At 25, I built my own house, and at the housewarming, my mother pulled me aside

«Guys at 18 should be independent; why cling to Mom’s skirt?» David looked at his younger brother, then at his mother. Something snapped in his chest, like a string. Not anger, not hurt, emptiness.

Complete, absolute emptiness. «Your things are in the suitcase,» his mother continued. «Documents in the side pocket.

I have no money; I’m barely making ends meet.» David knew that wasn’t true. There was a stack of cash on Mom’s table; she was planning to buy Ethan a new jacket.

But arguing was pointless. He took the suitcase and headed for the door. His hand shook as he turned the key.

Behind him, he heard his mother and younger brother’s whispers, their muffled laughter. «David!» Emily Johnson called when he was already over the threshold. «Leave the keys.»

He pulled the key ring from his pocket and tossed it on the floor. Slammed the door and went down the stairs. His legs felt like cotton, his ears rang.

Only on the street did he feel tears streaming down his cheeks. The first day on the street was the scariest. David wandered the city for a long time with his suitcase, not knowing where to go.

He had only $50, all he’d managed to save in recent months. He went to real estate agencies, but rental prices were unaffordable; even for a room in a shared house, they wanted a deposit and a month upfront. By evening, he reached the train station.

It was warm there, crowded; he could settle unnoticed in the waiting area. David sat in a far corner, put the suitcase next to him, and tried to sleep. But sleep didn’t come.

Thoughts spun in his head like squirrels in a wheel. What to do tomorrow? Where to find work? How to live on? The next week he spent between the train station and vocational school. Days studying, evenings job hunting, nights sleeping in the waiting area.

He washed in the station restroom, ate at a cheap diner. The guards were starting to notice him but hadn’t chased him yet. He found work through newspaper ads.

They needed loaders at a building materials warehouse. The pay was small, but they promised weekly payments. David showed up for the interview in a wrinkled shirt, with bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

The foreman, Michael Roberts, a man in his fifties with a kind face, immediately sensed something was wrong with the kid. «Parents kicked you out?» he asked directly. David nodded, not trusting his voice.

«Okay, there’s work, but it won’t be easy. We work from six AM to six PM, no days off. Can you handle it?» «I can.»

«Then start tomorrow.» «And one more thing…» The foreman pulled keys from his pocket. «I have a utility shed on the warehouse grounds.

You can stay there for now, until you find something permanent. Just don’t tell anyone, got it?» David couldn’t believe his luck. For the first time in a week, he felt he wasn’t alone in the world.

The shed was small, cold, but it was a roof over his head. David fixed it up as best he could. Found an old mattress, an electric kettle, lived simply, saved every penny.

The work was hard. Bags of cement, bricks, iron beams—all had to be carried from morning to evening. His hands got calluses, his back hurt so bad he couldn’t straighten up.

But David didn’t complain. He worked with fury, putting his pain and resentment into every move. A month later, he rented a corner in a shared house from Grandma Clara.

The old lady pitied him, fed him soup, and said, «I can’t understand how anyone could do that to their own child? I couldn’t raise a hand.» David just stayed silent. He didn’t like talking about his family, preferred to forget it existed.

But sometimes, especially in the evenings when fatigue hit hard, he thought about home. Wonder what Mom’s doing now? Does she remember him? Does she regret what she did? At work, they treated him well. David was diligent, reliable, didn’t drink or skip.

Michael Roberts singled him out among the other workers, sometimes gave him tougher tasks. «You’ll make something of yourself,» he’d say. «I see you’ve got a good head.»

Six months later, David moved to a construction site. The pay was higher, and the work more interesting. He started with the simplest jobs but learned fast…

The masters noticed him, started giving tips, explaining the trade’s finer points. At the same time, he kept studying at vocational school. It was tough balancing work and school, but David held on.

He knew education was his only shot at a better life. He fell asleep with textbooks, woke up thinking about upcoming exams. He ate poorly: oatmeal, ramen, cheap hot dogs; could afford meat only on holidays; bought clothes at the market, the cheapest.

But every month, he set aside a certain amount, saving for the future. His mother never once asked how he was living in all those years, never called, never wrote, never ran into him on the street by chance, as if she’d never had an older son. David sometimes saw Ethan around town; the younger brother wore expensive clothes, hung out with friends, but if their eyes met, Ethan turned away and pretended not to recognize him.

On New Year’s, David stayed alone in his room. The housemates had gone to relatives, and the apartment was quiet. He sat by the window, watched the fireworks, and thought about how somewhere Mom and Ethan were celebrating…