What Finally Made You Go No-Contact With Your Sibling?

My dad tore up my $50,000 scholarship in front of me and told me to be like my brother. I packed up and left that night. Yesterday, he called from his car crying because my brother stole everything from everything.

My parents groomed me and my older brother David from the second we were born, but not in the way you’re thinking. You see, they programmed David to think he was an untouchable superhuman.

Meanwhile, I was nothing but a future baby carrier. When I won a $50,000 academic scholarship at 16, my dad tore it up right in front of me.

“I can’t believe you even considered telling me about this. You should be pregnant by now,” he said, lifting his fist as if he was about to hit me.

He managed to stop himself, but it was still enough for me to feel uneasy. And that same week, they bought David a $50,000 BMW for his birthday.

“Image matters for men,” Dad explained.

When I started crying, he lifted his hand to slap me again. This time he didn’t stop himself.

“Stop being selfish. Your brother has a future.”

But compared to my mom’s disturbing tradition, none of this was even that bad. It all started the day I turned 8 years old. Instead of waking up to gifts or a hug, she handed me a pregnancy stimulation suit filled with sand.

I was forced to spend the entire day wearing it while watching birthing videos. She’d add weight if I complained, saying, “Real mothers don’t whine.”

From there, I was forced to wear it every weekend. She even made me practice breastfeeding on dolls that cried if held wrong. While I spent every session plotting escape, she’d parade me around relatives who’d touch my fake belly and coo about my future babies.

When I turned 14 and told her I wanted to be a doctor, not a mother, she made me wear the suit to school under my clothes as punishment. “To remind you of your true purpose,” she said.

The janitor found me crying in the bathroom trying to cut it off with scissors. He even offered to call CPS, but I declined because I knew my mom would only punish me more.

Plus, I was lucky because my parents had been abusive for my entire childhood, which meant I’d been hiding money since I was 12. Babysitting cash, secret acrylic business, tutoring, the works.

By the time I turned 18, I had just over $8,000 stacked up in a shoe box under my bed. When I told them I was leaving for college, my mom locked me in my room for two days to think about what family means.

When the 48 hours passed, my dad was the one to unlock the door. “If you walk out that door for college, you’re not welcome back.”

I left with my shoe box and a trash bag filled with my belongings. Meanwhile, David became everything they had dreamed of. He was a senior partner at a prestigious law firm, engaged to a Latina beauty, and golf buddies with senators.

They had so much faith in him that they retired early just to bask in his glory. And as for me, well, I was erased from family photos like Stalin’s enemies. But I’d gaff lol because just last year, I was promoted to director of engineering; six figures, company equity, team of 20.

I almost called them to share the news. Then I remembered they didn’t have my number and I never saw my parents again until 8 months later, that is.

I was fast asleep at 2:00 a.m. when I heard my old phone ringing in the drawer. It was my mom. She was crying so hard I could barely understand her.

“Sophia, we need your help. David, he’s gone.”

“What do you mean gone?”

“He took everything. He was sick with stage three lymphoma. So we sold the house, cashed out retirement, everything for his treatment, but there was no cancer. He lied.”

I sat up in bed and stayed silent as she continued.

“Yesterday the bank called. Our accounts are empty. The house is gone. The cancer center doesn’t exist. He’s been in Dubai for 6 months.”

Dad took the phone.

“We’re in our car. We’re 70 years old and sleeping in our car. The country club members want their donations back. They think we were in on it. Please Sophia, you’re all we have left.”

The next day, I met my parents at a Denny’s. They looked like different people. Dad’s golf tan faded to gray. Mom clutching a garbage bag of clothes.

When I handed them my business card, director of engineering, dad’s hands shook. “You made it,” he whispered. “Without us despite us.”

I paid for a small apartment, one-year lease, and set them up with part-time work through my network. Basic survival, nothing more. Mom cried when she signed the lease.

“We gave the wrong child everything.”

“No,” I said, “You gave the right child nothing and look what I built from it.”

When I got home the next day, there were four men in my living room. Turns out our parents’ money wasn’t enough for David because he was in debt too. More specifically, $10,000 of debt that was 2 months overdue.

It was made very clear that my options were my well-being or handing over the money. So, under their supervision, I calmly took out $6,000 in cash and handed it over.

I told them I could give them the rest tomorrow. But when they finally left, I felt a deep anger brewing in my stomach because I spent my entire childhood wishing someone would hit David into shape, but I never knew that that someone was going to be me.

I grabbed my phone and texted David immediately. My fingers trembled as I typed the message that would start everything. The response came within seconds: three laughing emojis followed by a selfie of him lounging by an infinity pool.

The Dubai skyline glittered behind him. My stomach churned when I noticed the Rolex on his wrist, dad’s retirement watch. I initiated a video call before I could stop myself.

David answered on the second ring, his face filling my screen with that same smug expression from childhood. He was shirtless, tanned, and relaxed. I stood in my ransacked apartment still processing what had just happened.

He spoke first, his voice dripping with concern. Then he laughed, a sound that transported me back to every childhood humiliation. The casual cruelty in his next words about mom’s jewelry made my blood run cold.

I realized then that this wasn’t opportunistic. This was planned. My doorbell camera app buzzed. I pulled up the footage while David rambled about family obligations.

Four men in dark clothing, faces partially visible. Professional, organized, the kind of people you don’t call the police about. A knock at my door made me jump.

Through the peephole, I saw Miguel, my building security guard. His concerned face told me he’d seen everything on the cameras. I ended the call with David and let Miguel in.

Miguel shifted nervously, explaining he had the full footage but warning me about the type of people who’d visited. When he offered his cousin Rico’s number, mentioning he used to run with similar crews, I understood the gravity of my situation.

These weren’t just any debt collectors. I stared at Rico’s number on the scrap of paper. The collectors had mentioned interest doubling after 48 hours; $4,000 by tomorrow or things would escalate.