Goodstorie

“Move out, give your room to your brother’s kid.” That was the order my father gave me at a birthday party four years ago. And now, four years later, they’re paying me rent for the house they once kicked me out of. Sometimes I question myself, wondering if I was being too harsh or wrong to charge them rent. But then logic pulled me back: I’m not an ATM. Listen to my story and tell me: Was I right or wrong?

Hello, my name is Lucas. I’m 32 years old and currently the director of a well-known wine production company in California. Many people look at me and think I have fame, wealth, and a solid career. When I walk into a room, all eyes turn to me with admiration. I’m a successful man, a symbol of stability and achievement. They assume someone like me must have a loving family and a home waiting for me at the end of each workday. They imagine that after lavish parties and million-dollar deals, I return to the warm embrace of loved ones, a family that takes pride in me. But the truth is far from that. No one knows that 4 years ago, I didn’t just lose my home; my own family kicked me out. Not because I made a mistake, not because I wasn’t good enough, but because the house was too small. I had to give up my room for my nephew. That’s it—a quick, simple decision. I was no longer an essential part of the family, just an extra, the easiest one to cast aside. I once thought that was the worst thing ever happening to me, but four years later, I realized it was the best thing they ever did for me.

The Birthday Party That Changed Everything

I vividly remember that day: my father’s 62nd birthday celebration. That evening, I left work earlier than usual, carrying a few bottles of fine wine from my company. To me, occasions like this were always worth making time for, no matter how busy I was; I always wanted to be there. As soon as I entered the house, the familiar aroma of home-cooked dishes filled the air. The kitchen lights were on, the rhythmic sounds of chopping echoed, and the rich scent of spices blended into the warmth of the space. My mother, as always, had thought of everything, making sure not a single dish my father loved was missing. I glanced toward the dining room. My younger sister, Mia, carefully arranged my father’s birthday cake and a few fruit plates on the table. She meticulously adjusted each dish, ensuring everything was as perfect as possible. When she saw me, she looked up and smiled, “You’re home! Everything’s almost ready!” I smiled back and placed the bag of wine on the table. Moments like these always reminded me how wonderful family could be—no work, no stress, just conversations, laughter, and the warmth of being with the people I loved.

I had been home for less than 10 minutes when I heard a car pull up at the gate. I didn’t need to look; I already knew it was Brian, my older brother, his wife Sophia, and their daughter Helen. And just like every year, he arrived empty-handed—no gifts, no wine, not even a tiny symbolic cake. But I didn’t mind. As long as the family was together, that was enough. Brian walked in with his usual look: a wrinkled dress shirt and old designer shoes that he still tried to carry with an air of sophistication. Sophia followed behind, her face somewhat exhausted, while Helen, my six-year-old niece, immediately ran to her grandfather, squealing with joy. Everything was just as it had always been. The party was filled with laughter, everyone raising their glasses to celebrate my father’s birthday. The familiar ritual of blowing out candles and cutting the cake began. 20 minutes later, I stood there smiling as I watched my family gather around. At that moment, I truly believed that no matter how busy or exhausting life was outside, at least here at home, I had a place where I belonged. But I was wrong, because in just a few minutes, my own family would be the ones to throw me out.

As the party carried on in a joyful atmosphere, Brian suddenly spoke up, “Dad, have you talked to Lucas yet?” The room fell silent for a brief moment. My father hesitated, clearly unprepared to respond. Before he could say a word, I turned to Brian, curious, “Talk about what?” Brian smiled as if he were about to announce something extraordinary. “Sophia, Helen, and I will move in with the family.” I was surprised but quickly became excited. That’s great news! More people in the house wasn’t an issue for me—the more, the merrier. I didn’t think much of it, but that happiness didn’t last long. Sophia suddenly cut in, her tone casual yet firm, “Lucas, could you give up your room for Helen?” I frowned, “What do you mean? Your family is taking two rooms?” Sophia nodded as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Our daughter needs her own space. You wouldn’t understand since you don’t have a family yet.” I chuckled, shaking my head. “I don’t have a family, but I understand basic decency. Why doesn’t Brian take the sofa while you and Helen share a room?” Brian immediately shook his head, his voice laced with disapproval. “Sophia and I need our own space. Besides, Helen is growing up; she needs her room.” I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, staring at them for a long moment. “So I have to move to the sofa while your family gets two rooms?” I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. The tension in the room thickened. Brian lowered his voice, but his words were laced with persuasion, “Lucas, it’s just for a while. Is this worth making a fuss over?” “It is!” I responded immediately. “Who pays the rent here?” Silence. “Who covers the electricity, water, living expenses, all the bills?” I continued, my gaze sharp. No answer. “I do,” I said, my voice firm. “So why should I move to the living room? Why should I sleep on the sofa? You call me selfish, yet you’re the one demanding that I give up my space just because your family needs it more.”

I turned to my parents, hoping they would support me, but instead of standing by my side, my mother just let out a long sigh before finally speaking, “Lucas, you should think about your family. Brian is going through a tough time. Can’t you help him out a little?” So that was it. They had all decided beforehand; I was just the last to be informed. Right then, Mia, my younger sister, spoke up, “Why should Lucas give up his room? He’s been living here for years, paying rent and covering the bills. Why does he have to sleep on the sofa because Brian wants him to?” I turned to Mia, surprised. I hadn’t expected that in this entire room, she would be the only one standing up for me. The once cheerful atmosphere of the party instantly turned chaotic. Sophia frowned, clearly displeased with being challenged. Brian crossed his arms, irritated. My mother turned to Mia, shaking her head, telling her to stay out of adult matters. Then my father, who had remained silent until now, suddenly slammed his hand on the table, making everyone jump. “You don’t have a family, so you must give up the room!” he shouted. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay calm as I replied, word for word, “No, I won’t.” I looked him straight in the eye, waiting for a reasonable explanation, but none came. Instead, he said something that changed everything—no hesitation, no negotiation, no second thoughts. He looked at me and coldly declared, “Move out, give your room to your brother’s kid.” Silence fell over the entire house. I looked around. My mother lowered her head. Brian smirked in satisfaction, and Sophia waited, watching to see what I would do. Only Mia stood there, her eyes filled with anger and injustice as she glared at my father. Mia wasn’t afraid. She spoke up again, her voice firmer than ever, “If Lucas has to leave, I won’t stay here either. Who’s to say you won’t kick me out one day to make room for someone else?” Her words made the tension in the room unbearable. I turned to look at my sister, unable to hide my surprise. She was only 19, but at that moment, she was braver than anyone else in this house. My father, who had just been yelling moments ago, suddenly softened. “You’re still young, you don’t understand,” he said, his voice calmer now, as if trying to soothe her. But Mia wasn’t moved. “I’m 19, Dad. I can make my own decisions.” Without hesitating for another second, she turned to me, her eyes unwavering, “Let’s go, brother.”

30 minutes later, my sister and I stood before our family, surrounded by six suitcases. No one stopped us, not a single person. Brian stood with his arms crossed, silent but visibly satisfied. Sophia glanced at us, indifferent. My father stood stiffly, his face unreadable. Only my mother cried. She grabbed Mia’s hand, pleading with her, “Don’t go! Don’t let me lose both of you over this!” Mia gently pulled her hand away, her voice calm but ice cold, “We’re not leaving. You threw us out.” My mother sobbed, but she had nothing left to say. We turned and walked toward the door. Just as I placed my hand on the doorknob, I paused momentarily. I turned back, looking at the people who used to be my family, and I said clearly and deliberately, “From this moment on, I’m cutting off all financial support. You’re on your own.” Then I slammed the door shut, ending everything.

The Aftermath and the Truth

After leaving the house that night, I booked two hotel rooms for Mia and myself. When I got my key, I rushed into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and let the water pour over me. I needed to calm down. I needed to gather my thoughts and figure out what to do next. But as each drop of water fell, memories came flooding back, like fragments of an old film I couldn’t pause. And through those memories, I realized just how much I had sacrificed. 3 years ago, my parents and Brian lost everything they once had: a home of their own. But Brian ruined it. He invested in a risky business venture and dragged the entire family into it. My parents trusted him completely, so they mortgaged their house to fund his investment. And then it all collapsed. They lost their home. They lost all their money. They had nowhere to go, so they came to me—the son who was not important, but the only one who could save them. I rented this house for $2,500 a month, a four-bedroom home so the whole family would have a place to live. Every month I covered all the utility bills, about $500. Groceries, another $1,500 a month, all paid by me. And Mia, her tuition, $1,500 a year, also came from my pocket. Three years of this. Three years of working tirelessly to support a family I thought was mine. And now they had thrown me out once again because of Brian, the same man who had lost them their home, the same man who had dragged them to rock bottom, was now the one pushing me out of their lives.

As soon as I stepped out of the bathroom, still feeling the water dripping from my hair, a rapid knocking sounded at the door. It was Mia. I opened it to find her standing there, worry etched across her face. “Are you okay?” she asked, her eyes locked onto mine as if afraid I might break down right before her. I took a deep breath, forcing a small smile. “I’m fine. I need some time to think.” But Mia didn’t leave. She studied me for a long moment before saying, “I know you’re trying to act strong, but you don’t have to hide anything from me.” I let out a chuckle and gently ruffled her hair. “Thank you. Thank you for standing by me tonight.” But Mia shook her head, her voice unwavering, “You don’t have to thank me. If anything, I’ll be grateful to you my whole life.” Her words left me speechless. I had spent so much of my life giving, but rarely received anything. I took another deep breath and looked at my little sister, the only person still by my side after everything. “How about some fresh air? I think we both need it,” I suggested. Mia smiled, “Absolutely, let’s go.” And with that, we left the hotel room, searching for peace in the middle of the long night.

A New Beginning and a Strategic Move

For the next 2 weeks, I spent my time looking at apartments. It was time for me to own a place of my own. Eventually, I settled on a house in Napa, over 100 square meters with a garden, priced at $650,000. It was not too far from the city, yet it was private enough that no one could disturb me. This was where I could indeed start over. When I brought Mia to the new house, she froze at the doorstep, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You bought this house?” she asked, turning to me, her voice filled with surprise. I smiled and opened the door. “No, the company provided it for me,” I replied, keeping my tone as casual as possible, as if it were the truth. Mia stepped inside, glancing around before narrowing her eyes. She crossed her arms and looked at me skeptically. “That’s one hell of a company,” she said, not buying it. I shrugged and walked toward the large window overlooking the backyard. “Not bad,” I said, my gaze fixed outside, hoping to end the conversation. The truth was, even though Mia was my sister, I still had to lie to her. I didn’t want her to change if she learned I had money. More importantly, I didn’t want my family to return to me. I knew she still talked to our mother; at some point, Mom would try to convince her to bring me back. And if Mia knew I was wealthy, could she keep that secret? I wasn’t sure. My family never knew I had over $5 million in my account, and that money didn’t just come from my salary; it came from multiple investment ventures. Even though I had moved into my new home, I knew the storm wasn’t over. They wouldn’t let me go that easily. And as expected, a month later, my prediction came true.

That day, I had just gotten home from work, hadn’t fully stepped inside when Mia blocked my way, her face tense. “It’s bad, Lucas,” she said quickly, her voice filled with worry. I frowned, taking off my coat, mentally preparing for whatever was coming next. “They couldn’t reach you after you blocked all their numbers, so now they’re coming after me,” she continued, holding up her phone. I glanced at the screen: over 100 missed calls—Dad, Mom, Brian, Sophia. My eyes narrowed as irritation flared in my chest. “They’re demanding to see you,” Mia said, frustrated. “I told them you were at work and didn’t want to talk to them, then I hung up. But now they won’t stop calling.” She clenched her phone tightly, then looked up at me, hesitating. “I couldn’t bring myself to block them,” she admitted, her voice growing quieter, a hint of panic creeping in. I sighed, rubbing my forehead. I knew they wouldn’t stop. The question was, was I ready to face them yet? Mia’s phone vibrated again as I tried to figure out what to do. Brian. I reached out my hand. “Give it to me,” I said, my voice dropping. Mia hesitated for a moment before reluctantly placing the phone in my hand. I answered without hesitation, “Speak, Brian, it’s Lucas.” The moment he heard my voice, Brian screamed from the other end, “You ungrateful, selfish bastard! You see your family struggling like this and you won’t help?” he continued to yell, his voice filled with outrage, as if I owed him my entire life. I took a deep breath, but the anger inside me was already beginning to rise. “Struggling?” I let out a cold laugh, “And whose fault is that?” “Have you forgotten? You think this is my fault?” Brian roared. “I’m your brother! It’s your responsibility to help me!” I gripped the phone tighter, my vision darkening. “Don’t use that tone with me,” I said, each word sharp and deliberate. “How many years have I already helped you? Who paid for the house, the bills, the food for this entire damn family? What do you think I am? A walking wallet?” “You can’t just abandon your family, Lucas!” Brian shouted. “No,” I cut in, my voice low but laced with warning, “You and our parents abandoned me first. Remember who got thrown out of that house?” There was a brief silence on the other end, but then Brian started again. “I don’t care how you feel! You have money! You have a good life while we’re suffering! Don’t tell me you can’t afford to help!” I narrowed my eyes, the anger I had been holding back finally snapped. “It’s not that I can’t help,” my voice was ice cold, “it’s that I won’t.” And with that, I hung up before he could say another word. Mia stared at me, still visibly shaken by what had just happened. Without a second thought, I opened her contacts and blocked Brian’s number for her.

After Brian’s call, the phone rang again—Mom. I stared at the screen, my finger hovering over the decline button, but I hesitated. Mia stayed silent, waiting to see what I would do. In the end, I answered and put the phone to my ear. “Lucas?” My mother’s voice trembled, choked with quiet sobs. “Please, don’t hang up. Just listen. Listen to me.” I didn’t say anything; I just listened. “We… we can’t afford to pay anymore,” she continued, her voice breaking. “The bills are piling up. We have no money left to cover them.” I leaned back in my chair, staring blankly at the ceiling. “And that’s not all…” her voice grew weaker, as if afraid I would hang up before she could finish, “The landlord sent a notice. We have one week before moving out.” I closed my eyes. I had seen this coming, but what mattered to me wasn’t how badly they were struggling; it was how they planned to manipulate me into coming back. “Why are you calling me?” I asked coldly. “Lucas, please,” she sobbed, “help the family one more time. Just this once, I swear…” “No,” I cut her off, my voice calm but ice cold. Silence. “You’ll figure it out. This has nothing to do with me.” My tone remained emotionless. “Tell Brian and Sophia to handle it,” I continued before she could beg again. “He’s your golden child, isn’t he? Let him deal with it.” “Lucas, you can’t treat your parents this way!” My mother’s voice cracked with desperation. Then suddenly, I heard my father’s voice thunder through the phone, cutting in, “If you don’t help us, don’t ever call me your father again!” he roared, filled with rage. I let out a soft chuckle, devoid of any amusement. “My father died the day I walked out of that house.” A dead silence followed, and then I hung up.

The Unexpected Turn and Unconditional Support

After having dinner with Mia, I left her home and went out for an important meeting. I didn’t tell her anything about my plans. I knew it wasn’t time to reveal them yet. 2 days later, I returned to my parents’ house with Mia and Mark, the landlord. The moment I stepped inside, Brian exploded. “What the hell are you doing here?!” he snarled, his face red with anger. “I told you, you’re an ungrateful bastard! You came here to mock us, didn’t you?!” Mark cleared his throat and stepped forward, cutting Brian’s rage short. “Brian, I’m the owner of this house,” he stated firmly. But it only took him a few more seconds to drop the bombshell, leaving everyone in shock. “But as of today, the new owner is Lucas.” The energy in the room shifted instantly. The anger, resentment, and disdain in their eyes—all of it vanished in a second. My mother blinked rapidly, her lips trembling. “Lucas, did you buy this house?” she whispered, as if she couldn’t believe her ears. Brian and Sophia exchanged looks before forcing out awkward smiles. “I knew it, Lucas!” Brian said with an uneasy chuckle. “You were always the most successful one in the family! I’ve always been proud of you!” “That’s right, Lucas!” My mother quickly said, nodding eagerly. “You truly make me so proud.” I stared at them, completely emotionless. “I bought this house,” I said, my voice firm and cold, “but not for you to live in.” Brian narrowed his eyes, “What the hell does that mean?!” I let the silence linger before I spoke again, slow, deliberate, undeniably clear. “You have two options.” My gaze swept across each of them. “One: pay rent. Mom and Dad: $1,500 per month. Brian and your family: $1,000.” Brian’s face darkened immediately. “Two…” I paused for a moment before finishing, “leave.” The room fell into a dead silence, and then they lost it. “You heartless bastard!” Brian screamed, his voice shaking with fury. “Lucas, how could you do this to your parents?!” my mother pleaded desperately. “I knew it! You had money all along and refused to help us!” Sophia hissed, clenching her fists, eyes blazing with rage. I didn’t flinch. “You have two days to decide,” I said flatly, looking straight at my father, the only one who had been silent this whole time. “If I don’t get an answer in 2 days, I’ll call the police.” Without waiting for their response, I turned and walked away. Mia followed close behind, saying nothing. Mark shook his head at the chaos inside the house before quietly exiting with us.

I considered buying this house a year ago when Mark mentioned wanting to sell it, but back then I chose not to. The reason was simple: I didn’t want them to have control over me. If I had owned this house while still living with them, it would have meant one thing: I would always be responsible for them. They would keep relying on me, believing I was obligated to provide for them simply because I had the means. I refused to be tied down to a family like that. But now things were different. Two nights ago, when I went out, that was to meet Mark. I made an offer. We negotiated for over 2 hours. Mark was a businessman; he wanted to sell the house as quickly as possible. I had the money, and I knew no one else could buy it faster than me. And that very night, we struck a deal. Though the official ownership transfer would take 2 months to finalize, Mark had already signed over complete authority to me through a legal power of attorney. From the moment that document was in my hands, they no longer had any rights over this house. And now they had to decide. What happens next is up to them. The next day, while working at the company, my phone vibrated—a text from Mia: “They agreed to rent the house, but they’re asking if you can lower the price.” I let out a small laugh. Good. They made their decision fast. Without hesitation, I typed my response, firm and clear: “Tell them not a single cent less, and tell them not a single day late on rent either.” I set my phone down and got back to work. Now I was the one setting the rules.

Reflections and Unseen Kindness

It has been 4 years since I walked away from my family. Though we still lived in the same city, though they were my tenants, I had never once seen them in all those years, until a month ago. That day was Mia’s college graduation. I arrived early, carrying a carefully chosen bouquet of fresh flowers. This was her day. I saw them as I stepped into the large hall, scanning the crowded rows of seats: Dad, Mom, Brian, Sophia. They looked drained, far from the people I once knew. My father had aged noticeably, his hair streaked with gray, his back slightly hunched. My mother was thinner, deep lines etched into her face from years of stress. Even Brian and Sophia no longer carried the arrogance they once did; both looked exhausted, worn out, perhaps from finally having to work for a living instead of depending on me. They had changed, but I wasn’t sure if they had recognized their mistakes or if life had forced them to. When they saw me, all four of them froze. My mother immediately burst into tears. “Lucas!” she called my name, her voice trembling. I didn’t respond right away. I gave them a faint smile, a polite nod, as if they were nothing more than distant acquaintances I had run into by chance. Brian took a deep breath before speaking first. “Lucas, it’s been a long time.” His tone was low, stripped of the arrogance he once carried. “I know there’s a lot of bad history between us.” I still said nothing. I just stood there, watching them. My mother stepped forward, her hands clenched tightly. “I’m sorry, son,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “We were wrong. I know that now. We should have never treated you that way.” My father, who once shouted in my face to never call him Dad again, lowered his head. “I was wrong, Lucas,” he admitted, his voice heavy. “These past 4 years, I’ve come to realize a lot.” I let out a slight, humorless smirk. “Is that so?” I asked, my voice devoid of warmth. Brian looked at me, exhaustion written all over his face. “I know we mistreated you,” he said, unable to meet my eyes. “I don’t expect forgiveness, but at the very least, I want you to know I regret it.” I stared at them for a long moment. These were the people who had thrown me out without hesitation, the people who had used me like a walking wallet, the people who had lived off my money yet never indeed saw me as part of the family. And now here they were, apologizing. Maybe they had changed, but that didn’t mean I would forgive them. I looked at them and shook my head. “It’s too late.” My voice was calm yet ice cold. My mother let out a choked sob, tears spilling over. “Lucas!” she called my name again, but I didn’t let her finish this time. “I’m here for Mia,” I cut her off, turning to my sister. “Today is her day. I’m not going to ruin it.” Mia met my gaze, understanding instantly. I stepped forward, handing her the bouquet. “Congratulations, Mia. I’m proud of you.” Her face lit up with a radiant smile as she took the flowers from me. I pulled her into a hug, ignoring the four people behind me, because to me, they were nothing more than the past.

Maybe by now you think I’m too cruel, don’t you? I took money from my own family. I made my parents, the very people who gave birth to me, pay rent. I forced Brian, my brother, to work and send me money every month. From the outside, maybe I look like an ungrateful, heartless son, someone who abandoned his family without a shred of love left for them. But there’s one thing no one knows. I have never spent a single cent of that money on myself. The $500 my parents paid me every month, I didn’t use it. I didn’t invest it. I didn’t even touch it. I used every penny to buy two health insurance policies for them. One day, if they ever need hospital care, they won’t have to worry about medical bills. Maybe they’ll never know this. Maybe they’ll never appreciate it. But I still did it, because no matter what they did to me, I never wanted to see them suffer and die just because they couldn’t afford treatment. And the $1,000 Brian sent me every month, I didn’t spend that either. Every month, when it entered my account, I transferred it into a trust fund under Helen’s name, Brian’s daughter. That money isn’t for Brian. It isn’t for Sophia. It’s for Helen, a child who had no part in any of this. By turning 18, she will have enough to start her life without relying on anyone. I did all of this in silence. No one knows. Not even Mia, the one closest to me, knows. Because I don’t need them to know. I don’t do this to be thanked. I do this to make sure that I am nothing like them.