Some families don’t need to scream to hurt you. They do it with politeness, a tilted smile, and a reminder that everything you have comes from their generosity. And when they finally tell you to leave, they expect gratitude for it.

My name is Estabban. I’m 27 years old, and until recently, I lived trapped in a suffocating routine.

It wasn’t just the exhaustion from working long hours at a job that barely paid enough to survive. No, it was the weight of a family that, instead of supporting me, squeezed me dry as if I were a money machine. They took everything I had to give and never once offered me the basic decency in return.

I grew up in a modest neighborhood, the kind where the houses have thin walls, and the neighbors know more about your life than you would like. My mother, Marina, left for Europe when I was 15. She worked as a nurse, and the opportunity to earn a better salary was something she couldn’t pass up. She promised us it would be temporary, that she would save enough money to give us a better life and then return.

But the years passed, and though she sent money every few months, her visits became more and more sporadic. At first, I missed her terribly. My chest ached every night when I laid down to sleep, but over time, I learned to live with that emptiness.

My father, Gustavo, and my younger sister, Claudia, stayed with me. And without realizing it, I became the pillar of the household. At 18, right after finishing high school, I started working. There was no money for university, and someone had to pay the bills.

My first job was in a packaging factory. It was a noisy, hot place where I spent eight hours a day sealing boxes for minimum wage. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was what was available. Every payday, I handed over almost my entire paycheck to my father. He said it was to maintain the house—pay the rent, the utilities, buy food—and I didn’t question it. That’s what was expected of me. I was the man of the house now, right? The one who had to sacrifice.

But there was always something that didn’t sit right with me. Claudia, my 23-year-old sister, didn’t contribute a single cent. Nothing. Zero. She worked part-time at a clothing store, but everything she earned went toward her nights out, buying designer clothes, or paying for club admissions. While I came home with sore feet and clothes that smelled of sweat, she would walk in, made up and smiling, telling stories of her nights out partying.

If I asked her to help with anything, even just washing the dishes, she would roll her eyes and say, “Oh, Estabban, don’t be a drag. That’s what you’re here for.”

And my father, sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand, would laugh and tell her, “Leave him be. He’s young. He’ll get over it.”

My father, Gustavo, was another story altogether. Before my mother left, he worked as a mechanic, but after she started sending money, he quit. He’d say it wasn’t worth “killing himself” working for peanuts when Marina could support us. But when my mother’s money stopped arriving regularly, he never looked for work again. Instead, he became an expert at spending mine.

Every time I came home, I’d find him in the yard, surrounded by empty beer bottles, laughing loudly with his friends while music blared from the speakers. I once counted more than 20 empty bottles in a single night. Who paid for that? Me. My salary. My hours of work.

I tried talking to him several times. “Dad, I need you to help with something. I can’t cover everything.” But he always responded the same way, with a mocking smile. “Estabban, you’re young, you’re strong. I’ve already done my share of work. Now it’s my turn to enjoy life. And your sister? She’s my princess. I’m not going to ask her to kill herself working like you do.”

Then he’d laugh, as if my life were some sort of joke.

Sometimes, when I arrived home exhausted and saw Claudia going out in a new dress or my father opening another beer, I felt a rage burning inside me. But I swallowed it—not because I wanted to, but because my mother had asked something of me before she left.

“Estabban, take care of your father and your sister. Don’t leave them alone. You’re the man of the house now.” And like an idiot, I took those words as if they were law. Every time I wanted to explode, I would remember her voice and tell myself, They’re my family. I have to endure it.

The years passed, and my life was an endless repetition of work, bills, and humiliations. But something started to change when, after three years at the factory, I was promoted to shift supervisor. It wasn’t a big deal, but the salary was a bit better, and it gave me the opportunity to learn more about the company.

It turned out I had a natural talent for organization and problem-solving. My bosses noticed, and the following year, they offered me a position in the office, managing inventory. My salary doubled. Then, with time, I kept climbing. From inventory manager, I moved to logistics coordinator, and then to operations manager. In five years, my salary was seven times higher than what I started with. Seven times. It was more money than I ever imagined having.

But I never told my father or Claudia. Why? Because I knew that if they found out, they would squeeze every last drop out of me. So, I continued to hand over the same amount as always—what was equivalent to my old minimum wage salary—and I put the rest into a savings account that no one knew about.

My father thought I was still earning the same, and every payday he would ask for the money with the same arrogant attitude. “Come on, Estabban. Give me the household money. Don’t make me wait.”

I would nod, hand him the money, and stay silent. Meanwhile, my account grew, and with it, a small spark of hope. Maybe one day I could leave that house and live for myself.

Despite my new salary, my life at home didn’t change. I still slept in the same small room with a creaky bed and a fan that barely worked. Claudia, on the other hand, had the bigger room with a new TV that, of course, I had paid for. My father continued to spend on his drunken nights, and every time I came home, I’d find him on the same couch with the same beer, surrounded by the same friends.

“Estabban, get me another one from the fridge,” he’d sometimes say without even looking at me. And I, like an idiot, would obey.

But not everything was so simple. Even though I was saving money, I didn’t dare leave. The promise I made to my mother bound me like a chain. Every time I thought about leaving the house, her voice echoed in my head. Don’t leave them alone.

And though I hated to admit it, I still held on to the hope that something would change, that my father would see me as more than a wallet, that Claudia would realize I deserved respect too. But that never happened.

The Breaking Point

The day everything changed started like any other. It was a Friday, and my bi-weekly pay had just been deposited. As always, I printed the deposit slip for my records, but I made a fatal mistake. I left it on my desk in plain sight. Normally, I kept those papers in a folder hidden under my mattress, but that day, I was so tired that I forgot.

When I got home from work, I found Claudia in my room with the slip in her hand, her eyes wide as saucers.

“This is what they pay you,” she said, almost shouting. Her voice was a mix of surprise and greed. “Estabban, you’re earning a fortune and giving us crumbs. How dare you hide this from us?”

I tried to stay calm. “Claudia, that money is mine. I earn it. You two don’t contribute anything, and I still pay for everything in this house. What more do you want?”

She laughed, as if my response was absurd. “Yours? This is a family, Estabban. What you earn is for everyone. I’m going to talk to Dad.”

And she ran off with the slip still in her hand. I knew a storm was coming, but I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. That same night, my father called me into the dining room. He was sitting in his usual armchair with a beer in his hand, but this time he wasn’t smiling. His face was red with rage. Claudia stood beside him with her arms crossed and a triumphant expression.

“What’s this about you earning so much and giving us the same as always?” my father said, waving the slip in the air. “Do you think you can fool me, Estabban? This is a family. We all help each other here. Why did you hide this from us?”

I tried to explain. “Dad, that money is what I earn with my work. I’ve been paying the bills for this house since I was 18. Claudia contributes nothing. And you? You spend my money on beer and parties with your friends. Don’t you think I deserve to keep something for myself?”

My father laughed, but it wasn’t a kind laugh. It was a cruel laugh. The kind that makes you feel small.

“Deserve?” He leaned forward. “Look, Estabban, let me explain how this works. Your sister wants to study at the most prestigious university in the country. That costs money. A lot of money. And me? Well, I have my expenses. So from now on, 80% of your salary will go to Claudia so she can fulfill her dreams. The other 20% is for me, for my things, and for going out with my friends. It’s that simple.”

I stared at him, unable to believe what I had just heard.

“80% for Claudia, 20% for you and me? What’s left for me?”

I felt the rage I had stored up for years rising in my throat like a volcano. But instead of screaming, I laughed. I laughed loudly, hysterically, as if I had just heard the best joke in the world. My father and Claudia looked at me as if I were crazy.

“What are you laughing at?” my father asked, clearly annoyed.

“I’m laughing because I’m fed up. Fed up with supporting two parasites who claim to be my family. Fed up with your drunken nights, Dad. Fed up with your parties, Claudia. Fed up with being treated like I’m worthless. So, you know what? I’m leaving. I’m leaving with 100% of my salary, and you two can pay your own bills. It’s that simple.”

My father’s face changed. The rage gave way to an expression of disbelief.

“What did you say?”

“You don’t call the shots, Estabban. You have an obligation to this family. You always have and you always will.”

“No,” I said with a calmness I didn’t know I possessed. “That’s over.”

I went to my room, took out a suitcase, and started packing my things—my clothes, my documents, my laptop, everything that was mine. My father followed me, yelling that I wasn’t going to leave, that I couldn’t just leave them like this. He tried to block the door, but I was no longer the same Estabban who would bow his head. I pushed him aside and walked out of that house without looking back.

The Freedom of Leaving

I went to live in an apartment all by myself. I bought a flat-screen TV, a bed with a mattress that didn’t creak, and I even allowed myself the luxury of a trip to the beach. It’s incredible how it feels to spend your own salary on yourself without anyone telling you that you don’t deserve it.

But it wasn’t all peace. About three months later, my cell phone rang at 10 p.m. It was an unknown number, but something told me it wasn’t just any call. I answered, and the voice on the other end made my blood run cold. It was Claudia, my sister. But she didn’t sound like the usual Claudia, with her arrogant tone and mocking laugh. She sounded desperate.

“Estabban, please, you have to help us,” she said, her voice trembling. “We’re going to be evicted. We don’t have the money to pay the rent. Dad, and I don’t know what to do.”

I remained silent, processing her words. A part of me wanted to hang up, but another part, the one that still remembered the humiliations, wanted to hear more.

“Evicted?” I said coldly. “And what does that have to do with me? I don’t live there anymore. You two figure it out.”

“No, wait,” she shouted almost on the verge of tears. “We have nothing. My salary isn’t enough. And dad… dad hasn’t been able to work much. Please, Estabban. You’re our only hope. If we don’t pay this month, they’ll throw us out on the street.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was a dry laugh, loaded with all the resentment I had accumulated over the years.

“Your salary isn’t enough? How curious, Claudia. Because when you were spending it all on parties, clothes, and clubs, you never worried about the rent. And now, suddenly, I’m your savior.”

“Please, Estabban, this isn’t the time for that,” she said, her voice breaking. “I know I wasn’t the best sister, but we need your help. Your family. You can’t just leave us like this.”

Before I could answer, I heard another voice in the background. It was my father, Gustavo, snatching the phone from Claudia.

“Estabban, listen to me carefully,” he yelled with that deep voice he used when he wanted to assert his authority. But this time, there was something different. It wasn’t just anger. There was desperation.

“Do you think you can just wash your hands of us and leave us on the street? You’re selfish. We always gave you a roof, food, a family. And now that you’re earning a fortune, you turn your back on us. That’s not what a man does.”

I felt the rage rising in my chest, but also a strange calm. For the first time, I didn’t feel intimidated.

“A roof, food, a family?” I said, almost spitting the words. “Let’s get something straight, Dad. For years, I paid for that roof. I paid for the food. I paid for the electricity, the water, even your damn beers. And what did I get in return? Your mockery. You’re made to enjoy life, Estabban, not work. You and Claudia are parasites, and sooner or later, parasites have to learn to survive on their own.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then Claudia got back on the phone, sobbing.

“Estabban, please. We have no one else. If we get evicted, I don’t know what we’ll do. Please, I’m begging you. We’re your family. You can’t just leave us like this.”

I stared at the screen, knowing what I had to do.

“I don’t live in your world anymore,” I typed, and hit send.

The End.