I never liked my own family—call it dysfunctional if you may. But I still couldn’t fathom how my sister would betray me like this, twice, even though I helped her and our father out. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I was born into a better family.
You know, with better parents who actually know how to be parents? But you don’t always get what you want in life, isn’t it? I can’t really blame my mother actually—she ran away from the family when I was just ten, presumably since my father was abusive and manipulative.
I still wish she took me and my sister away with her at that time, but then again, it is what it is. Sometimes there’s no use in looking back at things and constantly thinking about “what could’ve been.”
That’s what my therapist kept telling me. Don’t look back on the things you can’t change and think about what could’ve been.
Look forward, time is linear, there’s no going back. But she also said writing it out might help—so here it is, I guess. As I said, my father was an abusive and manipulative monster—self-centered, arrogant … he only cared about himself and the things that actually concerned him.
Sometimes I wonder how come my mother actually married him. That’s something I’d never find out, I guess. As for my younger sister Cheryl, you can probably understand what kind of person she’d grow up to be under such circumstances.
We were close when we were kids—at least before everything happened —but after my mother ran away, it had gotten worse since then. My father never liked me since I was a kid, but he hated me even more after my mother ran away. Why?
I have no idea. He probably thought I was the reason why she ran away—he never thought it was his fault. Well, he blamed the stripper when he was drunk sometimes, but it takes two to tango, isn’t it?
Or that it took two to have a lapdance, in this context. Anyway. My sister Cheryl.
Ever since mother left, Cheryl became dad’s favorite, presumably since she was still too young to understand what happened. Since I was too old to be converted into daddy’s little girl at that time, he focused on Cheryl instead. That’s what I meant when I said things began to go downhill from there—he and Cheryl began to gang up on me, alienating me in the house.
It wasn’t pleasant, and to be honest, I don’t really want to go into details about what happened. Let’s just say I wish I had a more functional family. Cheryl grew up to be a spoiled brat.
That’s the thing about my father. He might be an absolute jerk of a person, but he wasn’t stupid. In fact, he made himself a fortune by setting up a trading company.
It made sense though since he had every single trait of being a psychopathic CEO. Chery, being daddy’s little girl of the family, had everything she needed and wanted—and even things she didn’t know she wanted. I can still remember the Gucci bag my father gave her when she was just 12.
Can you believe that? A 12-year-old girl holding a Gucci bag? Needless to say, Cheryl grew up to be a dysfunctional human being.
As for myself, I had to work hard for everything that I had. Since I wasn’t getting any allowances from my father, I began taking up part-time jobs here and there just to get by. I worked in McDonald’s, Wendy’s, and even handed out leaflets outside Sears at some point.
I can still remember how I used to smell like French fries after my shifts. You just cannot get rid of that stench. In a way, I am thankful for the experience, since all of these things taught me things I needed to know in life.
It made me who I am—it taught me how to be resilient and got me through some dark times. I moved out as soon as I could. I remember I was 18 at the time—it was a long and hot summer, and I packed up my things and went off to California in my old Honda Civic without even saying goodbye.
I probably had $400 in my account at the time, but it was liberating. I can still remember the sweet summer breeze of youth and freedom along the Pacific Coast. Fast forward 10 years from there, I got my college degree and began working for an IT company.
I wouldn’t say I had a great career, but I managed to have a decent life and save some money of my own. To be honest, I wouldn’t stay in IT if not for the money. But hey, we all gotta make a living somehow.
It was then when I received an email from Cheryl. I hadn’t spoken to her nor my dad since the day I moved out, not that they cared anyway. They could’ve reached out to me somehow, but they did not.
Ten years, not a single message from them. But surprise surprise, Cheryl actually asked me for help in the email. How things have changed, I thought to myself.
It started with a bunch of formal addresses like “D
What happened next changed everything…
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