When I was 15, my mom kicked me out. My dad rescued me from a shelter, raised me, and supported me through school and life. We were close until cancer took him. I was 24 when he passed, and he left his entire estate to me.
Weeks later, my mom showed up at my door, pretending to be happy to see me—but she quickly revealed her true motive: she wanted a share of Dad’s inheritance. “I deserve his money!” she said. I offered her some furniture from Dad’s house, but she exploded, demanding thousands.
She claimed she raised me alone. I reminded her she kicked me out and spent the child support on herself. Her story fell apart fast.
“I think it’s time for you to leave,” I told her, repeating the words she once used against me.
She left furious and continued texting threats and guilt trips. I didn’t reply. That night, sitting in Dad’s old chair, I cried—for him, for my younger self, and for finally feeling free.
Dad chose me. And that’s all I ever needed.
