When I turned seventeen, I took a deep breath and decided it was time to tell my parents the truth. “Mom, Dad,” I said, my heart pounding in my chest, “I won’t be going to med school. I want to be an actor—and maybe even start my own business.”
My dad looked at me like I had just told a terrible joke. He threw up his hands and exclaimed, “You think this is a joke? We’re doctors, son! It’s in our blood. This family is all about medicine. It’s who we are!”
“It’s who you are,” I answered, my voice shaking. “But it’s not who I am. I don’t want that life.”
I thought they would calm down and understand. But my dad just shook his head, his face serious. “Then leave! If you can’t carry on this family’s legacy, you don’t belong here.”
With those words, my dreams felt crushed. Just like that, they cut me out of their lives. All I had was a bag of clothes, a hundred bucks, and a swirling storm of questions about my future. I started couch-surfing, jumping from friend to friend’s house, and took any small job I could find to survive.
Acting gigs were rare, but I didn’t give up. I hustled hard and eventually even started a small business on the side. Those early days were tough. I felt completely alone without my family’s support. Back home, they packed up and moved to the UK, sending my siblings off to medical school.
My older brother quickly became the pride of the family—he was a brilliant neurosurgeon, saving lives and winning awards while I was left out of the picture. To my family, I was just the son who had failed, the one who broke away to chase his dreams.
Then one day, I heard my parents were coming back to Sydney. I didn’t expect much. They would call occasionally, asking, “How are you?” and “What have you been up to?”
But it felt like they never really wanted to know what was happening in my life. They never asked about my acting or my business, probably thinking I was struggling.
Meanwhile, their focus remained on my brother, especially when he got an incredible offer for a surgical position that would pay him an astonishing $750,000 a year. I could almost hear the pride in their voices when they talked about him, while I felt invisible.
When they started house-hunting in Sydney, they ran into reality. The property market was insane, with homes starting at around $20 million in the neighborhoods they liked.
After a long day of looking, I watched my dad slump his shoulders. “It seems like we’ll have to settle for something smaller,” he sighed. “Or maybe wait a while before we find something big enough.”
Suddenly, an idea popped into my head. “Why don’t you come see my place before dinner?” I said casually. “It’s just nearby.”
“Your place?” they replied, both surprised.
“Of course! We’d love to see where you’re staying,” my mom said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
When we pulled up to my home—a sleek, modern house hidden on a quiet street—there was silence. The look on their faces was priceless.
“This is your place?” my dad asked, disbelief written all over his face.
“Yep!” I opened the front gate, with them trailing behind me like they couldn’t quite believe their eyes. As they walked in, I could see their eyes roving over the beautiful lawn, the fancy landscaping, and the sparkling pool in the backyard.
As we entered, the polished hardwood floors gleamed under the sunlight, and the expansive windows offered stunning views. The designer furniture looked straight out of a magazine.
“How much… how much do you pay to rent a room here?” my mother asked, her voice a mix of amazement and suspicion.
“Rent?” I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I don’t rent here, Mom. I own this place.”
Their jaws dropped, and I could see their shock turn to confusion.
“This is how you’ve been living?” my mother cried, glancing around the house. Her gaze landed on the impressive glass wall that looked out over the pool. “And you… what? You just kept it all a secret? You’ve lied to us all these years?”
“Lied?” I shot back at her, feeling the heat rise in my chest. “You never even bothered to ask what I was doing! As far as you knew, I was struggling in some tiny apartment. You didn’t care then, so why care now?”
“Don’t twist this around!” my father shouted, gesturing to the house with anger. “This,” he said, “is just a show, isn’t it? A way to rub your probably illegal wealth in our faces?”
I crossed my arms, shaking my head. “Are you for real? You think I went into some shady business? No, Dad. I worked hard to climb up in the banking world! But you wouldn’t know that since you never bother to ask!”
“Well, clearly you have the means,” my mother said, her tone shifting from accusatory to pleading. “So… we could stay with you, not your brother. I mean, we can’t possibly be seen living in a worse place than our own son.”
I let out a laugh—a real, honest laugh. “You think you can just waltz back into my life, judge me, throw accusations, and then ask to live here? After seventeen years of silence?”
“You’re our son,” my dad said sternly, as if that explained everything. “We did our best to support you.”
I tilted my head and replied coolly, “You chose to support my siblings instead of me. When I needed help, you turned your back. That choice was yours.” I paused for a moment, soaking in the atmosphere. “Honestly, you’ve got a better chance of living with my neighbors than with me.”
My dad’s expression darkened. “Fine,” he said slowly, and you could hear the resentment in his voice. “Then you’re out. We’ll cut you out of the will. Not a single cent.”
“Oh no,” I said, my voice dry and unemotional. “How will I survive without the inheritance from people who can’t even afford to live in my area?”
My mom broke the heavy silence. “We… we just wanted what’s best for you.”
I stared at her and said, “No, you wanted what was best for you. You wanted another doctor in the family, someone to carry on your precious legacy. But guess what? I’ve built my own.”
My dad sneered, “Is that so? Well, don’t come crying to us when this little show of yours falls apart. You’ll regret pushing us away like this.”
“Pushing you away?” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “You pushed me away seventeen years ago. I’m just holding the line now.”
Then, I held the door open and gestured for them to leave. They looked at me, shocked. My mother’s mouth opened and closed as if searching for the right words, but nothing came. Finally, they stepped out onto the porch.
“You’re making a mistake,” my dad warned, his voice low and threatening. “You’re going to regret this.”
I met his intense gaze without flinching. “No,” I replied calmly, my heart steady. “I already made peace with it.”
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