Скачать или смотреть My parents sold my childhood home that they promised would be mine someday and used the money for...

My parents sold my childhood home that they promised would be mine someday and used the money for my brother's destination wedding, so I'm refusing to help them when they can't afford assisted living.
Growing up in that house was everything to me. It wasn't just walls and rooms—it was where I learned to ride a bike in the driveway, where my dad taught me how to fix a leaky faucet, where my mom and I planted tomatoes every spring in the backyard. Every single memory I had was tied to that place.
My dad used to say it all the time. "This will be yours one day, kiddo." He'd say it when we were painting the living room together, when we were replacing the old wooden fence, when we sat on the porch during summer evenings. I believed him. Why wouldn't I? He said it for 20 years.
When I turned 25, I started seriously planning for it. My fiancée Sarah and I would drive by sometimes, talking about which room would be the nursery, how we'd renovate the kitchen, where we'd put the swing set for our future kids. We had our whole lives mapped out in that house.
Then my brother Derek announced his engagement. He'd been dating this girl Amber for barely 8 months, but apparently, it was true love. Whatever. I was happy for him, I guess.
But then things got weird.
My parents asked me to come over for dinner one night. Just the three of us. No Sarah, no Derek. When I walked in, they both looked nervous, like they were about to tell me someone died.
My dad cleared his throat and said they needed to talk to me about something important. My mom couldn't even look at me.
"We're selling the house," he said.
I actually laughed. I thought it was some kind of joke, like they were going to say "just kidding" and we'd all have a good laugh about it.
They didn't laugh.
My mom finally spoke up. "Derek wants a destination wedding in Bali. It's very important to Amber's family. They're paying for half, but we need to cover our half, and we just don't have that kind of money sitting around."
I sat there staring at them, waiting for the punchline that never came.
"You promised me that house," I said quietly. "For 20 years, you promised me."
My dad shifted uncomfortably. "Well, things change, son. Family helps family. Your brother needs this."
"What about what I need?" My voice was shaking. "Sarah and I have been planning our entire future around that house. You told me it was mine."
My mom reached across the table. "You'll understand someday when you have kids of your own. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices."
The house sold in 3 weeks. $340,000. Every single penny went to fund my brother's elaborate 4-day wedding extravaganza in Bali. Ice sculptures, fire dancers, a private beach, the whole nine yards.
I wasn't even invited to help plan it. I got a "save the date" in the mail like I was some distant cousin they felt obligated to invite. When I called my brother to talk about it, he said "Mom and Dad wanted to surprise everyone, don't make this about you."
I didn't go to the wedding.
Fast forward 2 years. My phone rings at 11 p.m. on a Tuesday. It's my mom, and she's crying so hard I can barely understand her.
Apparently, they'd been renting an apartment since selling the house, but the landlord was raising the rent by $800 a month. They couldn't afford it anymore. Their savings were gone—turned out that Bali wedding wasn't the only thing they'd funded for Derek. There was also his car, his security deposit on an apartment, his credit card debt.
Now they needed to move into assisted living because my dad's health was declining, but the good facilities cost $4,000 a month, and they only had enough for maybe three months.
"We need your help, honey," my mom sobbed. "You're doing so well with your job. We raised you. We sacrificed everything for you kids."
I felt my jaw clench. "Where's Derek?"
Silence.
"Mom, where's Derek? Why can't he help?"
More crying. "He's going through a divorce right now. Amber left him. He's broke, living with friends. He can't contribute anything right now."
Of course he was.
"So you want me to pay $4,000 a month? That's $48,000 a year."
"We're your parents!" my dad yelled in the background. "You owe us!"
Something inside me snapped.
"You want me to pay for your assisted living? Sell something valuable."
My mom gasped. "We don't have anything valuable left!"
"Yeah," I said, my voice ice cold. "You already sold what was valuable to me. For a wedding that lasted 4 days and a marriage that lasted 18 months."
"How can you be so cruel?" my mom wailed.
"The same way you were when you broke a 20-year promise without even asking how I felt about it. You made your choice. Derek was more important. So go ask Derek."
My dad grabbed the phone. "You're being ungrateful! We fed you, clothed you, put a roof over your head for 18 years!"
"And I would've given you a place to live rent-free in the home you promised me, but you sold it. Funny how that works."
I hung up.