My parents left everything to my brother, so I stopped paying their bills. A month later, my mother sent me a text message.

I'm Jakob, and if I ever had any doubts about my place in the family, they vanished the day I learned about the will. It wasn't even a dramatic conversation in which my parents shared the news with me. No, I found out purely by chance, by sheer luck.

This happened a few months ago when I was visiting them at their house in a small town outside of Chicago. The same house I had helped finance for the past five years: the mortgage, occasional purchases, repairs.

I was the one who kept everything running smoothly. My brother Eric, on the other hand, did absolutely nothing. And when I say "nothing," I really mean nothing.

No job, no responsibilities, just endless laziness and the expectation that life would hand him everything on a silver platter. And apparently, my parents were only too happy to provide him with that life. That day, I was helping my father with some paperwork because, as always, neither he nor my mother could manage it alone.

He asked me to scan some documents, both legal and financial. I didn't think much of it until I saw a folder labeled "Estate Planning" and the words "Last Will and Testament." I don't usually go through other people's paperwork.

But my curiosity got the better of me. After all, I had provided them with a roof over their heads. It therefore seemed only reasonable to inquire how they were managing their assets for the future.

I opened the folder and read the words that saddened me. "Everything." Literally, "everything" was to go to Eric.

The house, the savings, the fortune. They didn't even mention me, apart from a few obligatory sentences about how much they loved their two children. Equally.

Yes, of course, Jacob, exactly. That's why their favorite got everything, and the one who kept them afloat wasn't even mentioned. I felt totally stupid…

I had worked my fingers to the bone for them, paid their bills, made sure they always had food, while they sat back and planned a future in which I had no place. And Eric? He wasn't just lazy. He wasn't entitled to anything.

He never helped, never contributed a cent, but somehow he convinced our parents that he was entitled to everything. Perhaps because he was the youngest son, perhaps because they always spoiled him, or perhaps because he knew how to gain their trust. Whatever the reason, they had already made their decision 

I sat there staring at the papers, my hands trembling with rage and betrayal. How long had they been planning this? Had they only ever intended to use me as a financial safety net from the very beginning, without offering anything in return?

Did they ever appreciate what I did for them? I don't know how long I kept it up, but eventually Dad realized I wasn't scanning anything. "Jacob, what's taking so long?" he asked as he entered the room.

I didn't even try to hide the will. I simply held it up, looked him straight in the eye, and asked, "So that's how it is, then?" "Everything."

"For Eric. After everything I've done for you." Dad's face went pale for a moment, then he sighed deeply, as if he were dealing with a whiny toddler.

“Jacob, it’s not what you think.” “Really?” I snapped at him. “Because I’ve made it perfectly clear: I’m paying your mortgage, I’m doing your shopping, I’m renovating this house, while Eric is doing absolutely nothing.”

And yet he is the only one who matters.” Dad seemed uncomfortable, but instead of a proper explanation he just mumbled: “It’s complicated, and that’s all.”

No apology, no attempt to justify his decision. Just a flimsy excuse and the expectation that I would swallow it and continue to be his walking ATM. I should have turned around and left immediately.

But I had to hear it from my parents. "Mom!" I screamed. He came into the room and, when he saw the will in my hands, at least looked guilty. But his words made my blood boil…

“Jacob, my darling, you don’t need an inheritance,” Mom said softly, as if she were doing me a favor. “You have a good job, you’re independent.”

But Eric… he's not well. We just want to make sure he's being well looked after.” At that moment, I lost my temper.

They didn't even look for excuses; they knew exactly what they were doing, and to them it was perfectly justified. The years they had endured Eric's laziness culminated in them rewarding him with everything while discarding me like a spare part. I took a deep breath, gritted my teeth, and placed the will on the table. 

“Understood,” I said icily. “I’m glad I know where I stand.” Then I turned around, left the house, ignored her protests, and slammed the door behind me.

They had made their decision; now it was my turn. I never returned to that house on the outskirts of Chicago. I didn't call them, I didn't call them. For the first time in years, I let them solve their own problems.

If something needs fixing, they should figure it out themselves. If they run out of food, they should go shopping themselves. And above all: when the mortgage payment is due, that's no longer my problem.

The silence lasted about two weeks. I think at first they thought I was just in a bad mood and would be back to my old self. Perhaps they hoped I would calm down and apologize for daring to question their decision.

But the days passed, and I heard nothing from them. And most importantly: there was no money. You could practically feel their attitude changing.

Then one day my phone vibrated. A text message from Dad. The deadline for the property tax return was approaching.

And that was it. No "Hello, how are you?" No "I'm sorry." No "We really appreciate everything you've done for us."

A cold, serious message, as if I were still their personal ATM, accessible at any time. I stared at the screen, almost amused by its predictability. Did they really think they could demand money as if nothing had happened?

That I would continue to be their financial savior, even after they had made it clear they no longer needed me. I replied promptly: "I think Eric will be fine with it, since the house now belongs to him."

Exactly five minutes later, my mother called. I didn't answer. Then I received a text message.

Mother: "Jacob, please don't be like that. We need to talk." 

“Oh, so now you two need to talk?” Now that the bills were piling up and reality was finally catching up with them, I waited an hour before replying: “There’s nothing to discuss. You’ve made your decision.”

"You'll have to live with that now." I thought that settled it. I was absolutely certain I had made my position clear, and I didn't regret it one bit.

But then Eric decided to intervene. That same evening I received a text message from him. As soon as I saw his name on the screen, I knew it was going to be annoying.

I opened it, and indeed it was pure arrogance: "Jacob, man, what's all the fuss about? It's not the end of the world. Just help them like always."

I almost laughed. "Isn't this the end of the world?" I was absolutely convinced that I had no right to be angry. I replied immediately:

"No, I think it's your responsibility now. After all, you're the favorite." Eric:

"Jesus Christ, are you really getting upset about a will? Grow up, man. It's just about money. Yeah."

Now that the money belonged to him, it suddenly didn't matter anymore. That was a striking irony. I replied:

"Well, it's just money, it shouldn't be too hard for you to spend it on the mortgage, should it?" Silence. A few minutes later, another message from his mother. This time he was plagued by a guilty conscience.

Mother: Jacob. We are your parents.

We as a family take care of each other. We did so much for you when you were little. And now you're just leaving us.

I took a deep breath to keep from throwing the phone against the wall. Abandon them? For years I had made sure they were well cared for while I had coddled Eric and encouraged his laziness.

And now that they finally had to face the consequences of their own decisions, I was the villain? But this time I didn't believe it. I retorted, "You made it clear that I wasn't part of the family when you disinherited me."

Now Eric's going to take care of you. I could almost hear Mom's theatrical gasps in my head, the way she always did when she wanted to play innocent, even when she was in the wrong. A few minutes later, I got a text from Dad, and it made me furious…

Father: “We’re not asking for much. Just help us with the mortgage for a few more months while we sort things out. Don’t be selfish.”

Selfish? The word filled me with rage. For years I had helped them out of tight spots, sacrificing my money, my time, and my energy to make their lives easier. I had done everything a good son should do.

And how did they thank me? By leaving me empty-handed. And now that I finally stood up for myself, I was the selfish one? I gritted my teeth, took a deep breath, and typed: "No, I'm done."

After that, I simply switched off my phone. They had made their decision. Now they had to accept it.

The silence lasted exactly one day. I knew my parents wouldn't give up so easily, but I wasn't ready for it. The next morning, I woke up to a notification: "Money transfer request."

I frowned, unlocked my phone, and checked. It was from my mother. She had actually asked me for money, as if it were an ATM.

The amount: $5,000. I stared at the screen, half stunned, half amused by the audacity. There was no message. 

No explanation. Just a cold, brazen demand for the exact amount they needed to pay off the overdue mortgage. They hadn't even asked.

They simply assumed I would pay. I refused their request without hesitation. Less than five minutes later, my phone rang.

"Mom?" I didn't answer. A text message arrived: "Mom: Jacob, I know you saw the request."

"Why did you refuse?" I didn't answer immediately. Finally, I typed: "Because it's not my responsibility."

"Try Eric." Another call. Rejected…

Another message arrived: "Mom: We'll lose the house if you don't help us." Oh, so now it's an emergency? After all these years of serving as their walking wallet, they were finally feeling the consequences of their decision.

I replied, "I should have thought about that before deciding it wasn't important to you." A few seconds later, I received a text message from Dad:

Father: Do you really want to let your parents become homeless? I laughed out loud. The manipulation was so obvious it was almost comical. They weren't homeless, after all.

Nobody kicked them out. They just didn't want to touch their savings because they were used to me paying for everything. I ignored them for the rest of the day. But that evening, Eric texted me:

Eric: Man, send them the money now. You're making a mountain out of a molehill. I gritted my teeth. This idiot was about to give me a lecture.

I replied, "You mean the inherited money? Why don't you pay?" The answer came promptly:

Eric: You know I don't have that much money right now. "Oh, so that's what it's about. It's all about who has the money?" When I spent my savings on it, everything was fine.

But when it was his turn, he was suddenly broke. I wrote to him: "Well, buddy, I guess you'll have to deal with it..."

"After all, they elected you." No answer. I went to bed with an unexpected sense of relief.

I had finally broken free from those shackles. But the next day everything only got worse. I was at work in Chicago when the receptionist at my apartment building called.

"Hey, Jacob, your parents are here." I almost dropped the phone. "What?" the girl on the other end of the line asked hesitantly.

They say it's urgent. And you're not answering the phone? Oh my God! Did they really drive all the way to Chicago just because I stopped paying?

I took a deep breath, held my nose, and said, "Don't let her in. I'm not expecting her." An awkward silence ensued.

"Um, they're... a bit pushy." I gritted my teeth.

"I don't care. Tell them to leave." I hung up and immediately received a text message:

Mother: We're downstairs. Open the door. No questions.

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