Alex was their golden boy from day one. He could do no wrong — even when he clearly did everything wrong.

Alex is two years younger than me. I’m thirty-four now, so he’s thirty-two, but it’s like he’s never aged past sixteen.

He’s the kind of guy who peaked in high school. Or at least he would have, if he’d actually graduated.

He dropped out halfway through junior year because he didn’t like being told what to do. That was always his excuse for everything — jobs, school, relationships. It didn’t matter; if someone had any kind of authority over him, he was out.

Meanwhile, I did everything right. I studied hard, got good grades, and worked part-time during high school to save up for college.

My parents owned a small landscaping business — a decent little setup with a handful of employees. It wasn’t glamorous, but it kept the lights on and food on the table.

They’d make me help out during the summer, trimming hedges, mowing lawns, and lugging equipment around. I hated it, but I did it because I knew it was temporary. I had bigger plans.

Alex, on the other hand, would disappear halfway through the day saying he didn’t feel like working or that it was too hot outside.

My parents would just shrug it off.

“He’s still figuring things out,” they’d say.

Figuring things out? He wasn’t even trying.

After high school, things only got worse.

While I was working two part-time jobs and taking night classes to get my degree, Alex was bouncing between temp gigs and living at home rent-free.

He’d get hired at some retail job or delivery service, and within weeks he’d quit or get fired because he didn’t like being bossed around.

It got to the point where my parents stopped asking what happened when he came home unemployed again. They’d just sigh and say, “He’ll find something that works for him eventually.”

Of course, eventually never came.

By the time I graduated college and started working as a financial analyst, Alex was still lounging at home, borrowing money from our parents to “start his own business” or “invest in a great opportunity.”

Nothing ever came of those investments.

I wish I could say I was surprised by how much they coddled him, but it had been this way since we were kids.

If I got a B on a test, they’d lecture me about not trying hard enough. If Alex failed a class, they’d blame the teacher for not understanding his learning style.

If I wanted new clothes, I had to save up for them. If Alex wanted new sneakers, my parents would hand over their credit card like it was nothing.

It was like we were living in two completely different households.

Still, I tried to keep the peace. I’d go over for family dinners, listen to my mom gush about how smart Alex was despite all evidence to the contrary, and nod along to my dad’s stories about how Alex was “so close to landing a big opportunity.”

It was frustrating, but I didn’t want to be the guy who constantly stirred the pot.

I figured as long as they weren’t dragging me into it, I could just let them live in their little bubble.

But even then, there were cracks.

Like the time I overheard my mom telling a family friend that I didn’t need as much attention because I was “self-sufficient.”

Or the time my dad flat-out said that Alex had more potential than me because he was “creative.”

Creative. The guy couldn’t even stick to a basic budget.

But whatever — I let it go. Because honestly, what was the point?

By the time I hit my late twenties, I’d started to distance myself from them.

I wasn’t cutting them off or anything — I just had my own life.

I’d bought a modest little house, built up some savings, and was starting to feel like all my hard work was finally paying off.

Meanwhile, Alex was still living at home, mooching off our parents and complaining about how hard life was.

The crazy part? My parents were fine with it.

They even defended it.

“He’s just taking some time to find his path,” my mom would say. “Not everyone figures it out right away.”

Sure, Mom. He’s been figuring it out for over a decade now.

But again, I kept my mouth shut. It wasn’t worth the fight.

Looking back, I think a part of me always knew where this was heading.

My parents’ favoritism wasn’t just about emotional support. I just didn’t realize how far they’d take it — until last year.

That’s when everything came crashing down.

To give you some backstory, family dinners with my parents were something I endured, not something I looked forward to.

Growing up, I’d learned that skipping one wasn’t worth the guilt trip that followed. So once every couple of weeks, I’d head over to their place, make small talk, eat whatever my mom made, and remind myself that this was just part of being a good son.

Dinners followed the same routine every time.

My mom would call me earlier in the day to remind me to come — even though I’d never actually forgotten.

I’d show up, greet my dad (who was usually sitting in his recliner watching sports or some old action movie), and then chat with my mom while she finished cooking.

Alex was almost always already there, sitting at the table or on the couch, scrolling through his phone like he had absolutely nothing better to do — which, to be fair, he probably didn’t.

The food was always solid — my mom was a great cook — but it didn’t make up for the awkward conversation.

Most of the time, they’d start off harmless enough. My dad would complain about traffic or the weather, and my mom would give me updates about random people I barely remembered from childhood.

But no matter where the conversation started, it always found its way back to Alex.

“Alex has been so busy with the business,” my mom would say, like she was trying to convince herself as much as me.

“Yeah, he’s been coming up with some great ideas,” my dad would add, nodding like they were talking about some kind of entrepreneurial genius.

I’d just sit there chewing my food and pretending to be interested. I knew better than to argue.

No matter how much evidence there was to the contrary, my parents were fully committed to the idea that Alex was turning things around.

Once, I made the mistake of asking for specifics.

“What kind of ideas?” I asked, genuinely curious about what Alex could possibly be contributing.

“Well,” my mom started, glancing at Alex, who was suddenly way too interested in his plate, “he’s been talking about expanding into commercial contracts, you know — office parks, malls, bigger projects.”

“Right,” Alex mumbled, not looking up.

“That’s ambitious,” I said carefully.

I wanted to ask how they planned to pull that off when Alex couldn’t even show up to residential jobs on time, but I bit my tongue.

Every once in a while, my parents would try to drag me into the conversation.

“You’re good with numbers, Daniel,” my dad said one night out of nowhere. “You should take a look at the books sometime, maybe give Alex some pointers.”

“Dad, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I replied.

“Why not? You could help him out. You’re family.”

I glanced at Alex, who was still glued to his phone, and shook my head. “I’ve got my own job to worry about. Besides, Alex seems to have it under control.”

That shut my dad up, but I could tell he wasn’t happy about it.

The thing about these dinners was that they weren’t just about eating together — they were about keeping up appearances.

My parents wanted me there because it made everything seem normal, like we were this big happy family.

But the reality was far from it.

Alex barely acknowledged me most of the time, and when he did, it was usually to make some snarky comment about how I thought I was better than him because I had a degree and a steady job.

My parents, of course, never called him out on it.

They’d just sit there pretending not to notice — or worse, laugh along like he was being funny.

One time I brought up something about my work, a project I’d been proud of, and Alex immediately jumped in with, “Must be nice sitting at a desk all day while other people do the real work.”

I stared at him, trying to decide if it was even worth responding.

“Yeah, Alex,” I said finally, “sitting at a desk is exhausting. You should try it sometime.”

My dad cleared his throat, and my mom quickly changed the subject.

“Alex has been thinking about hiring more people for the business,” she said, as if that was groundbreaking news.

“Really?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, not yet,” Alex cut in. “It’s just an idea for now.”

I wanted to laugh. Of course it was just an idea. Everything with Alex was just an idea.

After dinner, we’d usually sit in the living room for a bit.

Alex would sprawl out on the couch looking bored. I’d sit there sipping my coffee, counting down the minutes until it was socially acceptable to leave.

It wasn’t that I hated my family — I didn’t. But being there felt like stepping into a time machine.

No matter how much my life had changed, nothing about that house or the people in it ever seemed to evolve.

It was the same conversations, the same dynamics, the same expectations.

They still saw me as the responsible one — the one who didn’t need help, the one who could always figure things out on his own.

And Alex? He was still the golden boy who needed all their attention and support, no matter how little he deserved it.

By the time I left, I always felt drained. It was like the house sucked all the energy out of me.

I’d get in my car, crank up the radio, and take a deep breath, reminding myself that I didn’t have to live in that world anymore.

But no matter how far I distanced myself, I knew I’d be back in a couple of weeks, sitting at that same table, listening to the same conversations, and pretending everything was fine.

So it was supposed to be just another Sunday dinner.

I didn’t expect much — same bland conversations, same forced family bonding.

I figured I’d show up, eat my mom’s lasagna, endure an hour or two of Alex’s smirking and my dad’s grumbling about the state of the economy, and head home.

Easy enough, right?

But this time was different.

The atmosphere felt weird from the moment I walked in.

My mom was unusually tense, and my dad was sitting at the table instead of his usual spot in the recliner.

Even Alex looked uncomfortable — which was rare, since he usually parked himself in front of the TV like he owned the place.

“Hey, what’s going on?” I asked, dropping my keys on the counter.

“Nothing, nothing,” my mom said quickly, her voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing. “Dinner’s almost ready. Go ahead and sit down.”

I frowned but did as she said, taking my usual seat at the table.

My dad cleared his throat and glanced at my mom, who gave him a little nod.

Alex, sitting across from me, was suddenly very interested in his phone.

“All right,” my dad said, his tone more serious than usual. “We’ve got something to talk about.”

Here we go, I thought.

I had no idea what was coming, but it couldn’t be good. My dad didn’t do serious talks unless he was about to complain or deliver bad news.

“We’ve been thinking a lot about the future,” he continued, his hands clasped on the table like he was about to deliver a corporate presentation. “Your mom and I aren’t getting any younger, and we want to make sure everything’s in order.”

“Okay…” I said slowly, glancing between them.

My mom jumped in. “You know — the business, the house, our savings. We’ve been trying to figure out the best way to transition things.”

Transition.

That word immediately set off alarm bells in my head.

They’d never talked about this kind of stuff before — at least not with me. I figured they had some vague retirement plan, but I’d never pressed them on it because, frankly, it wasn’t my business.

My dad nodded. “We’ve made a decision. We’re going to start stepping back from the business, and we’ve decided to put everything in Alex’s name.”

I blinked.

“Everything?”

“The house, the business, the savings,” my mom clarified, like she was explaining it to a child. “It just makes the most sense.”

I stared at them, waiting for them to crack a smile or say just kidding.

But they didn’t. They were completely serious.

“Wait,” I said, trying to process what I’d just heard. “You’re giving everything to Alex?”

“Yes,” my dad said, like it was the most logical decision in the world.

“Why?”

My mom tilted her head, giving me that pitying look she’d perfected over the years.

“Honey, you don’t need it. You’ve got a good job, a house. Alex needs the support more.”

“Support,” I repeated, the word tasting bitter in my mouth. “You mean the guy who couldn’t even graduate high school and hasn’t held down a job for more than six months at a time?”

My dad sighed, already looking annoyed. “That’s not fair, Daniel. Alex has had a harder time finding his footing. We just want to give him a chance to succeed.”

“A chance to succeed?” I said, shaking my head. “At what — blowing through all your money and running the business into the ground?”

“Daniel,” my mom said, her tone sharp, “that’s enough.”

“No, seriously,” I said, my voice rising despite myself. “You’re giving him everything, and I get what exactly — a pat on the back for being responsible?”

“You don’t need anything from us,” my dad said, his voice firm. “You’ve always been independent. Alex, on the other hand, could use a little extra help.”

“A little extra help?”

They were handing over their entire life’s work — their house and their savings — to a guy who couldn’t even manage his own phone bill.

It was beyond insulting. It was infuriating.

I looked at Alex, who had finally put his phone down and was watching me with this smug little smirk. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to.

The look on his face said it all.

Sucks to be you, bro.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered, pushing my chair back.

“Daniel, please,” my mom said, her voice suddenly shaky. “Don’t make this into a fight. We’re not trying to punish you. We just think this is what’s best for the family.”

“Best for the family?” I repeated, laughing bitterly. “No — this is what’s best for Alex. And when he screws it all up, which we all know he will, then what? You’ll come to me to fix it?”

“That’s not fair,” my dad said again, his jaw tightening. “Alex is capable. He’s been stepping up lately, and we trust him to handle this.”

“Stepping up?” I snapped. “By showing up to work twice a week and scrolling through his phone the rest of the time? Yeah, sounds real responsible.”

Alex finally decided to speak.

“You’re just jealous,” he said, his voice dripping with fake confidence. “Just because they trust me more doesn’t mean you have to throw a tantrum.”

I laughed in disbelief.

“Trust you? That’s a good one, Alex. Trust has nothing to do with this. They’re just too blind to see you for who you really are.”

“That’s enough!” my mom said, slamming her hand on the table.

It wasn’t often that she raised her voice, but when she did, it usually worked.

Not this time.

“No, it’s not enough,” I said, standing up. “You’ve made your choice. Fine. Give everything to Alex.”

“Daniel, please,” my dad said, his tone softer now. “Don’t walk away like this. We’re still a family.”

I shook my head.

“A family? No, Dad. A family supports each other. This?” I gestured around the table. “This is just favoritism, plain and simple.”

Without another word, I grabbed my keys and left.

I could hear my mom calling after me as I walked out the door, but I didn’t turn back.

That drive home was one of the longest of my life.

My hands were shaking, and my mind was racing.

Part of me couldn’t believe what had just happened — but another part of me wasn’t surprised at all.

They’d always favored Alex. This was just the natural conclusion of years of coddling and enabling.

Still, knowing it didn’t make it easier to accept.

By the time I got home, I’d made up my mind.

I wasn’t going to let them drag me into this mess.

They wanted Alex to have everything? Fine.

But they weren’t going to use me as their safety net when it all went sideways.

Not this time.

After that dinner, I kept my distance.

Not in a dramatic you’ll never hear from me again kind of way, but in a quiet I need some space before I lose my mind way.

I didn’t block their numbers or anything, but I wasn’t answering their calls either.

They didn’t try that hard to reach out, so I figured we were all okay with the silence.

In the first few weeks, it was almost peaceful.

No forced small talk, no sitting through another round of Alex is so great stories.

I had my evenings back to myself and my weekends free of the emotional drain that came with visiting them.

But that peace came with a side of frustration.

I kept asking myself the same questions:

How could they not see how unfair this is? Do they really think Alex is capable of running a business? What’s going to happen when it all falls apart?

I wanted to let it go, but the anger just sat there simmering beneath the surface.

It wasn’t just about the business or the house or even the money. It was about the principle.

They’d spent my whole life treating Alex like he was the center of the universe, and now they’d taken it to the extreme.

They didn’t just play favorites — they handed him their entire legacy on a silver platter and didn’t even pretend to include me in the decision.