My Sister Betrayed Me Twice to Help Our Evil Father – Story of the Day

I never liked my own family—call it dysfunctional if you may. But I still couldn’t fathom how my sister would betray me like this, twice, even though I helped her and our father out.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I was born into a better family. You know, with better parents who actually know how to be parents? But you don’t always get what you want in life, isn’t it?

I can’t really blame my mother actually—she ran away from the family when I was just ten, presumably since my father was abusive and manipulative. I still wish she took me and my sister away with her at that time, but then again, it is what it is. Sometimes there’s no use in looking back at things and constantly thinking about “what could’ve been.”

That’s what my therapist kept telling me. Don’t look back on the things you can’t change and think about what could’ve been. Look forward, time is linear, there’s no going back.

But she also said writing it out might help—so here it is, I guess.

I grew up in a dysfunctional family | Source: Shutterstock

I grew up in a dysfunctional family | Source: Shutterstock

As I said, my father was an abusive and manipulative monster—self-centered, arrogant … he only cared about himself and the things that actually concerned him. Sometimes I wonder how come my mother actually married him. That’s something I’d never find out, I guess.

As for my younger sister Cheryl, you can probably understand what kind of person she’d grow up to be under such circumstances. We were close when we were kids—at least before everything happened —but after my mother ran away, it had gotten worse since then.

My father never liked me since I was a kid, but he hated me even more after my mother ran away. Why? I have no idea. He probably thought I was the reason why she ran away—he never thought it was his fault.

Well, he blamed the stripper when he was drunk sometimes, but it takes two to tango, isn’t it? Or that it took two to have a lapdance, in this context.

Anyway. My sister Cheryl.

Cheryl and I used to be close when we were kids | Source: Pexels

Cheryl and I used to be close when we were kids | Source: Pexels

Ever since mother left, Cheryl became dad’s favorite, presumably since she was still too young to understand what happened. Since I was too old to be converted into daddy’s little girl at that time, he focused on Cheryl instead.

That’s what I meant when I said things began to go downhill from there—he and Cheryl began to gang up on me, alienating me in the house. It wasn’t pleasant, and to be honest, I don’t really want to go into details about what happened. Let’s just say I wish I had a more functional family.

Cheryl grew up to be a spoiled brat. That’s the thing about my father. He might be an absolute jerk of a person, but he wasn’t stupid. In fact, he made himself a fortune by setting up a trading company. It made sense though since he had every single trait of being a psychopathic CEO.

Chery, being daddy’s little girl of the family, had everything she needed and wanted—and even things she didn’t know she wanted. I can still remember the Gucci bag my father gave her when she was just 12. Can you believe that? A 12-year-old girl holding a Gucci bag?

Needless to say, Cheryl grew up to be a dysfunctional human being.

I remember how I used to smell like fast food every night after work | Source: Pexels

I remember how I used to smell like fast food every night after work | Source: Pexels

As for myself, I had to work hard for everything that I had. Since I wasn’t getting any allowances from my father, I began taking up part-time jobs here and there just to get by. I worked in McDonald’s, Wendy’s, and even handed out leaflets outside Sears at some point. I can still remember how I used to smell like French fries after my shifts. You just cannot get rid of that stench.

In a way, I am thankful for the experience, since all of these things taught me things I needed to know in life. It made me who I am—it taught me how to be resilient and got me through some dark times.

I moved out as soon as I could. I remember I was 18 at the time—it was a long and hot summer, and I packed up my things and went off to California in my old Honda Civic without even saying goodbye. I probably had $400 in my account at the time, but it was liberating. I can still remember the sweet summer breeze of youth and freedom along the Pacific Coast.

I found myself an IT job in California | Source: Pexels

I found myself an IT job in California | Source: Pexels

Fast forward 10 years from there, I got my college degree and began working for an IT company. I wouldn’t say I had a great career, but I managed to have a decent life and save some money of my own. To be honest, I wouldn’t stay in IT if not for the money. But hey, we all gotta make a living somehow.

It was then when I received an email from Cheryl. I hadn’t spoken to her nor my dad since the day I moved out, not that they cared anyway. They could’ve reached out to me somehow, but they did not. Ten years, not a single message from them.

But surprise surprise, Cheryl actually asked me for help in the email. How things have changed, I thought to myself.

It started with a bunch of formal addresses like “Dear Emma,” “I hope this email finds you well,” and my favorite—“Sincerely yours.”

I received an email from Cheryl while at work one day | Source: Pexels

I received an email from Cheryl while at work one day | Source: Pexels

She was asking me for money since her kid got sick and needed surgery, but her ex-boyfriend ran away with some chicks and left her with nothing. She said she hadn’t been talking to dad for a few years already due to some argument … bla bla bla. That was why she needed my help.

I was hesitant at first, but then I opened the attachment in the email—it was a picture of my nephew. He was adorable.

After looking at that picture, I debated on what I would do—or rather, the right thing for me to do. You see, I might not like my family, but the kid was innocent. He shouldn’t be pulled into the whole family feud that we had.

After a night of turning over and over again in my bed, I decided to wire her the money.

Cheryl didn't respond to my emails after I wired her the money | Source: Pexels

Cheryl didn’t respond to my emails after I wired her the money | Source: Pexels

The next month I sent her an email, asking her if everything was alright with the kid—alas, no response.

So I did a bit of research and found out where she lived. Well, as it turned out, she didn’t move far—basically six or seven blocks from where we used to live. I decided to drop by and give her a visit.

It had been more than ten years since I left—but that’s the thing about small American towns … scenery might change, but people don’t. I can still recognize the same shops and people I used to know. Older, but not necessarily wiser.

Then, as if God intervened through some twisted manner, before getting to Cheryl, I bumped into an old classmate of mine who happened to know my family cause you know, small town.

I bumped into John at a gas station—it was truly a strange coincidence | Source: Pexels

I bumped into John at a gas station—it was truly a strange coincidence | Source: Pexels

John was a classmate of mine back then. His mother and my father were neighbors growing up, so he was kind of a family friend. He was beyond surprised when he saw me at the gas station.

“Hey. Is that you, Emma?” he said as he approached me from his car.

“ …John? God, could barely recognize you there, man,” I said.

“What brought you back here? Haven’t seen you in years,” he continued. “Came here to see your old man?”

I assumed he didn’t know what happened to my family all these years.

“Nah, just wanna check on Cheryl and my nephew,” I said, trying to shrug it off and make it sound as natural as I could.

“Your nephew? I didn’t know Cheryl had a kid,” responded John, with a pair of confused eyes. “That’s strange, I would’ve known since I live across the road from her,” he added.

Now things were getting weird.

John happened to live across the road from Cheryl | Source: Pexels

John happened to live across the road from Cheryl | Source: Pexels

Out of curiosity, I asked John about my father after a brief explanation that we haven’t been talking for quite a few years.

“Yea, he goes over to Cheryl’s every weekend. His business partner screwed him over, I heard, so he lost quite a bit of money there. He seemed sad for a while but he seems alright now,” he said. “I think Cheryl managed to bail him out or something.”

“His partner screwed him over? When was that?”

“Maybe a month or two ago? I remember seeing him walking around Cheryl’s driveway, calling and cursing at his phone—must’ve been around that time.”

I decided to pay Cheryl a visit. I had to know what happened.

I knocked on Cheryl's door, not entirely sure what I was expecting | Source: Pexels

I knocked on Cheryl’s door, not entirely sure what I was expecting | Source: Pexels

So, I pulled up in front of Cheryl’s house, rang the doorbell, and she opened the door for me.

From the door I could see my father sitting in the living room, having a glass of wine in his hand—and no, I did not see any kid in the house.

Cheryl was surprised to see me there, as you can guess by now. “Emma? What’re you doing here?” she asked.

“Just trying to check up on my nephew,” I responded.

For a fleeting moment, I could see it in her eyes that she was trying to avoid the topic.

“Oh, a friend of mine is babysitting Anthony now,” she responded. “Do you want to come in? We haven’t seen you in years,” she added.

I was still hesitant at the time—just one step, and I could step inside the house and perhaps deal with all that trauma sown within me years ago. It was so close, that feeling of being able to make things right at last.

But I wasn’t ready. I told them I was a bit under the weather and got back into my car and drove to a nearby motel.

Unable to face Cheryl and my father, I drove to a motel nearby for the night | Source: Pexels

Unable to face Cheryl and my father, I drove to a motel nearby for the night | Source: Pexels

The next day I bumped into John again at a local diner. God certainly works in mysterious ways.

But it was a bit different this time—when he saw me at the diner he simply turned around without saying a single word.

That was strange, I thought to myself. Considering we were on good terms the whole time, there was something odd about it. I decided to walk towards him and asked him what’s up.

“Hey man, sup? Is everything alright?” I asked him when he sat down at his table.

He tried to avoid having eye contact with me, but I just stood there, utterly bewildered by his reaction.

“Hey, I know it’s none of my business, but I think you might need some help,” he said.

Now this just got way more confusing.

“What? Why? I don’t think I understand,” I said.

“Look, I talked to Cheryl last night, about her having a kid—she told me that … well, she told me why you left,” he said meekly.

“What? What did she say?”

“She said you were … imagining things, and they had to send you away to the hospital.”

“W—what? How?”

I bumped into John again in the diner, but I could tell that something was wrong | Source: Pexels

I bumped into John again in the diner, but I could tell that something was wrong | Source: Pexels

“She doesn’t have a kid and I don’t understand why you said she has. So last night I went over to her place and asked her about it, and she told me what happened,” he said, but then he paused for a moment. “She said you just showed up out of nowhere and started asking about her kid … Look, I don’t want any trouble here.”

That … wretched woman. I don’t know if I can still call her my sister anymore. Did she just throw me under the bus after all I did for her and presumably our father? Am I hallucinating? No, I was pretty sure I was not.

“Wait a second,” I said to John as he was about to leave. I then went through my inbox and showed the email to John. He looked at it and went quiet for a while. But at last, he responded.

“Look, it’s really none of my business, just leave me out of this,” he said, and he simply left the diner without touching his pancakes.

Here I am, back in San Francisco, wondering if I did the right thing | Source: Pexels

Here I am, back in San Francisco, wondering if I did the right thing | Source: Pexels

So here I am, back in San Francisco at my own apartment. I just drove all the way back here after that interaction with John—Lord knows what other folks in town were talking about right now. Can you imagine that? My very own sister, fabricating a lie so that I could save our father who never cared about me, and then throwing me under the bus and telling the folks that I was crazy? Seriously?

I am not sure how I should feel about it—I admit that writing it down did make me feel better. But still … I couldn’t help but wonder if it would have made a difference if I actually walked into the house and talked to them. Maybe I had a chance to change something? Maybe things wouldn’t end up the way they are now?

I don’t know. I really don’t know.

What can we learn from this story?

Sometimes we just have to let things go. It is what it is, sometimes there’s just nothing we can do about it. Let go and start living.

Look forward. We cannot change the past, whatever that is, but we can try and move on, one way or another.

Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.

If you enjoyed reading this, you might also enjoy this one where a man sheltered a homeless woman and discovered who she really was.

I Last Saw My Daughter 13 Years Ago, Yesterday I Got a Letter from My Grandson I Never Knew About

I lost my daughter 13 years ago when my wife left me for another man. Yesterday, I got a letter addressed to ‘Grandpa Steve,’ and my heart nearly stopped when I read what had happened.

Thirteen years. That’s how long it had been since I last saw my daughter, Alexandra. She was only 13 when Carol, my ex-wife, packed up and left. I was 37.

Young teen girl with blue eyes smiling | Source: Midjourney

Young teen girl with blue eyes smiling | Source: Midjourney

I still remember the day like it was yesterday. It was a warm, sticky summer evening, and I came home from work to find Carol sitting at the kitchen table, perfectly calm, waiting for me.

Back then, I was just a construction foreman in Chicago. Our company wasn’t huge, but we built all kinds of stuff: roads, office buildings, you name it. I worked my tail off with long days, scorching summers, and freezing winters.

Man working in construction | Source: Midjourney

Man working in construction | Source: Midjourney

It wasn’t exactly a glamorous job, but it paid the bills and then some. My boss, Richard, owned the company. He was older than me, always wore fancy suits, and had this fake smile that bugged me.

The guy loved to show off his money. He drove expensive cars and threw parties at his huge mansion outside of town. Carol, my wife, ate that stuff up. She loved getting dressed up and pretending she was part of that crowd. Meanwhile, I always felt like a fish out of water at those things.

Woman laughing at a party | Source: Midjourney

Woman laughing at a party | Source: Midjourney

But perhaps, if I’d paid more attention, I would’ve seen my wife’s next move.

“Steve, this just isn’t working anymore,” she said in a clipped voice, like she was reading from a script.

I blinked at her, confused. “What are you talking about?”

She let out a small sigh. “I’m leaving. Richard and I are in love. I’m taking Alexandra. She needs a better life than this.”

The phrase “better life” still makes me angry. I worked hard, harder than most to provide Carol and Alexandra with everything they needed. We had a decent house in the Chicago suburbs, food on the table, and clothes to wear. Sure, it wasn’t fancy.

A house in the suburbs | Source: Midjourney

A house in the suburbs | Source: Midjourney

We didn’t go on vacations or have designer anything, but it was more than many people had. I didn’t understand what was so wrong with it. Carol, however, always wanted more: more money, more luxury, more of everything.

Therefore, she left to shack up with my boss, and my life was shattered. I still tried to be a good father to my daughter. But Carol poisoned her against me. I believe she told her I didn’t care about her and that I had been unfaithful.

Mother gossiping to her daughter | Source: Midjourney

Mother gossiping to her daughter | Source: Midjourney

I don’t know. What I do know is that eventually, my daughter stopped answering my calls and opening my letters. I no longer existed to her.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of my misfortunes. I spiraled into a depression and ignored my health until I ended up in a hospital bed, facing surgery after surgery. The medical bills were so high that I had to sell my house.

Eventually, my job let me go for taking too many days off, although not working for Richard anymore was a blessing.

During this time, Carol moved out of state with my ex-boss, and my Alexandra was gone for good.

Man in construction clothes sadly sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

Man in construction clothes sadly sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

The years crept slowly by. I never remarried. I never wanted to. Instead, I worked hard to rebuild my health and focused on founding my own construction business. With that, I managed to claw my way back to a stable, if lonely, life.

At 50, I lived in a decent apartment, and I was financially independent. But there were many moments when I wanted my daughter back.

Wistful man in an apartment | Source: Midjourney

Wistful man in an apartment | Source: Midjourney

Then, yesterday, something happened that shook me to my core. I found a letter in my mailbox with a child’s handwriting, though they must have gotten help from an adult to address it.

The front said: “For Grandpa Steve.”

For a moment, I just stared at it. My hands started shaking. Grandpa? I wasn’t a grandpa. Or at least, I didn’t think I was. I tore the envelope open, and the first line nearly stopped my heart.

Man holding a letter saying "For Grandpa Steve" | Source: Midjourney

Man holding a letter saying “For Grandpa Steve” | Source: Midjourney

“Hi, Grandpa! My name is Adam. I’m 6! Unfortunately, you’re the only family I have left…”

I walked back to the house without thinking and sat on the couch to continue to read the letter. This Adam had help with some of the sentences, but he had written everything in these big, uneven letters.

It made me smile until Iread that he lived in a group home in St. Louis and that his mom, Alexandra, had mentioned me in passing.

He ended his message with: “Please come find me.”

Man holding a letter saying "Please come find me" | Source: Midjourney

Man holding a letter saying “Please come find me” | Source: Midjourney

Of course, I’d booked the earliest flight to St. Louis.

I didn’t sleep that night. How could I? Questions swirled in my mind. How did I have a grandson? Where was Alexandra? Why was he in a home?

Early the next morning, I was at the airport, and a few hours later, I was getting out of a taxi.

The shelter was a plain brick building with chipped paint and a sagging awning that read St. Anne’s Children’s Home. A woman named Mrs. Johnson met me in the lobby. She was around my age, with kind eyes and a soft voice.

Woman smiling at a children's center | Source: Midjourney

Woman smiling at a children’s center | Source: Midjourney

“You must be Steve,” she said, shaking my hand. “Adam’s been waiting for you.”

“Where is he? Is he really my grandson?” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care.

“I’ll let you meet him soon,” she said gently, guiding me into her office. “But there’s something you need to know first. Please, have a seat.”

It was in that tiny room, filled with folders and surrounded by pictures of kids, that my life changed.

Man smiling in an office at a children's center | Source: Midjourney

Man smiling in an office at a children’s center | Source: Midjourney

First, Mrs. Johnson confirmed that Adam was Alexandra’s son. She said she had greeted them herself the day my daughter surrendered custody of him, just a few months ago.

Mrs. Johnson told me the entire story in detail. Alexandra’s life had fallen apart after Carol kicked her out for getting pregnant at 20 without a husband. The father had left, of course.

Sad pregnant young woman at a bus stop | Source: Midjourney

Sad pregnant young woman at a bus stop | Source: Midjourney

Afterward, my daughter tried to make things work, juggling low-paying jobs while raising Adam in a tiny apartment. Then, a year ago, she met a rich man named David, who promised her a better life. But, he didn’t want someone else’s kid.

“That’s why she left him here,” Mrs. Johnson said. “She said she hoped he’d find a good home. I don’t think she knew how to love him even after all those years she raised him. It’s tragic, really.”

Woman at a desk in an office at a children's center | Source: Midjourney

Woman at a desk in an office at a children’s center | Source: Midjourney

My stomach turned. Alexandra had abandoned her own child. My Alexandra? How had it come to this? And then, I realized what had happened. She had spent six years living a harrowing life and traded it for a wealthy man. Just like her mother. It wasn’t a completely equal situation, but it was close.

It was what Carol had taught her.

“And Adam?” I asked hoarsely. “How does he know about me?”

Emotional man in an office at a children's center | Source: Midjourney

Emotional man in an office at a children’s center | Source: Midjourney

Mrs. Johnson smiled faintly. “He’s a smart boy. Apparently, he’d overheard your name during conversations Alexandra had with others. He even found an old diary that mentioned you. When she left him here, he told me he had a grandpa named Steve. I did some digging and found you. Then, we wrote the letter together.”

I nodded, still reeling, but Mrs. Johnson stood and walked to the door. “You know everything,” she smiled. “Adam’s outside in the playground. Are you ready to meet him?”

Woman smirking at the door of an office at a children's center | Source: Midjourney

Woman smirking at the door of an office at a children’s center | Source: Midjourney

I nodded and followed her with my heart pounding in my ears.

***

Adam was small for his age, with shaggy brown hair and big blue eyes that looked just like Alexandra’s. He clutched a toy truck in one hand and looked up at me with curiosity and just a tad of shyness.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hi, Adam,” I said, keeping my voice steady. I knelt so we were at eye level. “I’m your grandpa.”

Man smiling at an outdoor playground at a children's center | Source: Midjourney

Man smiling at an outdoor playground at a children’s center | Source: Midjourney

His eyes widened immediately, and a huge smile broke out on his face. “You’re finally here!” He jumped up and hugged me. “I knew you’d come!”

While I embraced my grandson for the very first time, I thought back to my life. I could hate Carol all I wanted. What’s more, that anger would probably get even stronger, considering that my daughter had turned into a version of her mother somewhere along the way.

But it was time to focus on what mattered. My grandson was in my arms, and he had been abandoned, just like me. That cycle ended here. Adam wasn’t going to grow up feeling unloved or unwanted. I didn’t care what it took. I was going to give him a home.

A boy with blue eyes smiling | Source: Midjourney

A boy with blue eyes smiling | Source: Midjourney

Minutes later, I told Mrs. Johnson, I wanted Adam with me, and she smiled. I noticed a sheen of tears in her eyes, but I didn’t mention it.

It was going to take some paperwork and time before I could take Adam back to Chicago. But Mrs. Johnson was confident there would be no issues if I took a DNA test to prove I’m his grandfather.

I promised to do that soon enough.

Man shaking hands with a woman at a children's center | Source: Midjourney

Man shaking hands with a woman at a children’s center | Source: Midjourney

Honestly, it’s strange how life works. Thirteen years ago, I lost my daughter. I thought I’d lost everything. But now, I had a grandson, and my whole life made sense again.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

Related Posts

Be the first to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.


*