My sister kicked me out while I was pregnant, and my parents took her side, so I stopped paying their mortgage

My sister kicked me out while I was pregnant, and my parents took her side, so I stopped paying their mortgage

Part 2(end)

I demanded, my voice low but seething with rage, “Why is my stuff outside?” Ava chuckled sarcastically, not even looking up from her phone. “We needed more space. It’s not like you’re irreplaceable.” My mom emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel. Her voice was colder than I ever thought possible. “You always knew you couldn’t stay here forever. Ava is pregnant and needs peace and space. You’re an adult, sweetheart. You’ll figure it out.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. I’d been paying rent, helping around the house, and now they were tossing me out without a warning. “You’re kicking me out?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Me and my daughter, after everything I’ve done for you?” “Ava needs support,” my father muttered, not even glancing in my direction. “And that’s what we’re doing.” Ava, of course, was loving every second. The smug look on her face made me sick. She’d gotten exactly what she wanted: me out of the picture, as if I were nothing but a burden. 

I knew there was no point in arguing. They wouldn’t listen to reason, and any plea for fairness would fall on deaf ears. I took my daughter’s hand, grabbed our things, and walked out of the house I once thought was a home. But I wasn’t going to let this go. 

In the following days, I contacted the bank to inform them that I would no longer be paying the mortgage on my parents’ house. The loan was in my name, and without my money, they’d be in trouble. At the same time, I hired a lawyer to make sure they couldn’t legally evict me without proper notice, adding more complications for them. Meanwhile, I found a small apartment to rent. It wasn’t much, but it was ours, and my daughter could finally sleep peacefully without the fear of being kicked out again. 

A few weeks later, the inevitable happened. My parents received notice that their house was going into foreclosure. My mom called me, hysterical, begging me to reconsider. She said I was being cruel, that Ava couldn’t handle so much stress during her pregnancy. “Stress?” I laughed bitterly. “And what about what you did to me and my daughter? That didn’t matter?” There was silence on the other end of the line, as if she finally realized the weight of what they’d done to us. But it was too late. I was done. 

Ava tried reaching out too, but I ignored every text, every call. They were reaping what they had sown. In the end, the house was sold, and my parents had to move into a small apartment in a less than ideal part of town. My dad’s pension barely covered the bills, and my mom had to take a job as a cashier at a pharmacy to make ends meet. Her arrogance quickly faded when she realized she would have to fight to survive. As for Ava, things were even worse. Without the luxury and support she expected, she faced a harsh reality. Her husband didn’t take kindly to the stress of being their sole provider, and they fought constantly. Ava thought that moving back to the US would be a blessing, but soon discovered that things wouldn’t be as easy as she imagined. With my parents struggling, Ava had to care for her baby on her own, and unsurprisingly, after just a few months, her husband walked out. She was abandoned, just as I had been, but the difference was she never knew how to be strong on her own. Instead of rising to the challenge, Ava wallowed in self-pity, flooding social media with posts about how unfair life was and how everyone had let her down. She pushed away her friends, blocking the ones who tried to help. Unlike me, Ava didn’t have the strength to start over. For a while, she begged for help from our parents, but they were drowning in debt and couldn’t afford to support her any longer. And that’s when they came to me. 

My mother called, her voice trembling with desperation, telling me how much Ava needed me, how I was the only one who could help her. “Please, sweetheart,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “You don’t know what it’s like to see your child suffer. She needs support now more than ever.” I took a deep breath, feeling a mix of anger and satisfaction. Where was this compassion when I needed it? Where was this concern when they threw me and my daughter out? “No,” I said calmly and firmly. “You made your choices. Now live with them.” My mother sobbed about family and forgiveness, but I hung up before she could finish. I didn’t have room in my life for people who only cared when they were desperate. 

The calls stopped after that. I later heard through distant relatives that Ava ended up moving into a shelter with her baby, and my parents were selling their furniture to pay off debts. They had burned every bridge they could have crossed for help. Meanwhile, I thrived. My job was going better than ever. I was saving money, and I had built a new life for me and my daughter. It was just the two of us, and it was more than enough. I went back to school, took classes, and threw myself into hobbies I never had time for before. With every new achievement, I felt myself becoming the person I was meant to be. 

On weekends, my daughter and I explored parks, museums, and took small trips to new places. We didn’t need much, just each other and the certainty that the worst was behind us. Seeing her eyes light up with happiness made me realize that all the pain had been worth it because, in the end, we emerged stronger. 

Sometimes, I would reflect on the past, but not with sadness or anger. Instead, I felt grateful. Grateful that they had thrown me out because it forced me to discover my own strength. Grateful for the betrayals because they taught me never to settle for less than I deserve. And most of all, grateful that I found the courage to leave behind those who never valued me. Ava, my parents, and everyone else who wronged me were now struggling to survive, while I flourished. And I didn’t offer them a single crumb of help. Not even a polite “I’m sorry.” 

Life has a funny way of paying people back, and I learned that the best revenge is living well and in peace. And so, I moved forward, each day lighter and happier, while those who had tried to break me dealt with the consequences of their actions. 

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