No, I’m not joking. This isn’t some movie plot; it’s my real life. My parents told me I had to sacrifice and that family is everything. But when I chose to fight back and took them to court, everyone turned against me. Friends and relatives called me ungrateful and cold-hearted. What about you? What would you do if you were in my shoes? Follow my story and let me know your thoughts.
The Successful Outsider
I’m Michael, 32, a branch director at a leading tech company in New York with an annual income of $500,000. I own a luxury apartment in the heart of Manhattan, drive an expensive car, and have a solid career many dream of. From the outside, everyone thinks I’m living the dream. They see my success, wealth, and freedom, but don’t see my loneliness. No family to celebrate my achievements, no warm dinners or caring phone calls from loved ones. I’ve gotten used to it because I cut ties with them all three years ago.
Three years ago, on this very day, I discovered my family had betrayed me. They used me and broke my trust in ways I never imagined. I trusted them, loved them, and believed that no matter what, we would always be family. But I was wrong. And that day, I made the most critical decision of my life: to walk away and make them pay for what they did.
The Shocking Return Home
That day was a Friday. It was a day I thought would mark my return home after 6 months away, but in reality, it was the day I lost everything. I had just landed in New York from Canada at 7:00 p.m. Six months ago, my company expanded into the Canadian market. Since the new branch didn’t have a director yet, I was sent to lay the groundwork and ensure everything ran smoothly. The job was stressful, with countless sleepless nights, but at least I knew I had a peaceful home to return to. I had pictured myself stepping through my familiar front door, shrugging off my heavy suit, pouring a glass of wine, and sinking into my favorite couch, finally enjoying a rare moment of peace after half a year of hard work.
I pulled my suitcase out of the airport and hailed a taxi. On the way home, I stared out the window as the city lights flashed past. New York was just as bustling as when I had left, but deep inside, I felt a strange unease. Something wasn’t right. Thirty minutes later, I arrived home. But the moment the taxi turned onto my street, I froze. My **Porsche**, my prized car I always parked in front of my house, was gone. I frowned, squinting to make sure I wasn’t mistaken. Maybe my dad or Harper had taken it somewhere, I reasoned. After paying the cab fare, I quickly grabbed my suitcase and headed to the front door. The house lights were on, but a wave of unease settled in my chest. I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out my keys, and inserted them into the lock. It wouldn’t turn. I stopped, looked closer, tried again. Nothing. The lock had been changed. A cold chill ran down my spine.
Keeping my composure, I knocked firmly on the door. A few seconds later, I heard footsteps from inside. The door opened. Standing before me was a woman in her 40s, well-dressed, looking at me with a puzzled expression. “Can I help you?” she asked calmly. I frowned. “Sorry, but this is my house. Who are you?” She narrowed her eyes slightly before letting out a small chuckle, as if I had just said something ridiculous. “You must be mistaken. We’re the new owners of this house.”
I stood there stunned. What the hell was going on? I stepped back and looked around, but no, this was my house. The address and the street were the same. I pulled out my phone, opened the map, and double-checked the location. It was impossible to be wrong. My heart pounded harder. But if this was my house, why couldn’t I get in? Why was a stranger living here?
I locked eyes with the woman, my voice steadier this time. “No, I’m not mistaken. This is my house. I’m the legal owner and never sold it to anyone.” She was silent momentarily, then sighed as if dealing with someone delusional. “Wait here.” She disappeared inside for about 2 minutes. When she returned, she was holding a stack of documents. She handed me a sheet of paper and said in a measured tone, “This is the deed. I bought this house 5 months ago. The sale was completely legal.” I grabbed the document and scanned it. My name was no longer on it. The current owner was listed as her. The transaction had been finalized. I didn’t need to think twice to know who had done this. My hands clenched around the papers, my whole body turning cold: my parents. They had sold my house without my consent.
The Confrontation
I couldn’t let this go. Without hesitation, I called for a taxi. Only one thought consumed my mind: I had to confront them immediately. Just yesterday, my parents had called me, their voices filled with warmth. They asked how work in Canada was going, if I was doing well, and when I would come home to visit. They never mentioned that they had sold my house 5 months ago. My mother’s gentle voice still echoed in my ears: “Michael, make sure to take care of yourself. Is work too stressful? Come home when you have time.” Now those words felt utterly fake. They had betrayed me.
Fifteen minutes later, I stood in front of my parents’ house. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm, then rang the doorbell. The door opened. My parents appeared, their eyes widening in surprise when they saw me standing there. “Michael! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” my mother asked, her voice full of shock. I didn’t answer. I stormed inside, heading straight for the living room. They quickly shut the door behind me, hurrying after me with bewildered expressions.
I spun around, my gaze sharp as a knife, my voice cold and cutting. “You sold my house.” The air in the room grew heavy in an instant. My parents exchanged glances. They didn’t deny it right away. “Michael, calm down,” my father finally spoke, his voice lowering. “It’s not what you think.” My mother nodded, stepping forward, reaching for my hand as if to soothe me. “That’s right, son. We just… we just borrowed it temporarily. Just a few more months and we’ll return it to you.”
I stepped back, avoiding her touch. “Borrowed? What the hell are you talking about? How could you sell my house without saying a word to me?” My father sighed, looking away. My mother stammered, struggling to find the right words. I stared at them, my voice colder than ever. “Why?” No immediate answer. I could see the flicker of guilt and unease in their eyes. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, my father let out a deep sigh, lowered his head, and muttered, “We sold your house and car to get $800,000 for Harper to invest in stocks.”
Silence. The entire room felt like it had frozen in place. I stood there, completely stunned. I roared in anger. “Harper again? It’s always her! Why? Why is it that my whole life, everything I have gets taken away for her?” My voice thundered through the room, shattering the fake silence they were trying to maintain. I had seen this pattern before; once again, my things in life were being sacrificed for their golden child.
My father winced, raising a hand as if to calm me down. “Michael, you need to relax. Harper is your sister. She’s smart, she has potential. As her older brother, investing in her is the right thing to do. This time, she’ll make a profit.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “How many times now? How many times have I already invested in her? My earnings, my savings. How many times have you borrowed them to help Harper get rich? And where’s the result?” They hesitated. They had no immediate answer. “Michael, this isn’t Harper’s fault,” my mother rushed to defend her, as always. “She didn’t want this either. She was just unlucky.”
“Unlucky?” I clenched my fists, rage burning in my chest. “No, not this time. One week!” I stared directly at them, my voice like a blade. “You have exactly one week. If you don’t return my house and car, I will go to the police. I’ll take you to court, and I swear, you’re all going to jail this time.”
My father slammed his hand on the table, his face red with fury. “You ungrateful brat! Is this how you talk to your parents?” I met his gaze without flinching. “Sorry, you must have me confused with someone else. You only have one child: Harper.” The words sliced through the air like a knife. My parents froze, their faces turning pale. They knew I was serious. They knew I had run out of patience. I turned around and walked away without another word. As I stepped out of the house, I yanked the door shut behind me, leaving behind the two people I once called family.
The Seeds of Betrayal
That night, I checked into a hotel with only one thought running through my mind: they made the biggest mistake of their lives, thinking I was still the obedient son they used to control. When I entered my hotel room, I headed straight for the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and let it cascade over me. Water was the only thing that could keep me grounded. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, feeling each drop slide down my skin, washing away the chaos in my mind. Family, home, car, and money spun inside my head like a storm with no way out. I felt a little lighter when I finally stepped out of the shower, but the emptiness still clung to me.
On the table, the coffee I had ordered upon checking in sat neatly in its place, left by the hotel staff. I reached for it, taking a slow sip. Strangely, it didn’t taste as bitter as usual today, maybe because the truth I had to swallow was far more bitter. I leaned back in my chair, staring blankly at the glass window. The city lights reflected against it, mirroring a version of me: exhausted, drained, but unwilling to break. And then the memories began to surface.
The Golden Child and The Scapegoat
Harper is my younger sister, 3 years younger than me. From the day she was born, our parents adored and spoiled her. And me? I was the older brother who had to give in to her no matter what. As a child, whenever I had a toy Harper wanted, my parents would make me hand it over. If I refused, they’d call me selfish. “You’re the big brother, you must let her have it.” That phrase repeated over and over, an unspoken rule in our house. The older I got, the clearer it became: whatever Harper wanted, Harper got. Me? If I wanted something, I had to earn it myself.
When I was 17, I realized for the first time that Harper wasn’t just spoiled; she could do wrong and never face any consequences. She stole $200 from me. It wasn’t much to some people, but to me, it was everything – money I had worked long hours for, saving every penny from my part-time job. When I found out, I was furious. I demanded she give it back. Harper, she just laughed, as if it was all a joke. But the most shocking part wasn’t what she did, but how our parents reacted. They didn’t scold her, they didn’t make her apologize. Instead, my mother gently said, “Michael, she’s your sister. It’s just the two of you in this world. You should let it go.” My father nodded in agreement. “That’s right, son, she’s your little sister. You can’t be petty with her like you would with a stranger.” “Petty?” I remember clenching my fists, feeling a deep burning sense of injustice. But I couldn’t do anything because Harper was always right to them.
When I went to college, I had to juggle school and work. My parents only covered my tuition. I had to figure out everything else: food, books, rent on my own. I worked part-time, stayed up late doing extra shifts, waited tables at a cafe, and fixed computers to scrape by. Harper? She never had to lift a finger. My parents paid for her tuition, rent, food, and entertainment. If she wanted a new laptop, they bought it immediately. If she wanted to travel, they covered the costs without hesitation. Whenever I asked why the difference, their answer was always the same: “You’re the older brother, you need to be independent. Harper is a girl; she needs to be taken care of.”
But what disgusted me the most was how they worshiped her as some genius when I knew precisely how clueless she was. If she got a bad grade: “Harper was sick, that’s why.” If she solved a first-grade math problem while being in third grade: “Harper is a prodigy.” If she failed a project: “She was just unlucky. Harper is brilliant.” They spoiled her so much that she became delusional; she truly believed she was more intelligent than everyone else. She thought the world revolved around her. And now, my parents had just sold my house and car, handing her $800,000 to invest in stocks – a girl who couldn’t even tell the difference between revenue and profit.
Harper’s “Genius” Projects
And this wasn’t the first time she had used my money to start a business. I had lost no less than **$200,000** funding her so-called genius projects. The first time was right after she graduated from college. She excitedly announced that she wanted to open a unique cafe with a unique business model that would surpass Starbucks. I invested **$50,000** in her. One year later, the cafe shut down. I never got an apology, just a casual remark from my parents: “Harper is still young; she needs challenges to grow.”
The second time, she returned with another groundbreaking idea: flipping cheap apartments for resale. She swore up and down that she’d make massive profits and that real estate was always a safe investment. I gave her another **$100,000**. Two years later, the project failed. When I asked where my money went, she shrugged, “It’s an investment, bro. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.”
The third time, she wanted to open a fashion store. She claimed she had an eye for style and could turn her brand into the next big thing. I wanted no part of it, but my parents pressured me. My mother cried, my father interrogated me: “Do you have any idea how hard she’s been working? She’s your sibling! Why are you stingy over just $60,000? If you don’t help her, you don’t deserve to be her brother!” In the end, I lost another **$60,000**.
Every single time, the money was borrowed from me. If I refused, my parents would do whatever it took to break me down. They’d call me selfish, accuse me of not loving my sister, and say I only cared about myself. And if all else failed, my mother would resort to her ultimate weapon: threatening her own life. “If you don’t help Harper, I have no reason to live.” Through it all, Harper never once thanked me. Not once has she repaid even a single cent.
The Legal Battle Begins
A knock at the door pulled me back to reality. I set my coffee down, took a deep breath to steady myself, and then got up to open the door. David, my lawyer and one of my closest friends, stood in the hallway. I called him while still in the taxi, knowing I needed someone to help me unravel this mess.
David stepped inside, shrugged off his coat, and sat down. His eyes held a mix of curiosity and concern. “You all right?” he asked, though he probably already knew the answer. I leaned back, closed my eyes briefly, and told him everything: from my six-month work assignment in Canada to coming home and discovering my parents had sold my house and car without my knowledge. “I just can’t believe it. Before I left for Canada, I didn’t trust anyone else, so I asked my parents to look after my house. And now I come back to find out they sold it 5 months ago!” I looked at David, waiting for his reaction.
He didn’t speak right away. He studied me with the sharp gaze of a lawyer, then leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and thought. “If they sold your house, this isn’t as simple as it looks,” he said. I frowned. “What do you mean?” David tapped his fingers lightly against the chair, speaking slowly. “There could be fraud involved. No one can legally sell a property under someone else’s name without their consent, unless…” I gritted my teeth, an uneasy feeling growing in my chest. “Unless what?” David sighed. “Unless they forged documents. A cold chill ran down my spine. “You’re saying they forged my signature?” David shrugged, his eyes sharp. “Not necessarily. There are plenty of legal loopholes that the average person would miss. They could have faked a power of attorney document, making it look like you authorized them to sell the house and car. Or it could have been a gift deed, something with your signature on it.” I froze. “A gift deed?” David nodded. “Yeah. If you signed anything in the past 6 months without reading it carefully, they could have swapped documents without you realizing it.”
I narrowed my eyes, trying to recall. Six months ago, had I signed anything without paying attention? David suddenly chuckled, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Or maybe you were drunk and signed something without knowing? You’d be surprised how often that happens.” I scowled, not finding the joke funny in the slightest. But deep down, I knew David had a point. If my parents had forged documents or manipulated my signature, I wasn’t going to let this slide. I tried to recall, digging through my memories, searching for any moment I might have signed something related to my assets. Then suddenly, it hit me. “Aha!” I shouted, my voice so loud that David flinched. “What? You remember something?” he asked, eyes wide.
I clenched my fists as the memory resurfaced, crystal clear as if it had happened yesterday. The day I left for the airport. My parents and Harper had come to see me off. They handed me a stack of documents before I walked into the departure area. “Michael, sign these real quick,” my mother said, her voice casual as if it were just a routine procedure. I frowned. “What is this?” “Just a power of attorney,” she replied smoothly. “You’ll be gone for 6 months, so if any repairs are needed at the house, we can handle them for you. Also, if the police or government needs to verify anything about the property while you’re away, we can take care of it.” I trusted them. I remember asking why so many pages. My father chuckled, patting my shoulder as if I had asked something silly. “Just to be safe, son. Some repairs require both original and duplicate copies for submission.” At the time, part of me believed them, the other part was in a rush; my flight was about to board. I didn’t have time to sit there reading every word. I skimmed the first few lines, saw the words “power of attorney,” and signed them all. I didn’t check. I didn’t think they would betray me. And now I was paying the price for my stupidity.
David stared at me for a long moment, then sighed, his grip tightening around his coffee cup as if he wanted to crush it. “You just handed them a golden ticket to ruin you.” David stood up, adjusting his coat, his eyes calculating and sharp. “This is complicated,” he said, his voice low but steady, no trace of panic. “But don’t worry, I’ve got this. There’s something wrong with the paperwork. I’ll go through everything and check the documents. Meet me tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have news for you.” I nodded, saying nothing. I trusted David. If anyone could expose this scam, it was him. He walked to the door, then turned back one last time, his expression serious. “Stay calm, M. The angrier you get, the more they’ll think you’ll give up.” I wasn’t sure I could do that. The door clicked shut behind him. The room fell into an eerie silence. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Why would they do this to me? What had I done to deserve this? They didn’t just take my money; they took my trust. My parents, people who were supposed to protect me. Harper, the sister who was supposed to respect me. I clenched my phone, my fingers trembling with rage. I wanted to curse her out. I wanted to scream at her, hear her admit to her shamelessness, and see how she would justify her actions. I called Harper. The phone rang, no answer. I called again, same result. Harper wasn’t picking up. She knew I was back. She knew everything. And now she was hiding from me.
Justice is Served
Two weeks later, my life slowly started to regain some order. I couldn’t stay in a hotel forever, so I spent time searching for a new apartment. Even though everything wasn’t over yet, I knew I had to keep moving forward. That day, I was standing in a high-rise apartment overlooking Central Park, listening to the real estate agent explain the interior features, when my phone started ringing again and again, non-stop. I ignored it, but the ringing didn’t stop. Annoyed, I finally pulled my phone out of my pocket. My father was calling. I declined. Seconds later, my mother called. Declined. Not even a minute passed before Harper’s name flashed on the screen. I stared at it, my heart cold and steady. I didn’t need to guess why they were calling: they had received the lawsuit. They were panicking, terrified of the consequences about to crash down on them. I had no reason to answer. Excuses, begging, maybe even blaming me. Whatever they had to say, I didn’t care anymore. Without hesitation, I blocked all their numbers. I slipped my phone back into my pocket, turned to the agent, and gave a small nod. “Go on,” I said.
Ten minutes later, my phone rang again. This time it wasn’t my parents or Harper; it was Uncle Jack. He was my father’s older brother who had always remained neutral in family matters. We weren’t close, but he wasn’t the type to take sides unthinkingly. If he was calling today, it was probably as a mediator. I picked up, and his voice came through immediately: “Michael, I know you’re angry, but can’t you give your parents a way out? No matter what, they’re still your family. They’re still your parents.”
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and kept calm before responding. “Uncle Jack, if grandpa had sold your house, sold your car, and given all the money to my dad, what would you have done?” He hesitated for a few seconds. “Why are you asking me that?” I smirked, hearing the uncertainty in his voice. “Because that’s exactly what my parents did to me.” A long silence stretched between us. I could almost picture the stunned look on his face as he realized things weren’t how he had been told. Finally, he spoke again, his voice laced with doubt. “No way! Your parents told me they only borrowed some money from you and hadn’t had the chance to pay it back yet. They said you overreacted and sued them out of anger. That’s what they told the whole family.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Is that so? Well then, when the trial date comes, I’ll invite you and the entire family to witness the truth for yourselves.” I didn’t wait for his response. I ended the call. The truth would come out soon enough. I had nothing left to explain.
The Courtroom Showdown
After complete silence, we finally met again 2 months later in court. My parents sat at the defendants’ table. Harper was beside them, clutching her handbag tightly. I saw my mother glancing around nervously, as if searching for support from someone. And then they froze, their eyes widened in shock as they noticed just how many relatives had shown up to witness the trial. I saw my father’s brows knit together, his face darkening when he realized several family members were suspiciously staring at him and my mother. The lie – the one where they claimed they had just borrowed money but hadn’t repaid it yet – was falling apart. They knew the truth now. A few days before the trial, I had texted Uncle Jack, asking him to spread the word and invite everyone. I wanted them to see it with their own eyes, to witness how the people who claimed to love me had betrayed me. As I entered the courtroom, all three of them – my parents and Harper – turned their eyes toward me. My father glared, my mother went pale, and Harper, she just sat there staring at me with an unreadable expression. No one said a word, but in their eyes, I could see the only thought running through their minds: they never imagined I would go through with this.
At exactly 8:00 a.m., the trial began. The atmosphere in the courtroom was heavy, tension wrapping around everyone like a thick fog. My parents’ lawyer stood up, adjusted his tie, and spoke: “Your Honor, my clients have done nothing wrong. The defendants simply acted within the legal authority granted to them. The plaintiff, Michael, voluntarily signed a power of attorney, giving my clients full control over the house and the car.” I remained silent, unmoved. I wanted to see how far they would take this. “We have indisputable evidence. The documents are fully legitimate, containing the plaintiff’s signature and notarized on October 23rd, 2021.” He paused, glancing at me with confidence, as if this case was already won before it even began. As soon as he finished speaking, I could feel my parents’ and Harper’s eyes drilling into me, the eyes of people who believed they had already won. My mother lifted her chin slightly, a faint smug smile creeping onto her lips. Harper crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. My father simply raised an eyebrow, but the way he looked at me – calm, arrogant, assured – told me everything I needed to know. They truly believed they had me cornered. I heard whispers ripple through the audience behind me: “If he signed a power of attorney, what’s the point of this lawsuit?” “Parents wouldn’t deceive their child, would they?” “This is too much! I mean, it’s his own family!” I smirked slightly, but deep inside, I wasn’t worried at all.
As soon as the judge nodded, signaling for David, my lawyer, to present our case, he stood up, calmly adjusted his suit, and picked up a file. His sharp gaze swept across the courtroom. “Your Honor,” David began, his voice steady and firm, “on October 23rd, 2021, when the defendants claim my client signed a power of attorney, my client was not in the United States. He was in Canada on a six-month business assignment.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room. “Therefore, the notarized power of attorney is invalid. The notary engaged in fraudulent conduct, which is a criminal offense.” The courtroom erupted in whispers. I saw the confidence drain from my parents’ faces. My mother turned to Harper as if silently demanding an explanation. My father frowned, trying to keep his composure. Harper’s face turned pale; she clutched her purse tightly, panic creeping into her eyes. And then the courtroom doors swung open. Two police officers entered, escorting a man in a gray suit, his hands cuffed behind his back: **the notary**. For a brief moment, time seemed to freeze. David continued, unfazed. “Your Honor, authorities launched an investigation after my client filed his lawsuit. They confirmed that this notary accepted a $20,000 bribe from my client’s parents to falsify the notarization.” Gasps filled the room. My father turned pale, looking as if he wanted to say something, but the judge raised a hand for silence. I glanced at my parents again. Gone was their earlier arrogance; now there was only shock, fear. The judge turned to the notary, his tone stern. “Do you have anything to say?” The man trembled, then finally let out a sigh and nodded. “Yes. I will tell everything.” All eyes locked on him. “It’s true. I accepted $20,000 from the plaintiff’s parents to notarize the documents while he was out of the country. But I wasn’t completely reckless. I had suspicions, so I called to verify.” “Then why did you still sign off on the papers?” the judge pressed. “Because when I called the plaintiff’s number, he confirmed he was in Canada.” The courtroom fell into stunned silence. My parents were frozen in place. David turned to me, waiting for my response. I frowned, thinking back, and then it hit me. I had received a call from a notary’s office, but at the time, I assumed it was regarding company documents, not my house. And I had told them I was in Canada. For the notary, that confirmation was enough. I let out a bitter laugh; my parents had taken advantage of this misunderstanding and turned it into the perfect crime.
The tension in the courtroom was razor-sharp. When the notary admitted his guilt, I heard the screech of a chair being shoved back. “You bastard! I paid you $20,000 and now you’re turning on me!” my father roared, his face flushed red with rage. The judge slammed his gavel down. “Order in the Court! If you cause another disruption, I will have you removed!” Silence fell over the room. The judge turned to my parents’ lawyer. “Counsel for the defense, do you have anything to say?” The man stood motionless for a long moment, then let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. He knew they had lost. There was no argument or justification that could salvage this disaster.
The Verdict
Five minutes later, the judge looked down at the files and firmly delivered the verdict: My parents were found guilty of **financial fraud and document forgery**. They had deliberately falsified the power of attorney and used it to sell my assets without my legal consent. Their punishment: **10 years in prison without parole**. Additionally, they were ordered to pay me **$1.2 million**, including $800,000 in stolen funds and $400,000 in penalties and accumulated interest. If they failed to repay the amount, the court would seize their assets to cover the debt.
Harper, though not directly involved in the forgery, was aware of the crime and did nothing to report it. She was convicted as an **accomplice to financial fraud** and sentenced to **3 years of probation** with a **$100,000 fine**. She would be sent to prison immediately if she reoffended during her probation period. As for the notary who accepted the bribe and fraudulently notarized the documents, he was sentenced to **15 years in prison**. His notary license was permanently revoked, and he was fined **$250,000** for notarial fraud and bribery.
After reading the verdict, the judge placed the gavel down and declared that the sentencing would take effect immediately. The officers stepped forward, cuffing my parents and the notary, preparing to escort them out of the courtroom. My parents stood frozen in shock. Harper’s face turned deathly pale. The notary hung his head in defeat. As they were led past me, my mother turned, her eyes blazing with hatred. “Are you happy now, you bastard? You’ve destroyed this family!” My father said nothing, but the way he looked at me, full of resentment and bitterness, told me that in their eyes, I was the villain.
I didn’t flinch. I met my mother’s glare, my voice calm and unwavering. “No. You and your precious Golden Child did that yourselves. You had a choice. You could have lived the rest of your lives comfortably, growing old with both your children by your side. But you didn’t choose that. You chose greed, and this is the price you pay.” She gritted her teeth but had nothing left to say. The officers pulled them away. My father turned his face away, but I saw his fists clenched tightly, a silent sign of his defeat.
In the distance, whispers spread through the courtroom. Some relatives murmured to one another, but I could already guess what they were saying: “That boy is ruthless! No matter what, they’re still his parents. Who sends their parents to jail? Where is his filial piety?” I didn’t react. Uncle Jack stepped forward, placing a hand on my shoulder, his voice low. “I’m sorry, Michael, but I think you did the right thing.” I nodded, saying nothing. I knew not everyone in the family felt the same. Many of them cursed me, calling me an ungrateful son, a heartless person. They said my parents were old and that I should have forgiven them. But what does forgiveness mean when they were never sorry to begin with?
And then 3 years passed. 3 years without a single call, not a single message from anyone in my family. 3 years of living my own life, yet those words of condemnation still echoed in my mind. I stood up for myself. I fought for justice. But the price I paid was losing my entire family.
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