I’m Raising My Sister’s Kid, but My Parents Still Hate Me

By the time I was five years old, it was painfully clear that my parents favored my older sister, Madeline. While my birthdays were simple and almost forgotten, hers were grand events, celebrated with lavish gifts and big parties. My sister knew it too—often laughing when I was blamed for things she had done. It didn’t matter what went wrong in the house, I was always at fault. Eventually, I stopped expecting love or attention from my parents and learned to fend for myself.

As the years passed, Madeline did nothing around the house, while I was constantly loaded with chores. My father would yell at me for the smallest things, while my sister was allowed to laze around all day. I never understood why I was treated so differently, but there was nothing I could do.

Then, when I was 16, Madeline announced she was pregnant, and as expected, my parents were ecstatic. It was as though they had been waiting for this moment to fawn over her even more. However, their excitement was soon dampened when Madeline made her intentions clear.

“I’m not keeping it, Mom,” she said. “I need money for an abortion. A baby will ruin my life.”

Our parents were devastated by her words. “No, Madeline. You can’t do that to our grandchild,” my father said sternly, for the first time showing displeasure toward his golden child. He promised her full support and, in his usual fashion, volunteered me to help raise the baby.

Madeline eventually caved, and I was forced to be her servant throughout her pregnancy. Once her son, Brandon, was born, my sister’s involvement in his care was minimal at best. After a few nights of feeding him, she returned to her carefree lifestyle, leaving me with full responsibility for her son. Our parents, despite their initial excitement, showed little interest in Brandon, forcing me to step up.

I dropped out of high school to care for Brandon but managed to continue my studies on my own, determined to earn my G.E.D. and leave home by the time I turned 18. But before I could even make my escape, Madeline came home one day with a shocking announcement.

“I’m leaving,” she said without a hint of remorse. She had met a biker named Zak and decided to run off with him. My pleas for her to reconsider fell on deaf ears. She didn’t care that she was abandoning her son, and our parents, unsurprisingly, did nothing to stop her.

Once Madeline left, my parents refused to acknowledge Brandon. When I asked what we were going to do about him, my father coldly dismissed me. From that moment on, I knew I couldn’t rely on them for anything. Brandon was my responsibility now, and I became his mother in every way that mattered.

I saved up enough money to move out when I turned 18, taking Brandon with me. I worked part-time and enrolled in online college courses, determined to build a better future for both of us. It was tough, but I managed. Over time, I found a supportive group of friends who helped me balance motherhood and my studies.

A few years later, I met Dallas, a law student who adored Brandon. We talked about marriage and a future together, and for the first time in years, I felt like things were falling into place. But then, Madeline reappeared, demanding to see Brandon.

“You can’t keep me from my child!” she screamed, trying to force her way into my home. But Brandon wasn’t her child anymore—he was mine. Dallas stepped in, calmly but firmly asking her to leave. She left, but not before threatening to take Brandon back, leaving me terrified that she would follow through.

Dallas reassured me, promising to speak with his father, a lawyer, about legally protecting my rights as Brandon’s mother. Thanks to his help, I was able to adopt Brandon officially. Madeline had no legal claim to him anymore.

Soon after, Madeline returned with my parents, all of them demanding to take Brandon back. But the law was on my side, and they left in defeat. I later discovered that Madeline had only come back for Brandon in hopes of getting government benefits. Once she realized she couldn’t, she disappeared again, and I haven’t seen her since.

Thanks to Dallas and his father, I secured a safe, stable life for Brandon. I may have started off with a family that didn’t love me, but I found my own way and built a new family with people who truly cared. Brandon will never feel the neglect I experienced growing up, and for that, I’m grateful.