My Mother Demanded Both My Kidneys For My Alcoholic Brother. She Said I Don’t Need Them Because I’m Childless. Now The Whole Family Is Harassing Me.

The Family Secret

Then Lorenza admitted something that made my chest tight. She said the family excluded me because Mom made it too uncomfortable to maintain contact with me. If anyone asked about me or suggested inviting me to something, Mom would get upset and make the whole event miserable.

Eventually, people stopped asking because it was easier to go along with Mom than deal with her drama. Lorenza’s voice got quiet when she said she was ashamed she went along with it for the sake of peace.

We talked for almost an hour sitting in our separate locations. Lorenza told me about family gatherings I’d missed. How Mom controlled the guest lists and the conversations. She said several family members were uncomfortable with Mom’s current behavior—the harassment and the kidney demands—but they were all afraid to speak up.

Mom had this way of punishing anyone who disagreed with her, freezing them out or causing problems until they backed down. Lorenza promised to run interference if she could, maybe talk to some of the other relatives who were questioning things. Before we hung up, she told me I was right to protect myself and that what Mom was asking was wrong.

Hearing those words from actual family, not just Evan or my co-workers, felt like something inside me unlocked. First family validation I’d had in 10 years.

Police Intervention

That evening I was making dinner with Evan when my phone rang from the building’s front desk. The doorman said my mother was in the lobby asking to come up. My stomach dropped and I told him I didn’t want visitors. Asked him to have her leave.

I could hear Mom’s voice in the background getting louder. Something about her rights as a mother and needing to see her daughter. The doorman stayed professional, told her the resident didn’t want visitors and she needed to leave the building.

Mom started shouting loud enough that I could hear her clearly through the phone. She was yelling about how I was killing Tyler. How the building staff was helping me commit murder by keeping her away.

Evan took the phone from my shaking hand and suggested we call the police non-emergency line to document what was happening. I’d never called the police on my own mother before and it felt huge and scary, but Evan pulled up the number and dialed.

We explained the situation to the dispatcher, gave them the address, said we needed to document ongoing harassment. An officer showed up about an hour later when Mom was already gone. He was maybe 40, tired-looking, and he sat in our living room taking notes while I explained the pattern.

The workplace stalking, the calls to my landlord and boyfriend, tonight’s incident at the building. He wrote everything down in this small notebook, nodding occasionally. When I finished, he spoke.

“This kind of behavior often escalates,” he said, and suggested I consider getting a restraining order if it continued.

He made it sound so normal, so straightforward. Like this was just a thing that happened and there were procedures for it. After the officer left, Evan and I spent the evening on his laptop researching restraining orders. We found the court forms, read through the requirements, started making a list of every incident we could remember from the past 3 weeks.

Evan opened a spreadsheet and we filled in dates, times, locations, what Mom said or did each time. The hospital incidents, the texts, the calls to my work and landlord, tonight’s scene in my building lobby.

Seeing it all laid out like that, row after row of harassment, made something click in my head. This wasn’t complicated family drama like I’d been telling myself. This was a clear pattern of someone refusing to accept “no” and using intimidation to try to force compliance. The officer’s matter-of-fact treatment of the situation helped me see it that way.

Confrontation in the Garage

Two days later I finished my shift and headed to the parking garage. Mom was standing next to my car. She looked terrible—hair messy, clothes wrinkled, dark circles under her eyes like she hadn’t slept in days.

I froze about 20 ft away, keys in my hand, trying to decide if I should turn around and get security. But Mom saw me and started talking fast, this desperate stream of words about Tyler being her baby and how she couldn’t lose him.

She said she knew I was angry about the past, but Tyler didn’t deserve to suffer for family problems. Her voice kept breaking and she was crying real tears this time, not the fake ones from before. I stayed where I was, not moving closer, and told her calmly that Tyler wasn’t dying.

“He was on dialysis three times a week and he could live for decades like that. I saw patients do it all the time in my unit.”

Mom’s face twisted and she started screaming that I was heartless for comparing her son to strangers. She yelled that dialysis was torture, that I was sentencing Tyler to a miserable existence when I could save him with one simple choice. Her voice echoed off the concrete walls of the garage.

I pointed out that I’d already offered one kidney. That one kidney would help Tyler, but she rejected that option. I said it clearly that she wanted me on dialysis instead of Tyler.

Mom actually nodded and said, “Yes.”

“That’s exactly what a real sister would do. Sacrifice herself completely for her brother who never did anything to deserve this situation.”

She said Tyler was the victim here. That his drinking wasn’t his fault because I didn’t understand addiction. And that I was being selfish by putting my own health above his life.