I used to believe my parents loved us equally. That even if they showed it in different ways, their hearts were fair. But that illusion shattered the day they bought my brother a house—and offered me nothing but a half-hearted “sorry.”
It wasn’t just the money. It was the message. My brother, the golden child, had always been their priority. He made mistakes, and they bailed him out. He needed help, and they gave it—no questions asked. I, on the other hand, worked hard, stayed out of trouble, and never asked for much. Maybe that was my mistake.
When I found out they’d paid for his house, I was stunned. I asked them why. They said he “needed it more.” That I was “doing fine.” But I wasn’t fine. I was struggling, just quietly. I didn’t have the luxury of asking for help because I knew it wouldn’t come.
I tried to explain how hurtful it was. How it made me feel invisible. Their response? “We’re sorry you feel that way.” Not sorry for what they did—just sorry I noticed.
That moment changed everything. I stopped trying to earn their approval. I stopped pretending their love was balanced. I started building my own life, without expecting fairness from people who’d already made their choice.
I’m not bitter. I’m just done. Done hoping they’ll see me. Done waiting for the apology that actually means something. My peace comes from knowing I’m enough—even if they never treated me that way.
