“Besides, that money was lent to your cousin. He’ll pay it back later…”

“Pay it back?” I cut her off. “He didn’t even write an IOU. How is he supposed to pay it back? Aunt, put your hand on your heart—do you really believe that?”

She froze, unable to finish a full sentence.

At that moment, my mother grabbed the phone back, anger burning hotter after my words.

“Yes! It was us! So what?”

“It’s our money. We can give it to whoever we want!”

“We’re happy to buy your cousin a car! What right do you have to question me? Who do you think you are?”

“Let me tell you, Ryan, with that attitude, don’t expect a single cent from us ever again!”

“Open a shop? If you lose money later, go sell your blood or kidneys!”

“Just don’t come crying to us!”

“We raised you all these years, and you’ve achieved nothing, yet you’ve learned to argue with your own family?”

“At least your cousin knows how to be grateful. He comes back to see us every holiday.”

“And you? You disappear for half a year, and every call is about money!”

“Do we owe you anything?”

“If I had known you’d turn out like this, I should’ve aborted you back then!”

Hearing this, I suddenly felt like laughing.

When her rant finally slowed, I spoke quietly.

“You’re right.”

“The money is yours. You can give it to whoever you want.”

“I really don’t have the right to interfere.”

I paused, my throat tight, but forced myself to continue.

“In that case, from now on, just pretend you never had me.”

“I’ll disappear on my own. I won’t ask you for a single cent again, and I won’t trouble you anymore.”

A few seconds later, my mother’s furious scream came through the phone.

I didn’t listen anymore and hung up.

The world finally fell silent.

I stared at my phone screen. The 30,000-dollar online loan had arrived.

The interest was high, and the repayment plan was crushing.

This should have been support from my parents, a warm beginning.

Now, it was only debt.

I opened my cousin’s Social Media.

The post showing off his iPhone 15 Pro was still there. In the photo, he sat in the brand-new driver’s seat, hands on the wheel, smiling brightly.

Below were rows of likes and congratulations, with my parents’ accounts clearly visible.

Comments read things like, “We’re family, no need to be formal,” and “My nephew is doing great.”

It was painfully ironic.

Since I was young, my parents have been extremely strict with me.

No talking at the table, proper posture, and always in the top ten in class.

As for pocket money? That didn’t exist.

They said, “What do kids need money for? Just study.”

But every time my cousin visited, my dad would smile and pull out a few bills, stuffing them into his hand.

“Here, Kevin, buy yourself something tasty.”

Then he’d turn to me and say, “You’re the older brother. You should give way to your younger cousin.”

I was eight then. My cousin was six.

In sixth grade, I saved recyclables for three months and sold them to scrape together twenty dollars to buy a set of Curious Minds.

When my mom found out, she not only took the money but also scolded me.

“What’s the use of reading useless books? Do more math problems instead.”

The next day, I saw my cousin running around the living room with a new remote-controlled car, priced at exactly twenty dollars.

In junior high, the school organized a spring trip to an amusement park. The fee was one hundred fifty dollars.

When I got home, I carefully asked my dad. He didn’t even look up.

“What’s the point of going there? It’s a waste of money. Stay home and study this weekend.”

I locked myself in my room until I heard laughter from the living room.

My uncle’s family had arrived, and my dad happily said he would take my cousin to the amusement park next week.

“The tickets are expensive, but that’s fine. Your uncle will take you. We’ll have lots of fun!”

Later, I hid under my blanket and cried.

That was the first time I doubted whether I was really his biological child.

The next day, my mother spoke to me seriously. “We’re strict with you because we expect a lot from you.”

“Your cousin’s family isn’t doing well, so we help them when we can.”

“You’re the older brother. You need to understand.”

She sounded so sincere, her eyes so earnest, that my doubts felt like a sin.

During three years of high school, my monthly allowance was 500 dollars.

At school, it was only enough for the cheapest cafeteria meals, and I was often hungry.

I didn’t dare join any activities that cost money, and I even hesitated for a long time before buying a birthday card for a classmate.

Once, my dad came to visit me at school and saw me eating plain rice with free seaweed soup.

He frowned.

“Why are you eating so badly? You’re growing. You need proper nutrition.”

I thought he would feel sorry for me and give me more money, but instead he said, “It’s good to suffer a bit. It will make you tougher.”

A few days later, I heard my cousin had signed up for piano lessons. The fee was 4,800 dollars.

My dad paid two-thirds of it.

I went to university in another province, thinking I could finally relax.

But my living expenses were still tight—only 800 dollars a month. After phone and internet bills, there was barely enough left for food.

My roommates went out on weekends for dinners, movies, and shopping, having fun together.

I could only make excuses and stay in the library.

Once, I couldn’t refuse and went along. After that, I ate instant noodles for half a month.

During the winter break of my sophomore year, I went to the bathroom one night and heard voices from the bedroom.

“Honey, are we giving Ryan too little for living expenses? Prices are higher now.”

My dad frowned. “Too little? Boys should live frugally.”

“Oh, right. Kevin said yesterday he wants a new phone, so I borrowed 3,000 dollars from you.”

My mom laughed softly. “Of course. That kid has such a sweet mouth. Last time, he even said he’d support us when he earns money.”

I stood outside the door, my hands and feet freezing cold.

After graduating, I was rejected again and again when job hunting.

I called home and carefully asked if they could help ask around.

My dad said flatly, “We don’t have that kind of ability. You have to find your own way.”

“And we won’t spend another cent on you. You’re twenty-two. It’s time to be independent.”

That month, I lived in a tiny small rented room in an City suburb, eating only two steamed buns a day.

I sent out hundreds of resumes and got only three interviews, all of which I turned down.

At my worst, I had only seven dollars and thirty cents left in my account.

Just when I was completely desperate, my cousin updated his Social Media.

He had gotten a job at a local state-owned company with great benefits.

In the photo, he wore a brand-new suit, with a grand office building behind him.

My parents were the first to comment:

“My nephew is amazing!”

“Work hard! Your aunt believes in you!”

Later, I learned my dad had used many connections to get him that job.

An old classmate of his was a leader there. My dad treated him to three dinners, gave him two cartons of good cigarettes and a thick red envelope, and only then got my cousin hired.

I asked my mom why.

She replied casually, “Your cousin didn’t study as well as you. If we don’t help him, who will?”

“You’re a graduate from a top university. Why would anyone need to worry about you?”

Each thing alone sounded reasonable.

To toughen me up, to help relatives, to make me independent, to be fair…

All these reasons, put together, shaped my life for more than twenty years.

I put down my phone and began to pack.

This rented room, less than ten square meters, was the only place I had after graduation.

A bed, a simple closet, a secondhand desk—that was everything I owned.

While packing the desk drawer, I found a small metal box.

I opened it. Inside were scattered keepsakes.

A primary school “Three Good Student” certificate, a middle school math contest award, a copy of my university admission letter, and several wrinkled family photos.

The newest photo was taken during the New Year holiday two years ago.

I stood at the edge, my face stiff.

My cousin stood between my parents, smiling brightly.

My dad’s hand rested on my cousin’s shoulder. My mom had her arm around him.

Anyone who didn’t know us would think they were father and son.

I stared at the photo for a long time, then tore it in half, then into pieces, and threw it away.

The next day, I went to work as usual.

At lunch, I got a call from an unknown number.

“Ryan, it’s me—your Uncle William.”

I paused. “What’s wrong?”

“What did you mean by what you said yesterday? Pretending we never raised you?”

“Do you know how angry your mother is? Her blood pressure shot up!”

I replied calmly, “Then you should’ve taken her to the hospital, not called me.”

“You—” my uncle choked. “How did you become like this? Didn’t your parents raise you with great effort?”

“Is it really worth causing all this trouble just because we didn’t lend you money?”

“It’s not only about the money. But it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Is there anything else? I need to rest.”

“Wait!” he said quickly. “I need to explain something. Your cousin’s car—your father offered that money. We never asked for it!”

“And we’ll pay it back for sure. We’re just short right now…”

“Uncle William,” I cut in, “whether you repay it or not is between you and my dad. It has nothing to do with me.”

“I’m going to take a nap. I’m hanging up.”

“Ryan! Ryan!”

I hung up and blocked the number.

That afternoon, during a short break, I secretly searched for shop rentals and contacted a few agents.

After work, I viewed two places, but neither worked.

Either the rent was too high, or the location was poor.

That night, back in my room, I cooked a bowl of instant noodles.

While eating, someone knocked on the door.

I opened it to see my parents and several relatives.

My Uncle William, Aunt Margaret, and Aunt Catherine.

They crowded into the small room, their faces serious.

“Ryan, you’ve really grown up,” my mother said first, her voice sharp.

“Saying such outrageous things, threatening to cut ties with us—who taught you that?”

“Exactly. Completely outrageous,” Aunt Margaret said, arms crossed, glancing around with a sneer.

“Your parents came all this way, and you’re just going to let your elders stand?”

There was only one chair.

I didn’t sit. I didn’t speak.

My dad’s face darkened as he stared at me. “Your mother was furious all night. Her chest still hurts.”

“Do you have any conscience?” Aunt Catherine sighed, shaking her head. “Ryan, it’s not that I want to criticize you…”