Golden Child No More: How I Cut Ties After My Family Chose My Sister Over My Graduation
Hey everyone, have you ever felt like you were just an extra in your own life, like everyone else was the star while you were just… there? I’m Alex, 22, and that’s pretty much been my experience with my family. Writing this out feels a bit strange, but it also feels good to finally share my story with someone who might actually listen.
My younger sister, Chloe, 20, has always been the Golden Child. And I don’t mean she occasionally got special treatment; I mean she was always the priority, every single time. It’s as if my parents decided when we were little that she was the one worth investing in, and I was just… there.
I remember when I was 10, I won this district-wide math competition. I was so excited to tell my parents because math was “my thing,” and I finally had something to be proud of. I ran home with my medal, only to find them fussing over Chloe’s dance recital outfit. I stood there for maybe five minutes before they even noticed me. When I showed them the medal, my dad just said, “That’s nice,” and went right back to helping Chloe. That night, I remember sitting in my room staring at the medal and wondering why I even bothered.
That’s just one example. There are so many more. When I was 14, I deliberately didn’t tell them I had a school presentation, just to see if they’d ask. They didn’t. Meanwhile, Chloe came home the same week talking about some simple history poster project, and my mom literally stayed up until 2 a.m. helping her glue pictures to it.
I used to vent to my girlfriend, Sarah, about this stuff, but she never really got it. “Come on, it’s not that bad,” she’d say. “Your parents just love Chloe a lot. She’s the youngest, of course they dote on her.” It was like I was overreacting, like I wasn’t watching my own family pretend I didn’t exist.
I remember when I turned 16, my dad promised to teach me to drive. He talked about it for months, how it was this father-son tradition and stuff. But then Chloe needed help with some science project, and suddenly, Dad had no time for driving lessons. My Uncle John ended up teaching me instead. My dad didn’t even seem to care.
Take my high school graduation. One of those “proud parent” moments, right? Mine showed up 20 minutes late. I already had my diploma in hand, standing on the stage for a group photo. I saw them sneaking in the back like it was a casual lunch date. They were late. No photos, no cheers, just my dad whispering that Chloe’s volleyball game ran long. Cool. Guess volleyball trumps a once-in-a-lifetime event. My college acceptance letter came the same day Chloe got asked to prom by some football dude. Guess which one got celebrated with a special dinner?
I tried talking to them about it once when I was 19. Big mistake. My mom got all defensive and said I was being selfish, and that “family supports each other.” Dad just sat there nodding along like a damn bobblehead. The message was crystal clear: Chloe’s needs are more important than Alex’s, always.
It messes with your head, you know? Growing up knowing you’re an afterthought in your own family, you start to expect disappointment. You train yourself not to get your hopes up. And honestly, when someone does show up for you, it feels so weird that you don’t even know how to react.
Uncle John was pretty much the only one who ever saw what was happening. He’s my dad’s older brother, and he’d pull me aside at family gatherings sometimes and say stuff like, “I see what’s happening here, kid, and it’s not right.” He was the only one who ever validated what I was feeling. Everyone else acted like I was crazy or too sensitive.
So, anyway, fast forward to college. I busted my ass for four years in computer science, worked part-time, maintained a 3.9 GPA, and even made some connections through networking events. I was pretty proud of myself, especially since I’d done it mostly on my own. For some stupid reason, I thought my college graduation would be different. That maybe this big milestone would be the one where they’d actually put me first for once. Like this was it, their chance to show me they cared.
About two weeks before my graduation, I reminded my parents about the ceremony. I was like, “Hey, so graduation’s on the 15th at 10:00 a.m., if you guys still plan on coming.” My mom barely looked up from her phone and said, “We wouldn’t miss it, honey.”
The day before graduation, I sent a message to our family group chat: “Ceremony starts at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow. Parking gets crazy, so maybe try to arrive by 9:30.” No response, but that wasn’t unusual with them, so I didn’t think much of it.
Graduation morning comes around, and I’m getting dressed in my cap and gown. I was nervous but also kind of excited. Sarah was supposed to meet me at my apartment at 8:30 so we could head over together. I checked my phone, half-expecting some weak excuse. Sarah wasn’t technically like my parents, but there had been moments, times when I’d felt like she was a little too quick to take their side, a little too eager to please my mom. She’d always been the type to smooth things over, to say, “It’s not a big deal, babe,” whenever I got frustrated with them. I pushed the thought down. No way she’d let me down today.
By 9:00, she still hadn’t shown up. I called her, and there was all this background noise – people talking and laughing. “Hey, where are you? We need to go!”
She hesitates. “Oh, um, something came up. I’m at Chloe’s new place.”
At Chloe’s new place? On my graduation morning? I sit down on my bed, rubbing my temple, already knowing where this is going. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Your mom asked me to help her move. I thought you knew.”
I froze. Something about the way she said it… it wasn’t surprise or guilt; it was just annoyance, like I was being unreasonable for even questioning it. Like she wasn’t surprised to be caught, just irritated that I had a problem with it. And that’s when it clicked. She had known. Maybe not consciously, maybe not in a way she would admit, but she had always been fine with this dynamic, always fine with Chloe coming first, always fine with my parents acting like I was an afterthought. And for the first time, I realized even my girlfriend wasn’t really on my side at all. And the way she thought I knew, yeah sure, just like she thought ditching my college graduation for a moving party was a completely normal thing to do. I couldn’t even get mad yet. I was still processing how my own girlfriend had been roped into prioritizing my sister over me, again.
“So, none of you are coming to my graduation?” I asked. I was weirdly calm.
“Your parents said they might try to make it for the end,” she said, like that somehow made it better. Try. Like my graduation was a dentist appointment they were squeezing in.
“Nah,” I said, “tell them not to bother. They wouldn’t want to miss Chloe’s housewarming party.”
She started saying something, but I hung up and just sat on my bed, still in my cap and gown, feeling completely empty. Four years of busting my ass, and the people who were supposed to care about me couldn’t even show up. Not even my girlfriend.
I was about to take off my gown and skip the whole thing when my phone rang. It was Uncle John, my dad’s older brother. “Hey kiddo, I’m outside your building, ready to go celebrate that diploma!”
Uncle John had always been the one family member who actually gave a damn about me. He’d made a ton of money from some tech startup he sold years ago, and unlike my parents, he actually seemed to care about what I was doing with my life.
“Yeah,” I said, grabbing my keys. “I’m ready.”
So, I ended up going to my graduation after all, but only because of Uncle John. When we were driving over, he took one look at my face and knew something was up. “Let me guess,” he said. “They’re not coming?”
I shook my head. “They’re helping Chloe move into her new apartment, having a party. Sarah’s there too.”
He cursed. “Those selfish…” Then he caught himself. “Sorry, Alex. You deserve better than that.”
Walking onto that stage, I scanned the crowd like an idiot, still holding onto some dumb hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d shown up last minute. Nothing. Just rows and rows of people hugging their kids, dads clapping their sons on the back, moms crying happy tears. Meanwhile, I’m standing there with my diploma in hand, the only person cheering for me being my uncle who technically isn’t even obligated to give a crap. That’s when it really sunk in. They didn’t just forget me. They made a choice. And the choice was Chloe.
After the ceremony, Uncle John took me to this fancy steakhouse he’d reserved, like the kind of place where they don’t even put prices on the menu. When I walked in wearing my graduation gown, the staff actually applauded, which was embarrassing but kind of nice too. Uncle John went all out and got the fanciest thing on the menu. The waiter didn’t even ask for my ID; guess the cap and gown were proof enough that I was officially an adult.
“I’m proud of you, kid,” Uncle John said, lifting his glass. “Computer science isn’t easy, and you crushed it. You’re going places, whether they see it or not.”
It’s wild how much those words meant. Out of everything that happened that day, hearing my uncle say he was proud hit the hardest. For once, someone actually saw what I’d accomplished.
My uncle has always been straight with me. When I was younger, he’d pull me aside at family gatherings and say stuff like, “I see what’s happening here, and it’s not right.” He never sugarcoated things or made excuses for my parents like everyone else did.
Halfway through lunch, my phone starts buzzing like crazy. At first, I think maybe it’s an apology, that they realized how badly they screwed up. But all I found is Sarah saying, “Where are you? Are you coming to Chloe’s party after?” Mom saying, “Sorry we couldn’t make it, sweetie, but Chloe’s apartment is so nice, you’ll love it!” Dad saying, “Let’s do dinner next weekend to celebrate you,” dinner for the next weekend because you know, wouldn’t want to interrupt Chloe’s big day with something as minor as my college graduation.
I put my phone face down on the table. Uncle John sees my expression. “Let me guess,” he says, cutting into his steak, “they’re at a party?”
I nodded.
He chews for a second, then shakes his head. “F*** ’em. Eat your steak.”
After we finished eating, Uncle John handed me an envelope. Inside was a check for $50,000 and a business card for some guy named Mark at a tech company in Seattle. “Consider it a graduation gift,” he said. “Mark’s looking for fresh talent; he’ll give you an interview if you want it.”
I stared at the check. That was more money than I’d ever seen in my life. “Uncle, I can’t…”
“You can, and you will,” he said firmly. “Look, I never had kids of my own. Let me do this for you. Take the money, take the opportunity, and get the hell away from people who don’t appreciate you.”
I hugged him, trying not to get emotional in the middle of a fancy restaurant. “Thank you.”
On the way back to my apartment, I made my decision. I was never going to my family’s house again. I took a photo of me and Uncle John at the restaurant and posted it on Instagram with the caption: “Huge thanks to the only person who showed up for my graduation. At least now I know who actually cares about me.” Then I turned off my phone. I didn’t want to deal with any of their responses or excuses.
When we got back to my place, Uncle John and I talked more about the job in Seattle. It sounded perfect: junior developer position at a growing company, good salary, chance to move across the country.
“What about my lease? My stuff?” I asked.
Uncle John waved his hand. “Details. We’ll figure it out. Question is, do you want a fresh start or not?”
I thought about how Sarah had betrayed me, how my parents had chosen Chloe over me yet again on what should have been one of the biggest days of my life, how nothing would ever change if I stayed.
“Yeah,” I said. “I want a fresh start.”
We called Mark right then and there. Uncle John put him on speaker and introduced me. We talked for about 20 minutes about my projects, my experience, what I was looking for in a job. At the end of the call, Mark said, “How soon can you get out here for an in-person interview?”
I looked at my uncle, who gave me a thumbs up. “How about next week?” I said.
“Perfect. John, send me his resume, and I’ll have HR set everything up.”
After we hung up, I felt this weird mix of excitement and nervousness. I was really doing this, starting over completely.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Uncle John said, like he could read my mind. “Sometimes you have to look out for yourself because no one else will.”
The interview with Mark went way better than I expected. I flew out to Seattle – Uncle John paid for the ticket, wouldn’t let me argue about it – and the company put me up in this nice hotel downtown. The office was super cool, one of those modern tech spaces with free snacks, standing desks, and all that stuff. Mark and I clicked right away. We ended up talking for almost two hours, way longer than scheduled. At the end, he was like, “So, when can you start?” Just like that. Junior developer position, six-figure salary (which blew my mind), plus relocation assistance. I accepted on the spot.
The crazy part? I didn’t tell anyone about it. Not my parents, not Chloe, and definitely not Sarah. I just quietly started packing up my apartment, donated most of my furniture to Goodwill, and loaded what was left into my car.
I kept my phone off most of that week. The day before I left, I finally turned it back on to tie up loose ends. Holy sh*t! Forty-seven missed calls, 93 text messages, voicemails from my parents demanding to know where I was, why I wasn’t answering, how I could be so childish about missing one graduation ceremony. Sarah’s messages were the worst. She went from “Please talk to me, I know I messed up. Your parents said it would just be an hour, but then everyone started drinking, and I couldn’t leave” to “Seriously, Alex, you’re ghosting me over this?” to “I said I was sorry! I’m coming over tomorrow, we need to talk about this in person! Your neighbor said you’re moving? Where are you going? Call me!”
I didn’t respond to any of it. Instead, I sent a quick email to my landlord explaining I was breaking my lease and that they could keep the security deposit. Then I got in my car at 5 a.m. and started the drive to Seattle.
It took me three days, staying in cheap motels along the way. The whole drive, I kept waiting to feel guilty or sad or something, but honestly, I felt free, like I was finally escaping this life where I was always second best, always an afterthought.
The first month in Seattle was a blur. The company set me up with a temporary apartment while I looked for a place. I found this small but nice apartment downtown, walking distance to work. I threw myself into the job, working long hours, trying to learn everything I could. My boss seemed impressed with how quickly I picked things up.
I still talked to Uncle John regularly, but as far as everyone else knew, I’d vanished. I changed my number, deleted most of my social media, and created new accounts under slightly different variations of my name. I didn’t want to be found.
Sarah kept trying to reach me through every platform possible: emails, LinkedIn messages, even reaching out to my college friends. I blocked her on everything. My parents tried calling daily for the first few weeks. I listened to some of their voicemails out of curiosity. “This behavior is unacceptable, Alex,” my mom said in one. “We’ve always supported you, and this is how you repay us, by disappearing and ignoring us? You’re breaking your father’s heart!” And my favorite: “Your sister misses you! She doesn’t understand why you’re punishing her for something that wasn’t her fault! Please call us back!”
I deleted them all. The funny thing is, I didn’t feel bad about any of it. Not even a little. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t constantly waiting for approval or validation that never came. I was just living, focusing on my career, making new friends at work. I even started going to this rock climbing gym nearby.
Six months went by, no contact. I got promoted, started making actual friends, people who knew nothing about my past or my family drama, just normal relationships not tainted by all that baggage. Life was good. Really good.
But then came the email from my dad: “We need to talk. It’s about your inheritance.”
I actually laughed out loud when I read it. Inheritance? What inheritance? My parents were comfortable, but they weren’t rich by any means. Dad had his accounting firm, and Mom was a part-time real estate agent. They had a nice house in the suburbs and took a vacation once a year. That was it. Even if they had been wealthy, did they seriously think money would make me come crawling back after everything?
I replied with two words: “Not interested.”
That opened the floodgates. My phone started blowing up again, emails pouring in, my mom texting about how I was throwing away my future and how they’d always planned to help me financially, like that was supposed to matter to me now. My dad sent this long-ass email about family responsibility and how I was being childish and ungrateful. It was all so fake. They’d had months to apologize, to acknowledge how they’d hurt me, but instead, they were trying to dangle money in front of me like I was some kind of pet who would perform tricks for treats.
After a week of this, I finally answered one of Dad’s calls. I was sitting at my desk at work on my lunch break when his number popped up for like the 20th time. “What?” I said flatly.
“Alex! Thank God!” He sounded relieved. “We’ve been so worried. Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. What do you want?”
He cleared his throat. “Son, we need to discuss your future. Your mother and I have been thinking about our will, and…”
“Let me stop you right there,” I cut in. “I don’t want your money. I don’t need your money. I’m doing fine on my own.”
“But, Alex…” His voice turned stern, like he was talking to a child. “You’re not thinking clearly. This inheritance could set you up for life. Don’t throw away your future just because you’re angry about one missed event!”
I couldn’t help it; I started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” he demanded.
“You still don’t get it, do you? It was never about one missed event. It’s about a lifetime of being treated like I don’t matter. And now you think you can buy your way back into my life with money I don’t even need!”
“What do you mean you don’t need it?” He sounded confused.
“I mean I have a great job. I make more than enough money. I’m doing well, no thanks to you or Mom.”
There was silence on the other end. Then, “So that’s it? You’re just cutting us out of your life forever?”
“You cut yourselves out,” I said quietly. “I’m just making it official.”
I hung up. Then I blocked their numbers. All of them, even Sarah’s, though she’d mostly given up by then.
That night, I called Uncle John and told him what happened. “They tried to threaten me with my inheritance,” I said, still laughing about the whole thing.
He chuckled. “Classic move. Your father tried that on me once too, you know, when I told him his business model was outdated.”
“Wait, seriously?”
“Oh yeah. Your grandparents weren’t rich, but they had this summer cabin that everyone wanted. Your dad held it over all our heads like some prize to be won. That’s why I made my own money, so I’d never have to dance to someone else’s tune.”
I’d never thought about it like that before, how money was just another way my parents tried to control people, another form of manipulation.
“You know what the best revenge is, right, Uncle John?” I said.
“What’s that?”
“Success. Living well. Building a life so good they can’t help but see what they’re missing out on.”
“I like the sound of that.”
After I got off the phone, I checked LinkedIn out of curiosity. My dad had viewed my profile multiple times. I could tell he was keeping tabs on me, seeing my job updates, probably trying to figure out where I was living. The thought of him obsessing over my whereabouts while I was happily moving on with my life felt pretty damn good, actually. I updated my LinkedIn that night, added my promotion, some project details, a few professional photos of me at a tech conference. Let him see exactly what he was missing out on.
My roommate Dave could tell something was up. “You good?” he asked when he saw me smirking at my laptop.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just dealing with some family drama.”
“The Golden Child sister and the shitty parents?” he asked. I’d told him bits and pieces over beers one night.
“Yep. They’re trying to bribe me back into their lives with some mysterious inheritance.”
Dave laughed. “Dude, that’s pathetic.”
“I know, right? The funny part is, I make more money now than they ever will.”
And before I knew it, two years had passed. I went from junior developer to team lead in record time. My boss kept giving me more responsibility because I worked my ass off. I led this huge product launch that actually got some attention in the tech world. I got featured in a couple of articles about rising stars in software development – nothing major, but my face and name were out there.
I bought a nice condo overlooking Puget Sound, with floor-to-ceiling windows and an actual view. Started making real money, the kind where you don’t have to check your bank account before going out to dinner. The dating scene in Seattle was pretty good too. Nothing super serious, but I was meeting interesting people and enjoying myself. Made friends who were into hiking and camping, so we’d take weekend trips to explore Washington State.
For the first time ever, I had a life that felt completely mine, not defined by being the Forgotten Child or anything related to my family.
Uncle John visited often. He’d crash at my place, and we’d hit up the nice restaurants in town. He told me several times how proud he was of what I was building for myself. He was more of a father figure to me than my actual dad ever was.
I rarely thought about my family anymore. Occasionally, I’d see something that reminded me of them, but it didn’t really hurt anymore. It was more like remembering a bad TV show I’d watched years ago rather than something that had actually happened to me.
Then the economy took a nosedive. Tech companies were mostly fine, but a lot of other businesses started struggling. I only knew about my dad’s situation because Uncle John mentioned it during one of our calls. “Your dad’s accounting firm isn’t doing so hot,” he said, sipping his coffee at my kitchen counter. “Lost a bunch of clients to bigger firms that could offer lower rates. Might have to downsize.”
I just shrugged. Not my problem. I didn’t feel happy about it, but I didn’t feel bad either. Just… nothing.
A month later, I got a LinkedIn message from my dad. Super formal and professional. “Alex, I hope this message finds you well. I’ve been following your career with interest. Very impressive work with the Streamline AI project. I was wondering if we could connect sometime to discuss potential collaboration opportunities. Hope to hear from you soon.”
I showed it to my coworker Mike over lunch. He nearly spit out his drink. “Dude, is he serious? ‘Potential collaboration opportunities?’ That’s code for ‘I need money,’ right?”
I nodded, still staring at the message. “Pretty much.”
“What are you going to do?”
I closed my laptop. “Nothing.”
But the messages didn’t stop there. Next came an email from my mom, talking about how proud they were of my success, how they’d always known I would do great things. She mentioned, almost casually, that they were going through a difficult time financially and that they missed their son.
Then Chloe reached out on Instagram. “Hey stranger, long time no talk! Look, I know things are weird with us, but Mom and Dad are really struggling right now. Dad’s business is failing, and they might lose the house. I know you’re doing really well (congrats on that BTW!), and I was wondering if maybe you could help them out. They’re too proud to ask directly.”
I didn’t respond to any of them. Didn’t even mark the messages as read. Mike was fascinated by the whole situation. “So, your parents ignored you your whole life, chose your sister over you every time, including ditching your college graduation, and now they want you to bail them out? That’s some next-level entitlement!”
“Welcome to my family,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“You’re not considering it, are you?” he asked.
“Hell no. They made their bed.” The truth is, part of me enjoyed seeing the tables turn. They’d made me feel powerless and unimportant my whole life; now I had what they wanted, and they had to come to me. Was that petty? Maybe. But it felt like karma.
Then, one Saturday morning, my doorman called up. “Mr. Walker, there’s a couple here to see you. They say they’re your parents.”
My heart started pounding. “I’m not expecting anyone.”
“They’re quite insistent, sir. The woman is getting upset.”
I sighed. “Send them up. I knew this day would come eventually. Might as well get it over with.”
When I opened the door, I barely recognized my parents standing there. Dad looked like he’d aged 10 years – gray hair, deep wrinkles, the whole deal. Mom was skinny in a not-healthy way, wearing clothes that used to fit her but now just hung off her frame. They both had this look I’d never seen before, like cornered animals.
“Alex,” Mom whispered, reaching for a hug.
I stepped back, keeping the door half-closed like a shield. “How’d you find my address?” I asked.
Dad cleared his throat. “John told us. Said it was time we talked.”
That pissed me off. Uncle John had always been the one person who respected my boundaries. I made a mental note to call him later and ask what the hell.
“Can we come in?” Mom tried to peek around me. “Looks like a beautiful place.”
I almost said no but figured I might as well get this over with. I stepped aside and let them in, watching their faces as they saw my place for the first time. Their eyes got huge, taking in the view, the fancy furniture, all of it.
“You’ve done really well,” Dad said, sounding weirdly jealous and proud at the same time.
“What do you want?” I didn’t offer them a seat or anything.
They looked at each other like they were deciding who would speak. Mom’s eyes got all watery. “We miss you, Alex. It’s been two years.”
“Whose fault is that?” I shot back.
Dad sighed. “We know we screwed up. Missing your graduation was… we shouldn’t have missed it. We’ve had a lot of time to think about everything, how we treated you growing up.”
“It was never just about graduation,” I said, feeling like a broken record. “It’s my entire life being treated like I didn’t matter.”
“We know,” Mom said, staring at the floor. “We understand that now.”
I crossed my arms. “So what changed? The articles about me? Seeing my success? Because you didn’t care about ‘understanding’ until I started making good money.”
Dad’s face got red. “That’s not fair!”
“Seriously? You’re here because you need something. Just tell me what it is.”
“Money,” Mom wiped her eyes. “Your father’s business is failing. We might lose the house. We had to sell my car already, and Chloe had to drop out of grad school because we can’t pay for it anymore.”
And there it was. The real reason. Not because they missed me or regretted anything. They needed a bailout.
“So, you thought I’d just write you a check after everything?”
“We’re your parents,” Dad said, his voice getting that authoritative tone he used when I was a kid. “Family helps family!”
I actually laughed out loud. “Family helps family? Where was that attitude when I needed you? Where was that when you picked Chloe over me every single time for 20-plus years?”
“We made mistakes,” Mom was practically begging now. “But people change! We’ve realized what’s important!”
“No,” I shook my head. “You haven’t changed. You’re still just looking out for yourselves. The only difference is now you need me instead of the other way around.”
I walked to the door and opened it. “Time for you to leave.”
Dad’s face got hard. “That’s it? You’re turning your back on us when we need help, after everything we did for you?”
That was the last straw. “What exactly did you ever do for me, Dad? Seriously, name one time you put me first. One time you chose me over Chloe.”
He opened his mouth, froze, then closed it again. Couldn’t think of a single example.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I said quietly. “Get out.”
Mom was full-on crying now. “Please, Alex, we have nowhere else to go.”
For half a second, I almost felt bad for them. Almost.
“That sounds like a you problem,” I said. “Maybe ask your favorite child for help.”
After they left, I called Uncle John right away. “You told them where I live?” I said, still annoyed.
He sighed. “Look, kid, I thought it was time. They’re in serious trouble, and they are your parents, even if they’ve been shitty ones.”
“They only showed up because they wanted a handout, probably,” he admitted. “But people sometimes do change when life knocks them on their ass. Not saying you should help them, just saying maybe hear them out.”
I thought about it all night. The next morning, I typed up an email:
“I’m not giving you money, not because I don’t have it, but because cash won’t fix what’s broken between us. I’ve spent two years building a life without you, and I’m doing great. I don’t hate you anymore, but I don’t need you either. Figure your own shit out. Don’t contact me again.”
Hit send. Closed my laptop. And felt this huge weight lift off me. Done. Finally done with all of it.
I went on a date that night with this cool girl from my climbing gym. Smart, funny, no drama. For once, I was excited about my future, one I built myself without them holding me back.
So that’s it. My whole story. You guys think I’m an a**hole for not helping them? Or did I do the right thing walking away? Not looking for validation or whatever, just curious what others would do.
Edit: Wow, this blew up! Thanks for all the comments and support. For those asking about Sarah, she ended up dating one of my college friends a few months later. Heard she still mentions me sometimes, wondering where I disappeared to. As for my family, Uncle John says they had to sell the house and move to a smaller place. Dad’s working for his former competitor now. Chloe moved back in with them. Karma’s a b*tch, I guess.
#FamilyDrama #GoldenChild #Estrangement #Graduation #Success #SelfMade #NoContact
