“How much… how much do you pay to rent a room here?” she asked, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

“Rent?” I stifled a laugh. “I don’t rent here, Mom. I own it.”

Both of them stared at me, speechless. I couldn’t tell if they were more shocked by the house itself or by the idea that I could own it. Soon after, my parents’ disbelief turned to something uglier.

“This is how you’ve been living?” my mother hissed, looking around the house, her eyes landing on the glass wall overlooking the pool. “And you… what, just kept it all a secret? You lied to us, all these years?”

“Lied to you?” I shot back, taken aback by the sheer audacity. “You never even asked what I was doing! As far as you knew, I was struggling in some cramped apartment. You didn’t care. Why do you care now?”

“Don’t twist this around!” my father snapped, his voice louder than I’d heard in years. “This,” he gestured around, “is just a show, isn’t it? A way to rub your probably illegal wealth in our faces?”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “You’re serious? You think I… went into some shady business? No, Dad, I worked my way up the banking world. Not that you’d know, since you never once asked.”

They looked at each other, their faces unreadable but united in disapproval. Then my mom dropped the bombshell.

“Well, clearly you have the means,” she said, her voice suddenly softer, almost pleading. “So, we’ll stay with you. Not your brother. I mean, we can’t possibly be seen living in a worse place than our own son.”

For a moment, I just stared. Then, I let out a laugh—a real, hard laugh. “You think you can just walk back into my life, judge me, accuse me of god knows what, and then ask to live in my home? After seventeen years of silence?”

They shifted uncomfortably, and my father cleared his throat. “You’re our son,” he said as if that explained everything. “We supported you as much as we could.”

“Did you?” I replied, tilting my head. “You chose to support your other two kids, not me. When I needed help, you turned your back. That choice was yours.” I paused, savoring the silence. “Honestly, you have a better chance of living with my neighbors than with me.”

My father’s face darkened. “Fine,” he said slowly, each word soaked in resentment. “Then you’re out. We’ll cut you out of the will. Not a single cent.”

I shrugged, more amused than anything. “Oh no,” I said, deadpan. “What will I do without the inheritance from people who can’t even afford to live in my area?” The words hung in the air, and I watched my parents’ faces contort, a mix of fury and helplessness.

For years, I’d wondered what it would be like to see them again, but I never imagined it would come to this.

My mom broke the silence, her voice barely a whisper. “We… we just wanted the best for you.”

I looked at her, a sad smile tugging at my lips. “No, you wanted what was best for you. You wanted another doctor in the family, someone to carry on your legacy. But you know what? I built my own.”

My dad sneered. “That so? Well, don’t come crying to us when this little charade of yours falls apart. You’ll regret pushing us away like this.”

“Pushing you away?” I repeated, shaking my head in disbelief. “You pushed me away seventeen years ago. I’m just holding the line.”

With that, I held open the door, gesturing to the exit. They looked at me, stunned, my mom’s mouth opening and closing as if she still had more to say. But finally, they stepped out onto the porch.

“You’re making a mistake,” my dad said, his voice low, threatening. “You’re going to regret this.”

I held his gaze, unwavering. “No,” I replied, my voice steady. “I already made peace with it.”

If you found this story intriguing, don’t miss out on this one: “Parents disowned daughter years ago, now demand she gives her inheritance to her brother.”