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It's funny how a single casual question
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can shatter your world. "What are you
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doing here?" my sister Perry asked, a
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hint of genuine surprise in her voice as
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she stood in the doorway of the house I
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was paying for. She was in pajamas, her
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car was in the driveway, and my parents
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were nowhere to be found. The ground
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beneath me felt like it was shifting. "I
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could ask you the same," I said, a
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playful tone masking a growing unease.
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Oh, they moved, she replied as if it
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were the most normal thing in the world.
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They gave it to me. I live here now. The
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words hit me like a physical blow. The
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house I'd spent 3 years paying the
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mortgage on, the house I'd bought for my
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parents was now my sisters, and no one
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had bothered to tell me. My parents
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unhealthy obsession with my sister and
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their lack of affection for me was a
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bitter truth I'd lived with my entire
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life. As the older sibling, I was the
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one with the expectations, the
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responsibility to succeed, to build a
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solid career, to make them proud.
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Perry, on the other hand, was the golden
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child, a free spirit whose every whim
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She dropped out of high school while I
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was buried in studies, my future
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meticulously planned and funded by my
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parents' savings. They never let me
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We've sacrificed so much for you, they
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would say. A guilt trip disguised as a
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loving reminder. But the most crushing
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blow came at a family dinner not long
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after I started my first job in the tech
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sector. My father, with a chilling
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directness, told me it was my turn to
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repay them. We did our part, he said,
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looking me straight in the eyes. Now you
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should plan to buy a house for us. I was
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barely 21, still living with roommates,
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and they were already demanding a house.
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My mother, with her deceptively sweet
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voice, sealed the deal. Think of it as
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For five long years, that obligation
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weighed on me. I worked hard, saved
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every penny, and finally gave in. I
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bought them a modest, comfortable house,
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and for a while, the guilt trip stopped.
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They had a house to show off, and I had
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the peace of mind that I had done my
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duty. I paid the mortgage, even sending
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extra money each month to pay it off
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sooner. I wanted to be free. I had my
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own life to build, a family to start,
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and a house to buy for myself. Then came
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the day I walked into that house
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unannounced, ready to surprise my
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parents, only to find my sister living
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there. The confrontation was explosive.
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I found them in their new rented
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apartment. And I didn't hold back. You
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gave away the house I bought for you
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without even telling me, I demanded.
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My mother, with a baffling smile, tried
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to justify it. We didn't think you'd
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mind. Perry is planning to have a baby.
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Do you want your nieces or nephews to be
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born in a rented house? My father chimed
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in, equally delusional. She didn't have
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the same opportunities as you. She
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deserves this house. I was furious. She
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didn't go to college because she dropped
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out of high school. It's not my problem
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to fund her life. They refused to see
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the gravity of their actions, repeating
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the same line. You're successful, you
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can buy another house. They treated me
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like a walking bank account, a commodity
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whose purpose was to fund their golden
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I stormed out of the apartment and
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checked into a hotel. I was done. But
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the story wasn't over. I had one more
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thing to do before I left town. The next
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day, I went to the bank with my father
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to check the mortgage balance. What I
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discovered left me speechless. The extra
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money I had been sending him to pay off
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the mortgage early was never reaching
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the bank. He was only paying the actual
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mortgage and using the rest for their
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rent. "I thought you were sending it for
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our expenses," he said unapologetically.
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I felt a dizzying wave of betrayal. "It
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was to pay off the mortgage early, not
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to fund your new apartment," I yelled,
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my voice shaking with rage. My father, a
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man who never accepted confrontation,
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retorted, "Don't you dare raise your
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voice at me. You didn't do us any favors
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by buying us the house. I don't have to
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explain to you what I do with that
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house. I spent all my savings on your
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college." I walked out of that bank,
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ignoring his shouts and blocked every
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single one of their numbers. I had made
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a decision. I was done with their
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toxicity, their manipulation, and their
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endless sense of entitlement. A month
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later, when the mortgage payment was
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due, I didn't send the money. I blocked
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every number, ignored every desperate
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My father eventually showed up at my
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doorstep, furious. "You can't just walk
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away like this. You owe us. I've already
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paid you back," I replied, my voice
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steady. "Do you realize how much I've
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spent on that mortgage? It's more than
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what you paid for my tuition. I don't
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owe you anything." I called him
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ungrateful, but I had my own answer
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ready. You treated me like a commodity,
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and now you want to milk this cow for
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life. I'm not a commodity. I'm done. The
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house was eventually sold at auction.
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Perry, who couldn't afford the mortgage,
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was forced to move out. My parents, in
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their struggle to save the house, had
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used their savings and retirement money,
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but it wasn't enough. They were forced
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to move into a smaller, cheaper
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apartment. They'd realized their
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mistake, but by then it was too late.
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They'd cut off all financial support to
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Perry, telling her she had to fend for
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herself. They had to come back to
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reality and it was a reality I had
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forced upon them. I meanwhile was on my
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own journey. I moved into a new
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apartment and started saving for a house
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that would be mine and only mine. It
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wasn't easy to walk away from the people
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who were supposed to love me the most.
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But I deserved better than to be treated
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like a walking bank account.
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Then came the day my father showed up at
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my doorstep again. He had a new demand.
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He wanted me to buy them another house.
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We deserve a house, he said. We made so
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many sacrifices for you.
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He went back to the same tired argument,
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the same guilt trip, as if I had never
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paid him back and as if he hadn't given
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the house to Perry. I told him their
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chance to have a house was wasted when
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they gave it to my sister and he should
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go ask her to buy them one. I had a work
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trip, so I couldn't speak to him again.
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When I returned, he was gone. Now, I'm
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here to tell you that I finally bought
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my own house. I haven't told anyone but
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my closest friends, the ones who have no
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connection to my family. I've learned
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from my past mistakes, and I'm keeping
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this information a secret. I don't want
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to risk them showing up at my door
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trying to claim this house for my
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sister. I'm being careful. I'm building
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my own life on my own terms. The down
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payment is paid, and the deed is in my
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name. The house is a blank canvas, and
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I'm ready to decorate it. My life is a
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blank canvas and I'm finally ready to