All my life, I had felt like an outsider in my own family. My mother adored my sisters, Kira and Alexa, but to me, she was cold and distant, treating me like a burden. Why? Because I looked too much like the man she tried so hard to forget.
It was hard not to feel invisible when I watched my sisters get everything I didn’t. They received new clothes, expensive toys, and plenty of attention. But me? I got their old clothes, their hand-me-down toys, and their leftovers. I didn’t get hugs or bedtime stories. Instead, I got orders. “Olivia, clean the kitchen.” “Olivia, fold the laundry.” “Olivia, stop standing around and do something useful.” I was nothing more than a servant in my own home.
My father tried to protect me. I remember how he used to pull me into his arms when my mother’s harsh words pierced through me. He would tell me, “You’re special. You matter,” but as I grew older, his kindness began to fade. His voice lost its warmth, and his presence became less frequent. Then, the arguments started.
“I’m telling you, she’s your daughter!” my mother would scream.
“How can she be mine?” my father would shout back. “We’re both brunettes, and she’s a blonde with blue eyes!”
“That happens!” my mother would insist. “Maybe someone in the family had lighter features!”
“Then let’s do a paternity test!” my father would yell.
The fights were loud, frequent, and always the same. They ended with my mother in tears, accusing my father of hating her, and he would always back down. But I never forgot those words.
By the time I was fourteen, I couldn’t stand being at home. I got a job, not just to make money, but to escape the tension. With my first paycheck, I bought a DNA test. When the results came, everything fell apart.
One evening, I came home to find my father standing in the living room, holding an envelope. His eyes were fixed on my name printed across the front.
“What is this?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “Why is this letter addressed to you?”
My stomach dropped. “Give it back,” I said, reaching for the envelope.
He pulled it away. “Explain first,” he insisted, his grip tightening on the paper.
My hands trembled. “It’s… it’s a DNA test,” I whispered.
Without waiting, he ripped open the envelope. His eyes scanned the page, then his face twisted in rage.
“SIMONA!” he roared.
My mother rushed in, panic in her eyes. “What’s wrong, darling?”
“Olivia, go to your room,” my father ordered, his voice cold.
“But—” I began to protest.
“NOW!” he shouted.
I turned and fled to my room, my heart pounding. I didn’t need to hear the rest. I knew what the results meant.
The argument that followed tore through the house. I could hear every word, each one a knife to my heart.
“She’s not mine?!” my father shouted.
“It doesn’t matter!” my mother snapped.
“It matters to me! You lied to me, Simona! For fourteen years!”
“You don’t understand! I had no choice!” my mother screamed.
I pressed my hands over my ears, but it didn’t help. The truth was undeniable—my father wasn’t my biological dad. My mother had cheated on him.
Days later, my father tested my sisters. Alexa was his, but Kira wasn’t. I stood in the hallway, watching him pack his bags.
“You’re leaving?” I whispered.
He didn’t look at me. “I have to.”
He filed for divorce, paid child support for Alexa, and cut ties with the rest of us.
After he left, my mother’s hatred for me only grew. “This is your fault,” she hissed. “If you didn’t look so much like him, none of this would have happened.”
She ignored me unless she needed something. “Olivia, wash the dishes. Olivia, mop the floor.” I was invisible unless there was work to be done.
But Kira? My mother still adored her. “My beautiful girl,” she’d say, tucking Kira’s hair behind her ear. “You look just like me.”
I was nothing to her. I had never been.
One day, my mother walked into the room, her arms crossed, her face cold.
“I’ve decided you will start paying rent,” she said, her voice flat.
I blinked. “What? I already buy my own groceries!”
“You earn money. It’s only fair,” she replied.
My fists clenched. “Then make Alexa and Kira pay too!” I yelled. “Why only me? Why do you treat me like this?!”
Her eyes darkened. “Because you ruined my life!” she shouted. “This is your fault!”
I felt as if she had slapped me. My throat burned, but no words came. I turned and ran to my room, slamming the door behind me.
But nothing changed. She never relented. I had no choice. I paid rent.
Alexa made things worse. She destroyed my makeup, cut holes in my shirts, and threw my food in the trash. One day, I found my entire paycheck missing.
I stormed into her room. “Why are you doing this?!” I demanded.
She glared at me. “Because Dad left because of you!” she screamed. “If you had just looked like Mom! Like Kira!” As if I had any control over that.
The moment I finished high school, I knew I had to leave. My old manager saw my determination and offered to help me. He spoke to his son, who ran a company, and got me a position as a sales representative.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid well. With my first few paychecks, I found a small apartment and moved out immediately.
For the first time in my life, I had my own space. No one telling me what to do. No one stealing my things.
I felt free. But my mother and sisters didn’t disappear. They always found a reason to contact me. They never called to see how I was. They only wanted money.
The older I got, the more they demanded. At first, I gave in, hoping they’d leave me alone. They didn’t.
One day, when my mother came knocking again, I decided I wanted something in return.
“I want to know my biological father’s name,” I said firmly.
She scoffed. “I told you, he doesn’t want you. He abandoned you.”
I met her glare. “Then I won’t give you any more money.”
Her lips curled in annoyance, but she finally relented. “His name is Rick,” she muttered, scribbling down an address. “Go ahead. Waste your time.”
I scraped together my savings and made the thirty-hour trip, only to discover she had lied again.
Furious, I went straight to her house. I didn’t knock. I stormed in.
“This is not your home!” she shrieked.
“You gave me the wrong address!” I shouted.
“Because he doesn’t want you!” she snapped. “You make everyone’s life harder!”
Her words stung, but I refused to let them break me. “Give me the real address, or you’ll never see another cent from me.”
She scowled, but finally, she wrote it down. Rick didn’t live thirty hours away. He was only five hours from me.
When I pulled up to Rick’s house, my heart pounded. I walked up to the door and knocked.
The man who answered looked at me with wide eyes.
“Are you Rick?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Yes,” he replied.
“I—” I began, but he cut me off.
“You’re my daughter,” he said, stepping aside.
I froze. “You recognize me?” I whispered.
“Of course,” he said, his voice steady. “Come in.”
His home was warm, filled with family photos—vacations, birthdays, smiles. A life I had never known.
“Why didn’t you try to contact me?” I asked, my voice thick with emotion.
“I did,” he said. “I paid child support until you turned eighteen, but your mother told me you hated me. She said you wanted nothing to do with me.”
Shock rippled through me. “I never knew,” I whispered.
Rick’s jaw tightened. “That’s not true. You’re my daughter. Of course, I wanted you.”
Tears filled my eyes as he pulled me into a hug. His embrace felt real, safe, and everything I had longed for.
From that moment, we stayed in touch. He introduced me to his wife and two sons. They welcomed me like family, something I had never experienced before.
One day, during a visit, Rick handed me a folder. “What’s this?” I asked, surprised.
“A house,” he said. “It’s yours.”
I gasped. “What?!”
“It’s the least I can do,” he said. “For the years we lost.”
I threw my arms around him, tears streaming down my face. No one had ever cared for me like this before. Now, I knew what love truly felt like.
I moved into the house Rick had given me. It was mine. For the first time, I had a place of my own, free from judgment and demands.
One day, I ran into Kira at the store. I mentioned, almost without thinking, that I had my own house now.
Her face twisted with jealousy, and she said nothing. She simply stared, anger and resentment bubbling beneath the surface.
A few days later, I left for a business trip. While I was away, my phone rang with an urgent message from my neighbor.
Two women had moved into my house.
I rushed back. When I walked in, I saw my mother and Kira lounging in my living room.
“What are you doing here?!” I shouted.
My mother didn’t even look up. “Oh, Olivia, you’re back,” she said nonchalantly.
“Answer me!” I demanded.
She sighed and met my eyes. “I lost my job. I couldn’t pay rent for three months. We got evicted.”
My breath caught. “Are you out of your mind? You didn’t even ask me!”
She waved me off. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
Kira smirked. “There are only two bedrooms, so you’ll have to stay somewhere else for now.”
“This is insane! Why don’t you go to Alexa’s house?!” I shouted.
“Alexa has a family,” my mother said. “It’s too crowded.”
I couldn’t believe it. “You’re not staying in my house!” I said, my voice firm.
Kira rolled her eyes. “Well, you can sleep on the couch.”
Something inside me snapped. “This is my house! I’ll sleep in my bed! You are leaving right now!”
My mother stood up, her face twisted in rage. “How dare you?! I raised you! I gave you everything!”
“Raised me?” I scoffed. “You treated me like a servant! I bought my own groceries! I even paid you rent!”
“You had a job!” she shot back.
I shook my head. “In the short time I’ve known my real father, he’s done more for me than you ever did.”
Her face darkened. “If you don’t let us stay here, I will sue you for this house!”
“You have no legal right to it! Either you leave now, or I’ll call the police.”
Her expression changed instantly. She tried to smile. “Olivia, sweetheart, you’re my daughter. I’ve always loved you. Let us stay.”
Doubt crept in for a moment. Then I remembered everything.
“No,” I said firmly.
“Ungrateful!” she screamed.
But when I grabbed my phone and dialed the police, panic flashed across her face. Kira went silent. Neither of them expected me to follow through.
Without another word, they bolted out of my house. I watched them leave, my heart pounding.
When the door slammed behind them, I let out a deep breath and sank into the couch. My body felt drained.
It hurt, knowing my own mother only remembered me when she needed something. But this moment made it clear—I had to cut them out of my life.
I changed the locks, blocked their numbers, and that was the last time I saw them. And for the first time in my life, I felt free.
