My mother had a clear favorite her entire life, while I was raised by my grandparents mostly. When she got old and sick, I helped financially but refused to do more than that for a crucial reason.
While most good parents would tell you that they don’t have a favorite, my mother was not ashamed to tell me that my brother, Stanley, was her golden boy. My father walked out of our family because caring for two children became too much.
In the end, my mother blamed me for it. “He wouldn’t have left if I hadn’t gotten pregnant with you,” she told me one day. I was just a child at the time and only wanted my mother’s love.
“But that’s not my fault,” I replied. “I didn’t ask to be born.”
“Don’t talk back to me! I’m the parent, and you’re the kid, so shut up,” she finished. We would have similar conversations through the years whenever she was mad at me. Finally, my mother sent me to live with my paternal grandparents.
They felt so bad that our father had walked away from our lives that they took me in and gave me all the love I never received at home. That’s how I learned that the word family has lots of meanings.
All I heard about my mother and brother over the years was that she helped him with everything. He got into some trouble with the police, and my mother paid all his legal fees. Eventually, she had to sell her house and pay for his apartment.
Stanley was spoiled and couldn’t hold down a job, but my mother coddled him. Meanwhile, my grandparents didn’t have much money, but they gave me everything they could. I had to work to afford my college and my home.
I learned a whole ton of responsibility, and when I graduated, I got a pretty decent job. That’s where I met my husband, Lawrence. We had two daughters whom I cherished equally. When my grandparents got sick, I was there for them until the very end.
They gave me their house, and one of my daughters moved there when she got married. Unfortunately, my husband died shortly after her wedding. She asked me to live with her, but I wanted to stay in our home.
I didn’t hear from my brother or my mother for many years. They didn’t care about me at all, so why should I care about them? But one day, Stanley called. “Hello?” I answered the phone.
“Hey, Brooke. It’s Stanley. How are you?” my brother said through the other line.
“Oh, hey, Stanley. Long time, no speak. I’m fine. How about you?” I replied.
“Yeah, it’s been a while. Listen, I’m calling because Mom broke her hip. I need your help,” Stanley continued.
“Oh, that’s too bad. Is she ok?” I asked.
“She’s fine. It’s just that the hospital bill will be pretty expensive, and I need help paying for it. She’s our mother after all,” he explained.
“Oh, well. Ok. Give me the details, and I’ll send some money,” I told him. My husband and I had accumulated decent savings, so I could afford to send Stanley some money for whatever our mother needed.
“That’s great, Brooke. Thank you. I’ll talk to you later,” Stanley said and hung up. I didn’t feel any obligation to my mother, but I wasn’t heartless. I sent him the money and forgot about it until a week later when my brother called again.
“Hey, Brooke!” Stanley started.
“Hey. How did everything go?” I asked.
“The operation for her hip went well, but the doctor just told me she’s going to need tons of rehab and round-the-clock care. I was wondering when you could come to pick her up?” my brother asked.
“What do you mean pick her up?” I probed, confused.
“I told you. She needs someone to take care of her. I’ve been by her side our whole lives. It’s time you take responsibility, Brooke. I can’t watch her,” Stanley added.
“Excuse me? Responsibility? Mom sent me to live with our grandparents because she hated me, and you were her golden boy. She essentially abandoned me,” I snapped.
“Please. Stop the melodrama. You need to step up because she needs you. She gave you life. You owe her,” Stanley demanded.
“No. I don’t owe her anything. I needed my mother when I was growing up, and she refused. She gave all her love to you, so you will need to figure out something. I gave you money for her hospital bills out of the goodness of my heart, but I won’t be her caretaker,” I told him.
“YOU’RE HORRIBLE, BROOKE! HOW CAN YOU DO THIS? I CAN’T WATCH HER!” Stanley started screaming through the phone.
“Honestly, I don’t care, Stanley. You don’t get to call me horrible. I was a kid when she abandoned me, and my grandparents became my REAL PARENTS. Don’t call me again!” I finished and hung up the call.
Stanley tried calling, texting, e-mailing, and more for several days, but I blocked him. He also tried contacting my daughters, but they refused to listen to him. They knew my history with that side of the family.
Of course, Stanley and my mother bad-mouthed me to anyone who would listen. I have been severely judged for my decision, but I didn’t listen to their criticism. After all, no one ever judged my mother for what she did to me.
What can we learn from this story?
- Caring for your loved ones is important. While Brooke’s choice is controversial, it’s easy to understand her point of view, given her background.
- Forgiveness is divine. Sometimes, you have to be the bigger person. Caring for your parents when they’re old is a big duty, both financially and emotionally. Someone has to do it.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a mother who left her disabled daughter at an orphanage.
The Previous Owner of My House Left a Cautionary Note About Our Neighbors – I Didn’t Believe It Until One Day
When we moved into our new house, we thought we’d found the perfect neighbors in the Johnsons. But after returning from vacation to find our property trashed, I discovered a hidden note that would change everything and force us to question who we could really trust.
We moved into our new house a year ago, and everything seemed perfect. The neighborhood was quiet, the house was beautiful, and we were excited to settle in. Our neighbors, the Johnsons, seemed cool too. They welcomed us with a pie and friendly smiles.
“Welcome to the neighborhood!” Jane beamed, holding out a steaming apple pie. Her husband, Tom, stood behind her, grinning and waving.
“Thanks so much,” I said, taking the pie. “I’m Emma, and this is my husband Mike.”
Mike stepped forward, shaking their hands. “Great to meet you both. We’re really looking forward to living here.”
We chatted for a while, and they seemed nice enough. Their house was somewhat run-down, but that didn’t bother us. Over the next few months, we got to know them better. We had barbecues, swam in our pool, and generally got along well.
But three months later, I found a note from the previous owner tucked inside a kitchen drawer. It read: “Beware of the Johnsons. They’ll make your life hell. Don’t put them too close.”
I showed it to Mike that evening. “What do you think about this?” I asked, handing him the note.
He read it and frowned. “Seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think? They’ve been nothing but nice to us.”
I nodded, but something nagged at me. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s probably nothing.”
“Maybe the previous owner had a personal beef with them,” Mike suggested. “People can be petty sometimes.”
We decided to ignore it. After all, we’d been getting along great with Jane and Tom. Every weekend, we invited them over for pool parties and barbecues. We exchanged recipes, borrowed books, and even asked for their advice about garden design.
“Your tomatoes look amazing, Tom,” I complimented Tom one day when he came over to look at my fledgling vegetable patch. “Any tips?” I asked.
Tom puffed up with pride. “Well, it’s all in the soil preparation…”
Jane and I swapped book recommendations regularly. “Oh, Emma, you have to read this one,” she’d say, pressing a novel into my hands. “It’s absolutely gripping.”
We gave them permission to use our garden and pool any time they wanted — we were set for our annual family vacation, so it felt good leaving the place for our new neighbors to enjoy.
Fast forward to last week. Mike and I returned from our vacation, and what we found left us livid. Our beautiful garden was trampled, the pool was filthy with debris, and there was garbage strewn all over the driveway. It was a complete nightmare.
“What the heck happened here?” Mike exclaimed, his face red with anger.
I clenched my fists. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
We marched over to the Johnsons’ house. I knocked on the door, my jaw set with determination. Jane answered with a smile that seemed a bit too wide.
“Hey, neighbors! How was your trip?” she chirped.
“What happened to our property?” Mike demanded to know, not standing for any small talk.
Tom stepped out to meet us on the porch, his face a mask of innocence. “That wasn’t us. You can’t prove anything,” he snapped.
I raised an eyebrow. “Why did you think we’d accuse you? Do you know who did this?”
Jane’s eyes darted nervously. “Oh, maybe it was the neighbors across the road? Ethan and his girlfriend — they’re a weird couple, bunch of hippies, if you ask me.”
“Right,” I said, not believing a word. “We’ll go check with them.”
We decided to check it out. Ethan answered the door, looking confused at our aggressive tone. His girlfriend, Olivia, stood next to him, equally bewildered.
“Look, we’re sorry to bother you,” I started, “but our property was vandalized while we were away. The Johnsons suggested it might have been you.”
Ethan’s eyes widened. “What? No way! We’ve barely left the house since moving in. We’ve been renovating.”
Olivia stepped forward. “Actually, we might be able to help. We installed security cameras last week. They cover part of your property too.”
“Really?” Mike perked up. “Would you mind if we took a look?”
Ethan nodded. “Of course, come on in.”
We watched the footage in disbelief. The Johnsons had thrown multiple parties at our house while we were away. Their guests had no respect for our property, and Jane and Tom did nothing to stop them.
“I can’t believe this,” I muttered, watching Jane laugh as her kid spray-painted our fence.
Mike’s fists were clenched. “Those lying, two-faced —”
“I’m so sorry,” Ethan said. “We had no idea this was happening.”
Olivia nodded. “Yeah, if we’d known, we would have said something.”
We thanked them for their help and left, fury building with each step back to the Johnsons’ house. This time, we didn’t bother knocking.
“Hey, Tom,” I called out. “Let’s talk again about the trash that mysteriously appeared on our property.”
Tom came to the door, opened it, and looked at me for a few moments, then he shrugged and offered lamely, “You’re blowing this out of proportion. It’s just some trash and a bit of paint. Kids will be kids, right?”
“Just some trash?” Mike exploded. “Our pool is filthy, our garden is destroyed, and there’s garbage all over our property!”
“And let’s not forget the multiple parties you threw at our house,” I added. “We saw the security footage.”
Jane’s face paled. “What footage?”
“Ethan and Olivia’s security cameras caught everything,” I explained, enjoying the look of panic on their faces.
Their smug attitudes fueled my anger. I knew it was time to teach them a lesson they wouldn’t forget.
That night, after the Johnsons had gone to bed, Mike and I put our plan into action. We gathered up all the garbage they’d left at our house, plus a few extra “presents” from our trash.
At midnight, we crept over to their yard. “Ready?” I whispered to Mike.
He nodded, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Let’s do this.”
We spread the trash all over their lawn and garden, making sure it was a complete mess. As a final touch, we let our kids paint whatever they wanted on the Johnsons’ front fence.
“Remember, kids,” I whispered, “be as creative as you want.”
Our daughter grinned, wielding her paintbrush like a weapon. “This is gonna be fun!”
The next morning, we woke up early to watch the show. Jane’s scream of disgust was music to my ears.
“Tom! Tom! Look at this!” she shrieked.
Tom stumbled out, and his jaw dropped at the sight. “What is this?”
We casually strolled over, coffee mugs in hand. “Everything okay?” I asked innocently.
Jane turned to us, her face red with anger. “Did you do this?”
I shrugged, mimicking Tom’s gesture from yesterday. “You’re blowing this out of proportion. It’s just some trash and a bit of paint.”
Mike chimed in, “Kids will be kids, right?”
The look on their faces was priceless. They knew they’d been caught, and there was nothing they could do about it.
“This is unacceptable!” Tom blustered. “We’ll report you to the homeowners’ association!”
I smiled sweetly. “Go ahead. I’m sure they’d love to see the footage of you vandalizing our property too.”
Jane’s face crumpled. “Why would you do this?”
“Why would we do this?” Mike repeated incredulously. “Are you serious? You trashed our house, threw parties without our permission, and let your guests destroy our property!”
“And then you lied about it,” I added. “You even tried to blame Ethan and Olivia.”
Tom had the decency to look ashamed. “We… we didn’t think you’d find out.”
“Well, we did,” I said firmly. “And now you know how it feels.”
Word spread quickly through the neighborhood. When Jane tried to complain to other neighbors, we simply showed them the footage of what the Johnsons had done to our property.
“I can’t believe they would do that,” our neighbor Mrs. Peterson said, shaking her head after watching the video. “And they seemed like such nice people.”
Another neighbor, Mr. Garcia, was equally disgusted. “That’s just not right. You can’t treat people’s property like that.”
Within days, the neighborhood had turned against them. They had no choice but to clean up their mess and change their ways.
As I watched them picking up trash from their lawn, I couldn’t help but think about that warning note. Sometimes, you need to stand up for yourself and teach people a lesson in respect. The Johnsons learned the hard way that treating others badly can come back to bite you.
“You know,” Mike said, putting his arm around me, “I’m glad we found that note, even if it was a little late.”
I nodded, leaning into him. “Me too. And next time, we’ll listen to warnings like that a lot sooner.”
We stood there, watching the Johnsons work, feeling satisfied that justice had been served. It wasn’t the welcome to the neighborhood we’d expected, but it sure made for one hell of a story.
As we turned to go back inside, I saw Ethan and Olivia walking down the street. They waved, and we waved back.
“You know,” I said to Mike, “I think we might have found some real friends in this neighborhood after all.”
What would you have done?
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