My Parents Demanded Half of My Salary After College Funding – But the Truth Left Me Speechless!

I remember the day Liy was born like it was yesterday. I was eight, a skinny girl with white eyes and a head full of dreams. My parents, John and Sarah, were ordinary folks. Dad worked at a local factory and mom stayed at home. Life was simple until Lily came along. “Look at her, Sarah.

 She’s got your eyes,” Dad said, holding Lily for the first time. Mom had smiled a tired but triumphant smile. “And your nose,” John, I stood by the door, clutching my ragged doll, waiting for someone to notice me. “Can I see Lily?” I asked timidly. Mom glanced at me, her eyes barely registering my presence. “Not now, Linda. Lily needs rest, and so do I.

School wasn’t much better. Kids can be cruel when they smell vulnerability. Hey, Scarecrow. Linda, Jack, the class bully, would sneer as he tugged at my faded dress. Did you get your clothes from the trash? I tried to ignore them, but words hurt more than punches. At home, Lily grew into a pampered princess.

 She’d scribble in my textbooks and giggle, “Look, Linda, I’m helping you with homework.” I’d sigh, Lily, please don’t do that. I need those for school. One day she went too far, pouring paint over my only good dress. I yelled at her, but she just cried. That’s when mom stormed in. “What’s going on here?” she demanded, her eyes flashing.

 “Lily ruined my dress,” I said, holding up the stained fabric. “Mom didn’t even look at the dress.” “How dare you yell at your sister? Go to your room, Linda. No dessert for a week.” Grandma was the only one who understood. “Don’t let them get you down, Linda,” she’d say. Her house was my refuge, filled with books and love.

 She taught me to escape into stories, to live a thousand lives within those worn pages. The day grandma passed away was the day I lost my true home. I remember coming back from school, my heart heavy, walking into a house filled with her absence. My parents were in the living room already talking about her belongings.

 We should start clearing out her stuff, Dad said, his voice devoid of any sadness. Mom was looking through a list and her library, those dusty old books. I lingered at the doorway, listening, a tightness growing in my chest. Just get rid of them, Dad shrugged. Who needs all that old paper? I couldn’t hold back anymore. Can I have grandma’s books? I blurted out, stepping into the room.

 Please, they both turned, almost surprised to see me. Sure, take them, Mom said dismissively. We don’t have any use for them anyway. I spent the next days transferring Grandma’s books to my room. Each one a piece of her I wasn’t ready to lose. Life moved on in its cruel pace. As high school came to an end, my parents made an offer I didn’t expect.

 We’ll pay for your college. Mom announced one evening. You can study accounting or something practical. I remember feeling a mix of surprise and suspicion. Really? I asked. It’s our duty, Dad said. Just don’t expect any more handouts after this. College was my escape, a chance to be more than just the overlooked sister.

 But even that came with its price. A few weeks into my part-time job at the library, mom cornered me. You’re making money now. It’s only fair you start paying us back for your tuition. I was stunned. But you said you’d pay for my college. I didn’t ask for this. Don’t be ungrateful, she snapped.

 Half your salary, that’s the deal. The injustice of it burned in me, but I had no choice. Years passed in this exhausting cycle. Work, study, pay my unfair dues. My graduation was supposed to be a celebration, but it felt more like a reminder of the shackles I couldn’t escape. At the dinner table, with Lily smirking beside me, my parents dropped another bombshell.

 “Now that you’re working full-time, we expect you to continue paying us,” Dad said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. But I’ve been paying you all through college. When does this end? I protested. It ends when we say it does, Mom said coldly. You owe us, Linda. I felt a mixture of anger and helplessness. This isn’t fair, I protested.

 Life isn’t fair, Dad retorted. You live under our roof. You follow our rules. And just like that, my dreams of independence, of a life where I could be my own person, were crushed under the weight of their greed and entitlement. In my room that night, surrounded by grandma’s books, I realized the stark contrast between the warmth and love they represented and the cold, calculating nature of my own family.

These books were my only legacy, the only thing that connected me to a sense of belonging, of being understood. Life after college became a monotonous cycle of work and fatigue. Every payday, the same scene would unfold at home. Linda, have you got your paycheck yet? Mom would ask, her hand already outstretched.

 The moment I stepped through the door, I’d hand over half of my earnings without a word. It had become a routine, a bitter pill I swallowed each month. One evening, I mustered the courage to confront them. “Mom, Dad,” I began hesitantly. “I’ve been thinking, maybe I can start keeping a bit more of my salary. I need to save up. Maybe for a place of my own.

” Mom’s expression hardened. “Your own place? Don’t be ridiculous. You owe us, Linda. We pay for your education.” But I’ve been paying back. Isn’t that enough? I protested, feeling a surge of frustration. Enough? You think a few thousand cover your debt to us? Dad’s voice rose. We raised you, fed you, clothed you.

 You owe us for a lifetime. My heart sank. I never asked for any of this. I just wanted to go to college. And who do you think paid for that? You think that was free? Mom snapped. No, Linda. You’ll continue paying us just as you have been. The unfairness of it all was suffocating. Lily, ever the favored child, never missed a chance to taunt me.

 Look at our little accountant. Can’t even afford a new dress. She’d sneer, flaunting the latest gadget or outfit they’d bought her. I remember one particularly hard day at work. I had stayed late trying to finish a complex report. Exhausted, I reached home to find my family had ordered takeout, my favorite Thai food. For a moment, my spirits lifted.

 Is there any left for me? I asked hopefully. Mom shrugged. You should have been here earlier. Besides, you can buy your own food with your big salary. I retreated to my room, too tired to argue. Dinner that night was a stale sandwich and a cup of tea. Alone in my room, surrounded by the comforting presence of my grandmother’s books, I felt the full weight of the life I was trapped in.

 I longed for more, for freedom, for a chance to live for myself. But every attempt to break free was met with guilt trips and reminders of a debt that I was beginning to realize might not even be mine. My life at home had become a ceaseless routine of work and servitude. Each day I’d return from my job as an accountant, mentally drained, only to be greeted by the chaos of my family’s demands.

 One evening I came home to find the living room in a mess. Dad was lounging on the sofa watching TV. While Lily was sprawled on the floor, surrounded by a pile of clothes, Dad said without looking away from the screen. Linda, you’re back finally. Clean up this mess, will you? And start dinner. We’re hungry. But I’ve just got back from work, I protested weakly, my shoulders slumping.

Work? You call sitting in an office all day work? Lily scoffed, not bothering to lift her gaze from her phone. Try doing something useful for a change. Their words stunned, but I was too tired to argue. Silently, I began picking up the clothes, my mind heavy with resentment. As I cooked dinner, the familiar sense of injustice nod at me.

 I was more than just their housekeeper, more than their source of income, but in their eyes, I was nothing more than an extension of their will, a means to an end. The next morning, I was met with another list of demands. “Linda, take Ley shopping today. She needs new clothes, Mom instructed as I was about to leave for work.

 But I have a busy day at the office, I said, my voice strained with frustration. Oh, what’s more important? Your job or your family? Mom retorted, her tone sharp. The irony of her words wasn’t lost on me. My job was important only when it benefited them. Reluctantly, I agreed to take Lily shopping after work, sacrificing the little personal time I had left.

 At the mall, Lily flitted from store to store, her excitement in stark contrast to my growing despair. Isn’t this dress cute, Linda? She gushed, holding up an expensive designer dress. Buy it for me. You owe us after all. I looked at the price tag and felt a pain in my chest. Lily, this is too much. I can’t afford this.

 Can’t afford it? But you’re the big earner in the family, she taunted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Stop being so stingy. I woke up with a newfound resolve. The truth about my education funding had sparked a fire within me. I couldn’t continue living under the manipulation and exploitation of my family.

 As I walked into the kitchen where mom, dad, and Lily were already having breakfast, I felt a sense of clarity. “Good morning,” I said softly. Dad glanced up. “Morning. Make sure you’re not late for work.” I waited, hoping for more, but there was just silence. My heart sank. They had forgotten. It was just another day for them.

 I tried to hide my disappointment as I prepared my breakfast. The clock ticked away. Each second a reminder of how little they cared. As I was about to leave for work, I mustered up the courage to remind them. You know, today is my birthday, I said, my voice barely a whisper. Mom looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before it vanished.

 Oh, is it? Well, happy birthday. Don’t expect us to throw a party. Lily snickered. Yeah, happy birthday, Linda. Maybe you can treat yourself to something nice with your big paycheck. Their words stung like a thousand needles. I left the house holding back tears, feeling more alone than ever. The day at work was long and tiring.

 When I returned home, I hoped maybe they’d have a change of heart, but the house was just as I’d left it. I found mom, dad, and Lily in the living room ordering food from a fancy restaurant over the phone. My hopes dissipated like mist. “Are we expecting guests?” I asked, a glimmer of hope reigniting. “No, just felt like ordering something nice,” Mom said casually.

 “You can join us if you want.” I watched as they ordered dish after dish, my heart sinking with each click of the phone. Should I get the lobster or the steak? Lily mused aloud. You should get both. Mom encouraged. I stood there a bystander in my own home. They hadn’t just forgotten my birthday. They didn’t care.

 I retreated to my room, the walls echoing with their laughter and chatter. I sat on my bed, surrounded by grandma’s books, the only gifts I’d ever truly treasured. In the silence of my room, I called my aunt Mary, the only other person who had ever shown me kindness. She answered with a warm, “Happy birthday, Linda. How are you, dear?” Her words, so simple, yet so full of warmth, brought tears to my eyes.

 We talked for a while, and she shared stories about Grandma, bringing a smile to my face. Then she said something that stopped me cold. You know, your grandmother would be so proud of you. She always wanted the best for you. That’s why she left the money for your education. I was confused. What money, Aunt Mary? The money she saved up for your college.

Didn’t your parents tell you? She was so determined to give you a good start in life. My world spun. Grandma had paid for my college all these years. My parents had lied, making me believe I owed them. I hung up the phone, my mind racing. The truth was a key unlocking the chains I’d been bound with for so long. That night, I couldn’t sleep.

 The revelation churned in my mind a mix of anger, betrayal, and a newfound sense of determination. I couldn’t let them control me anymore. I had to break free to find my own path. The next morning, I confronted them. I know about the money grandma left for my education. Why did you lie to me? Their reactions were a mix of shock and defensiveness.

We did what we had to do, Mom said coldly. We’re your parents. It’s your duty to support us. Duty? You lied and made me your servant. I exclaimed, my voice trembling with emotion. Dad just rolled his eyes. Drama queen, you should be grateful we let you live here. That was the final straw. I was done being their scapegoat, their cash cow.

 It was time for me to take control of my life. The morning after my birthday was a new beginning. The sun seemed brighter, the air fresher, as if the world was acknowledging my resolve. I had packed my things quietly, trying to avoid any early confrontations. But as I was about to leave, Mom and Lily confronted me in the hallway, blocking my path.

 “Where do you think you’re going with those bags?” Mom asked, her eyes narrowing. “I’m leaving,” I stated, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. Mom’s tone turned, pleading. “Linda, you can’t do this to us. We’re your family. Where will you go? Lily chimed in. Anywhere but here, I said, stepping around them. I deserve better than this.

I deserve a life. As I walked out the door, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. The shackles of guilt and obligation that had held me down for so long were finally broken. I didn’t look back. I walked towards the bus stop, my heart filled with a mix of fear and excitement. I was stepping into the unknown, but for the first time, it was a path that I had chosen for myself.

 On the bus, I called a number I had written down a few months back, an advertisement for an apartment rental. The voice on the other end was friendly and understanding. By the time the bus reached my stop, I had arranged to view the apartment later that day. The apartment was small but cozy, a stark contrast to the coldness of my family home.

 As I signed the lease, I felt a sense of ownership and independence I had never experienced before. That night, in my new apartment, surrounded by my grandmother’s books, I finally felt at peace. I cooked a simple dinner for myself, enjoying every bite without the weight of judgment or expectation. My phone rang several times that evening, the caller ID showing my family’s number, but I didn’t answer.

 I was done letting them control my life. Instead, I curled up on the small sofa with a book, losing myself in a story of adventure and courage. It was like grandma was there with me, her spirit encouraging me to live the life I was meant to have. In the quiet of my apartment, I made a promise to myself. I would live my life on my own terms, find my own happiness.

 I would no longer be the overlooked child, but a woman strong, free, and in control of her destiny. Settling into my new apartment was like starting a fresh chapter in my life. I had my own space, and for the first time, I could use my salary for myself. It was a revelation to realize how far my earnings could stretch. Life was finally mine to live.

 When I wasn’t giving half of it away to my parents and sister, I could afford good food, stylish clothes, and even indulge in a bit of self-care. One of my first acts of independence was giving myself a complete makeover. I got a stylish haircut, something I had always wanted but never dared to do. I bought clothes that made me feel confident and happy.

 Every morning, I dressed for work with a sense of pride and excitement. At work, my colleagues noticed the change immediately. Linda, you look fantastic. What’s your secret? Sarah, one of my closest colleagues asked me one day, just enjoying my life and embracing the change. I replied with a smile, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

 But the most important thing I did after moving out was to take my grandmother’s books with me. Those books were more than just literature. They were a connection to the happiest part of my childhood and a reminder of my grandmother’s love. Every evening after returning from work, I would make myself a cup of tea and curl up with a book from Grandma’s collection.

 It was my way of keeping her memory alive and cherishing the love for reading she had instilled in me. Life in my new apartment was peaceful and fulfilling. I relished in the small joys like cooking my favorite meals, decorating my space, and losing myself in a good book. The sense of freedom was exhilarating. One afternoon, as I was arranging my books on a new shelf, I came across an old photo of my grandmother tucked inside a novel.

 Tears welled up in my eyes as I held it. I knew she would have been proud of me for finding my own way. I placed the photo on my nightstand, a nightly reminder of where I came from and the strength I carried within me. My grandmother’s enduring love and the lessons she taught me were my guiding light.

 As days turned into weeks, I found myself evolving. I was no longer the overlooked burdened daughter and sister. I was Linda, an independent woman who had taken control of her life. I had a job that I enjoyed, a cozy home filled with memories and the freedom to be myself. Life was no longer about surviving. It was about living, thriving, and finding joy in the little things.

 My transformation was not just external. It was a deep internal change that had reshaped my view of the world and myself. Every morning as I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a confident, happy woman staring back at me. I was finally at peace, living a life that was truly my own. I had been living in my new apartment for a month when my phone rang one evening.

 The caller ID flashed my parents’ number, a site that now stirred a mix of emotions. Bracing myself, I answered, “Linda, this is ridiculous. You need to come back home. We can’t manage without the money you were giving us. Mom’s voice was both pleading and demanding. I’m sorry you’re finding things tough, but I’ve moved on.

 Maybe it’s time you both looked for jobs, I suggested, trying to keep my voice calm. How dare you talk to us like that after all we’ve done for you? My dad’s voice boomed through the speaker. I’ve done my part for years. It’s time for you to take responsibility for your own lives, I replied firmly. Their response was a barriage of insults and accusations, but I held my ground.

 I’m not responsible for your financial problems, I repeated before ending the call. A few days later, there was a knock at my door. Opening it, I found my sister Lily standing there, her expression one of expectancy. Linda, I need money for a new gadget. Just transfer it to me like before, she said as if nothing had changed. I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity.

 Lily, I’m not your personal bank anymore. You should try earning your own money. Her reaction was immediate and intense. She began screaming at me, hurling insults and accusations. You owe us. You’re just a selfish, heartless monster. Her screams were so loud that they attracted the attention of my neighbors.

 Concerned, one of them called the police. Soon, two officers were at my door questioning us about the commotion. After explaining the situation, the officers escorted Lily out, who continued her tirade even as she was led away. I blocked my family’s numbers on my phone. After that, I was done being their scapegoat and ATM. The next few weeks brought whispers of my family’s worsening situation.

Mutual acquaintances shared stories of their mounting debts and desperate attempts to find money. My parents, who had never worked a day since I started earning, were now doing odd jobs. Lily, too, found herself in a situation she had never imagined. The sister who once mocked me for my old clothes was now selling her designer outfits and expensive gadgets just to make ends meet.

 Despite a fleeting sense of pity, I reminded myself of their years of neglect and exploitation. They had chosen this path, and it was their responsibility to navigate it. In my world, life was blossoming. My job was going well, and I was enjoying my newfound freedom and independence. My apartment, once a distant dream, was now my haven of peace, filled with memories of my grandmother and her books.

 One evening, as I sat in my reading nook, a sense of profound contentment washed over me. The once overlooked and undervalued daughter had transformed into an independent woman. I had broken free from the chains of familial manipulation and emerged stronger.