I Paid My Parents’ Bills While They Claimed To Be Broke. Then I Saw Them Boarding First Class Without Me. Am I The Jerk For Letting Them Lose Their House?
The Parent Trap
After Sarah’s dramatic exit, I braced myself for the next round. My parents weren’t the type to let things go easily, and I knew they’d try something soon. Sure enough, the next day my phone lit up with a message from my dad.
Dad: Daniel, come over for dinner Sunday. We need to talk.
I almost laughed. “We need to talk” was family code for “We need you to do something for us and you’re going to say yes.” I had fallen for it so many times before.
Me: Not this time. I’m busy.
A minute later, my phone rang. I sighed, answering only out of curiosity.
“What?”
“Daniel,”
my dad started, his voice firm but trying to sound reasonable.
“Enough is enough. You’re acting childish.”
“Am I?”
I said, leaning back on my couch.
“Because from where I’m sitting, I’m the only one acting like an adult.”
A pause, then he sighed.
“Son, you’re making this harder than it needs to be. We’re family. Families don’t abandon each other.”
“Abandoned,”
I repeated.
“You mean like how you abandoned me at the airport?”
Another pause.
“That’s not fair,”
he said finally.
“We didn’t mean anything by that.”
“Maybe not,”
I said.
“But you didn’t not mean it, either.”
Silence. Then the shift.
“Look, your mother is very upset. She’s been crying over this. She just wants things to go back to normal.”
There it was. The guilt trip.
“So do I,”
I said.
“But normal means me being treated like a walking wallet, and I’m done with that.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“Then why are you calling me now, Dad?”
I cut him off.
“Why didn’t you call just to check in last week? Or the week before? Why is it only when you need money?”
Silence. A longer one this time. Then, with a sigh, my dad finally said,
“I don’t know what you want from us, Daniel.”
“Nothing,”
I said.
“That’s the whole point.”
And then I hung up.
Desperation Sets In
The next phase was desperation. For the next few days, I waited for something else—another call, another text, maybe even another unwanted visitor. But nothing came. It was too quiet.
Then, one evening as I was getting ready for bed, my phone buzzed with a message from Sarah.
Sarah: I hope you’re happy. Mom and Dad are in trouble because of you.
I rolled my eyes.
Me: They’ll manage.
Sarah: No, actually they won’t. They’re two months behind on their mortgage and the bank is already sending notices. But I guess that doesn’t matter to you, does it?
Me: It didn’t matter when you were buying first class tickets.
Sarah: Oh my God, let it go. That was one time.
Me: And it was the one time I saw the truth.
She didn’t respond after that. The next morning, my mom called again. This time I answered.
“Danny,”
she sniffled.
“We’re in trouble.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“The bank… they’re threatening foreclosure.”
I stayed quiet, waiting.
“I know things have been tense,”
she continued, her voice shaking.
“But we… your parents… please, just help us this one last time.”
“One last time.” The exact phrase they had used the first time they ever asked me for money.
“No,”
I said simply.
“Danny, no,”
I repeated.
“You made your choices. Now you get to live with them.”
Silence. Then the shift from sadness to anger.
“You’re being selfish,”
she snapped.
“After everything we’ve done for you, this is how you repay us?”
“Done for me?”
I repeated, laughing bitterly.
“Mom, name one thing. One single thing you’ve done for me in the last five years that didn’t involve asking for money.”
Nothing. Not a word. And that was my final answer.
“Good luck, Mom,”
I said, and hung up.
