All my life, I felt like an outsider in my own family. My mother adored my sisters but treated me like a burden. The reason? I looked too much like the man she wished to forget. When I finally discovered the truth about my real father, everything changed—but not in the way she expected.
They say children pay for the sins of their parents. My mother made sure that was true. Though she never admitted it. All my life, I felt like a stranger in my own family, and it turned out there was a reason for that.
I grew up with two older sisters, Kira and Alexa. I spent my childhood watching them and how our mother treated them.
She loved them openly, bought them expensive clothes, gave them new toys, and took them out for ice cream on warm summer days.
She brushed their hair, kissed their foreheads, and told them how much she adored them.
Meanwhile, I got their worn-out clothes, their old toys, and their leftovers. I didn’t get bedtime stories or hugs.
Instead, I got orders. “Olivia, clean the kitchen.” “Olivia, fold the laundry.” “Olivia, stop standing around and do something useful.” I was a servant in my own home, and nobody seemed to care.
My father tried to protect me. I remember the times he pulled me into a hug when my mother’s words cut too deep.
He used to tell me I was special. That I mattered. But as I grew older, he did that less and less.
His voice lost its strength, and his kindness faded into silence. Then, the arguments started.
“I’m telling you, she’s your daughter!” my mother screamed.
“How can she be mine?! We are both brunettes, and she’s a blonde with blue eyes!” my father shouted back.
“That happens! Maybe someone in the family had lighter features!” my mother insisted.
“Then let’s do a paternity test!” my father yelled.
The fights became a routine. And they always ended the same way—my mother cried, accused my father of hating her, and he backed down. But I never forgot those words.
By fourteen, I couldn’t stand being home. I got a job, not just for money, but to escape.
With my first paycheck, I bought a DNA test. And when the results came, everything fell apart.
One evening, I stepped through the door and saw my father standing in the living room.
He held an envelope in his hand, his eyes locked on my name printed across the front.
“What is this?” he asked. His voice was sharp. “Why is this letter addressed to you?”
My stomach dropped. I took a step forward. “Give it back,” I said, reaching for it.
He pulled it away. “Explain first,” he said. His grip tightened on the paper.
I hesitated. My hands trembled. “It’s… a DNA test.” My voice barely came out.
He didn’t wait. He tore it open. His eyes scanned the page. Then, his face twisted with rage.
“SIMONA!” he roared.
My mother rushed in. “What is it, darling?”
“Olivia, go to your room,” my father ordered.
“But—”
“NOW!” he shouted.
I turned and left, my heart pounding. I didn’t have to guess what the results were.
My parents’ voices carried through the thin walls, each word cutting deeper than the last.
“She’s not mine?!” my father shouted.
“It doesn’t matter!” my mother snapped.
“It matters to me! You lied to me, Simona! For fourteen years!”
“You don’t understand! I had no choice!”
My father’s anger filled the house. I pressed my hands over my ears, but nothing could block out the truth. He wasn’t my biological father. My mother had cheated on him.
Days later, he tested my sisters. Alexa was his, but Kira wasn’t. I watched from the hallway as he packed his bags.
“You’re leaving?” I whispered.
He didn’t look at me. “I have to.”
He filed for divorce, paid child support for Alexa, and cut ties with the rest of us.
After he left, my mother’s hatred for me grew. “This is your fault,” she hissed. “If you didn’t look so much like him, none of this would have happened.”
She ignored me unless she needed something. “Olivia, wash the dishes. Olivia, mop the floor.” I was invisible until it was time to clean.
But Kira? She never lifted a finger. My mother still adored her. “My beautiful girl,” she’d say, tucking Kira’s hair behind her ear. “You look just like me.”
I was nothing to her. I had never been.
One day, my mother walked into the room. Her face was cold, her arms crossed. “I’ve decided you will start paying rent,” she said.
I blinked. “What?” My chest tightened. “I already buy my own groceries!”
“You earn money. It’s only fair,” she said.
I clenched my fists. “Then make Alexa and Kira pay too!” My voice shook. “Why only me? Why do you treat me like this?!”
Her eyes darkened. “Because you ruined my life!” she shouted. “This is your fault!”
I felt like I’d been slapped. My throat burned, but no words came. I turned and ran to my room, slamming the door behind me.
But it didn’t matter. She never changed her mind. I had no choice. I paid rent.
Alexa made things worse. She dumped my makeup in the sink, cut holes in my shirts, and threw my food in the trash.
One day, I found my entire paycheck missing. I stormed into her room. “Why are you doing this?!”
She glared at me. “Because Dad left because of you!” she screamed. “If you had just looked like Mom! Like Kira!” As if I had any control over that.
As soon as I finished high school, I knew I had to get away. My manager from my old job saw my determination and offered to help.
He spoke to his son, who ran a company, and got me a position as a sales representative.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid well. With my first few paychecks, I found a small apartment and moved out immediately.
For the first time in my life, I had my own space. No one barking orders at me. No one stealing my things.
I felt free. But my mother and sisters didn’t disappear. They always found a reason to contact me. They never called to ask how I was. They only wanted money.
The older I got, the more they demanded. At first, I gave in, hoping it would make them leave me alone. It never did.
One day, when my mother came knocking again, I decided I wanted something in return.
“I want to know my biological father’s name,” I said.
She scoffed. “I told you, he doesn’t want you. He abandoned you.”
I met her glare. “Then I won’t give you any more money.”
Her lips curled in annoyance, but she finally relented. “His name is Rick,” she said, scribbling down an address. “Go ahead. Waste your time.”
I scraped together my savings and made the thirty-hour trip, only to find out she had lied. Again.
Furious, I went straight to her house. I didn’t knock. I walked in.
“This is not your home!” she shrieked.
“You gave me the wrong address!” I shouted.
“Because he doesn’t want you!” she snapped. “You make everyone’s life harder!”
Her words hit hard, but I refused to break. “Give me the real address, or you’ll never see another cent from me.”
She scowled, but she wrote it down. Rick didn’t live thirty hours away. He was only five hours from me.
I pulled up to the house, my heart pounding. My hands felt clammy as I walked up the steps and knocked.
The door opened, and a middle-aged man stood before me. His eyes widened, and he stared at me as if he had seen a ghost.
“Are you Rick?” I asked, my voice unsteady.
He nodded. “Yes.”
I swallowed hard. “I—”
“You’re my daughter,” he said before I could finish.
I froze. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t look confused. He knew.
“You— You recognize me?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said, stepping aside. “Come in.”
I followed him inside, my mind spinning. His home felt warm. Pictures lined the walls—family vacations, birthday parties, smiling faces. A life I had never been part of.
“Why didn’t you try to contact me?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay steady.
“I did,” he said. “I paid child support until you turned eighteen, but your mother told me you hated me. She said you wanted nothing to do with me.”
Shock rippled through me. “I never knew,” I whispered. “She told me you didn’t want me.”
Rick’s jaw tightened. “That’s not true. You’re my daughter. Of course, I wanted you.”
Tears filled my eyes as he pulled me into a hug. His embrace was firm, real, safe. I had never felt anything like it. I let out a shaky breath and held on.
From that day on, we stayed in touch. He invited me over, introduced me to his wife and two sons.
They welcomed me without hesitation. I had never been part of a family before.
One day, during a visit, Rick handed me a folder. “What’s this?” I asked.
“A house,” he said. “It’s yours.”
I gasped. “What?!”
“It’s the least I can do,” he said. “For the years we lost.”
I threw my arms around him. No one had ever cared about me like this before. Now, I finally knew what love felt like.
I moved into the house my father had given me. For the first time in my life, I had my own space.
No one could barge in, take my things, or tell me what to do. It felt safe. It felt like home.
One day, I ran into Kira at the store. I mentioned, almost without thinking, that I had my own house now.
The change in her expression was immediate. Her jaw tightened, and her eyes narrowed. She didn’t congratulate me. She just stared, her jealousy plain as day.
A few days later, I left for a business trip. While I was away, my phone rang. My neighbor’s voice was urgent.
Two women had moved into my house. I rushed back. When I stepped inside, I found my mother and Kira living there.
“What are you doing here?!” I shouted.
My mother sat on the couch, flipping through a magazine like she belonged there. Kira lounged beside her, legs stretched across the cushions.
“Oh, Olivia, you’re back,” my mother said without a trace of shame. She didn’t even look up.
“Answer me,” I demanded, my hands shaking.
She sighed and finally met my eyes. “I lost my job. I couldn’t pay rent for three months. We got evicted.” She shrugged. “So, I decided that Kira and I would stay with you.”
My breath caught. “Are you insane?! You didn’t even ask me!” My voice echoed through the house.
My mother waved a hand like I was overreacting. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
Kira smirked. “There are only two bedrooms, so you’ll have to stay somewhere else for now.”
“This is ridiculous! Why don’t you go to Alexa’s?!” I shouted.
“Alexa has a husband and kids. It would be too crowded,” my mother said.
I stared at them in disbelief. “You are not staying in my house!”
Kira rolled her eyes. “Well, you can sleep on the couch if you don’t want to move.”
Something inside me snapped. “This is my house! I will sleep in my bed! You are leaving right now!”
My mother jumped up, her face twisted with rage. “How dare you?! I raised you! I gave you everything!”
“Raised me?” I scoffed. “You treated me like a servant! I bought my own groceries! I even paid you rent!”
“You had a job,” she said defensively.
I shook my head. “In the short time I’ve known my real father, he has done more for me than you ever did!”
Her face darkened. “If you don’t let us stay here, I will sue you for this house!”
“You have no legal right to it! Either you leave now, or I’m calling the police.”
My mother’s expression changed instantly. She forced a smile. “Olivia, sweetheart. You’re my daughter. I’ve always loved you. Let us stay.”
For a moment, doubt crept in. Then, I remembered everything.
“No,” I said firmly.
“Ungrateful!” she shrieked. “But we are not leaving!”
They were confident—smirking, standing their ground—until I grabbed my phone.
The second I started speaking to the officer, panic flashed in my mother’s eyes. Kira’s mouth opened, then shut. Neither of them expected me to follow through.
Without another word, they bolted out of my house. I watched them leave, my heart pounding.
When the door slammed shut behind them, I exhaled deeply and sank onto the couch. My entire body felt drained.
It hurt knowing that my own mother only remembered me when she needed something. She never cared about me, only what I could give her.
But this moment made one thing clear—I had to cut them out of my life. I changed the locks. I blocked their numbers. That was the last time I saw them. And I had never felt so free.
