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After my divorce, I moved back into my parents‘ house.
Between my job and the messy legal battle with my ex, I figured staying with family would give me some stability.
Amanda wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement. She’d turned my old bedroom into a storage space and wasn’t happy about having to clear it out.
As I started unpacking my things, she stood in the doorway, arms crossed. “Do you really
need to move everything back in? These boxes were just fine where they were. You hardly take up any space when you’re sleeping, so why not just leave them here?”
Her logic was absurd. My room was already the smallest in the house, and with all her
junk in there, I could barely move. Still, I bit my tongue and quietly cleared out the space.
To smooth things over, I offered to pay $300 a month as a contribution to the household
expenses.
Amanda put on a fake smile. “Oh, there’s no need for that. You’re family.”
When I insisted, she finally relented. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll take it. But don’t worry–I’ll make sure you’re comfortable here. I’ll even cook your favorite meals!”
That promise didn’t last long.
Barely two months in, she started complaining at the dinner table. “Groceries are so expensive these days. And doing all this housework? My back is killing me.”
One evening, while we were all watching TV, she stormed into the living room and started
ranting about money.
“Ryan needs to enroll in an extracurricular program, but we can’t afford it. And whose fault is that? Your brother barely makes enough to feed this family!” she yelled, glaring at
him.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I bought myself new clothes? I can’t believe I
married someone so useless!”
Before she could keep going, my brother slapped her across the face.
The room went silent. Amanda froze for a second before bursting into tears, wailing so loudly it made the walls shake.
“Enough!” my dad shouted, slamming his coffee cup onto the table.
Amanda immediately stopped crying, staring at him in shock.
“If you don’t like it here, you can leave,” he said coldly.
Amanda opened her mouth to argue, but I quickly stepped in to diffuse the situation.
“It’s okay, Amanda. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress. I’ll add another $100 to my monthly contribution. It’s not much, but I hope it helps.”
That seemed to calm her down. She wiped her tears and nodded reluctantly.
My dad, however, glared at me. “Ever since you came back, this family’s been in chaos. You couldn’t hold onto your marriage, and now you’re bringing your bad luck here. You’re nothing but a burden.”
He’d never liked me. To him, I was just a daughter who’d failed to “marry well” and brought shame to the family by getting divorced.
At the time, I thought he was right. I felt guilty for moving back in and tried to make up for it by keeping my head down and buying expensive gifts for everyone.
But no matter how much I gave, they never treated me with kindness.
My mom was the only one who showed me any warmth. The rest of them only spoke to me when they wanted something–like the time I paid for Ryan’s summer camp.
Ironically, I’d moved back home to save money, but living there ended up costing me more than renting an apartment.
Looking back, it’s clear that Amanda’s constant complaints about my brother’s income
Pr Jan Tu
Looking back, it’s clear that Amanda’s constant complaints about my brother’s income were just a smokescreen. In the end, I was the only one footing the bill for their luxuries.
