, as always.” “You should be saying that to your wife, not me,” Helen couldn’t let it go. “Mum…” Denis drank his compote and prepared to leave. “Wait, son. Do you know, I once visited a fortune-teller? She took one look at me and said: ‘Your son will have happiness, but it will be bittersweet.’” “Oh, Mum, don’t believe such things,” Denis grinned. …Through the years, different women—some loved, some not—came and went in Denis’s life. …Inna was smart, cultured, shockingly wise for her age. She often gave sound advice to the nine-years-older Denis. At first he liked this, but then he began to see Inna more as a mentor than anything else. Everything felt colourless. They split up. Polly had an eight-year-old son. Try as he might, Denis couldn’t get through to the boy, though he loved Polly. She was beautiful, but too headstrong. Whenever they quarrelled, he’d try to patch things up with gifts. The arguments felt senseless. Something was always missing—maybe peace and stability. Vera was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. Denis almost married her. She was decent, pure, balanced—he felt like he had to “wear kid gloves” just to speak to her. He even moved into her flat. He was ready to start a family. But… He came home unexpectedly from a work trip to find Vera in bed with her old school friend. Classic… After that, Denis moved back in with his mum. Enough romance, he decided. “I’ll be a bachelor—a solid family of one,” he joked to his mum. Helen would shrug and sigh: “Will you ever find your one, son?” But fate had its own plan. Suddenly, unexpectedly. Denis was travelling for work, claimed his usual bottom bunk in the train carriage. A woman entered: “Excuse me, would you mind swapping? Can I have your lower bunk? Please.” “No trouble,” Denis replied. He looked her over—nothing remarkable. Yet his heart skipped. “Maybe she’s the one…” He clambered onto the top bunk and dozed off… “Glad you’re awake! Come, have some tea,” the stranger cooed. Denis climbed down and they started talking. “Larissa,” she introduced herself. “Denis. Nice to meet you, Larissa.” They talked throughout the evening. Denis felt instantly at ease. He didn’t try to impress her; everything just flowed, as if he’d known her forever. They exchanged numbers, just in case… A couple of weeks later, he couldn’t resist calling her. One thing led to another… Dates, kisses, promises… Denis couldn’t imagine his life without Larissa. At forty years old! He’d always let previous girlfriends go easily—but not this one… He wanted to lose himself entirely in her life. Larissa surrounded Denis with love, care, and understanding. Three months in, he offered his heart and hand. “Denis, I’m seven years older than you. I have three children. We live in a council flat,” Larissa admitted. She never lied. “I know, Lara. I’ve met your kids—you’ll all move in with me. It’s sorted. I love every inch of you. You’re my last and only,” said Denis, kissing her tenderly. “All right, Denis, let’s give it a try,” murmured a shy Larissa. “No, not try, Lara. We’ll be together. For good,” Denis squeezed her hand. “Do you hear me? Forever.” When Helen learned his plans, all she could say was: “You’ve really outdone yourself this time… The plainest girl of them all…” …Nine months later, their daughter was born—a child with Down’s syndrome. Denis felt both joy and worry for Larissa. Would she cope? Having a child with special needs is never easy. …Today, Denis and Larissa’s daughter is eight. The whole family adores her. Denis worships Larissa. Bittersweet, but happiness…
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