My parents bequeathed their ENTIRE estate to my brother, so I ceased covering their expenses. Weeks later, my mom texted

I didn’t even bother to hide the will, I held it up and looked him dead in the eye. So, this is how it is? I said, my voice unnervingly calm. Everything to Eric? After everything I’ve done for you? My dad’s face went pale for a second, but then he sighed, like I was some little kid throwing a tantrum.

Jake, it’s not what you think. Really? I snapped. Because it looks pretty damn clear to me.

I’ve been paying your mortgage, helping with groceries, fixing the house up while Eric does nothing, and you still decided he’s the only one who matters. Dad looked uncomfortable, but instead of actually explaining himself, he just muttered, it’s complicated. That was it.

No apology. No attempt to justify it beyond those two useless words. Just a weak excuse and an expectant look, like he was waiting for me to drop it and go back to being their personal ATM.

I should’ve walked out right then and there, but I wanted to hear it from both of them. So I called out for my mom. When she came in and saw the will in my hands, her reaction wasn’t much better.

She at least had the decency to look guilty, but the words that came out of her mouth made my blood boil. Jake, honey, you don’t need the inheritance, she said gently, like she was doing me a favor. You have a good job, you’re independent.

Eric, well, he struggles. We just want to make sure he’s taken care of. That was the moment something inside me snapped.

They weren’t even denying it. They knew exactly what they were doing, and in their minds, it was completely justified. They had spent years enabling Eric’s laziness, and now they were planning to reward it by handing him everything while I got tossed aside like an afterthought.

I took a deep breath, clenched my jaw, and set the will down on the table. Got it, I said, my voice eerily calm, glad to know where we stand. Then I turned and walked out of the house, ignoring their protest as I slammed the door behind me.

They had made their decision. Now it was time for me to make mine. I didn’t go back to their house after that.

I didn’t call. I didn’t check in. For the first time in years, I let them handle their own damn problems.

If they needed something fixed, they could figure it out. If they needed groceries, they could find their own way to the store. And most importantly, if that mortgage bill showed up, well, I wasn’t the one paying it anymore.

The silence lasted about two weeks. At first, I think they assumed I was just pouting and would come crawling back like always. Maybe they expected me to cool off and apologize for daring to question their decision.

But when the days kept passing with no word from me, and, more importantly, no financial help, you could practically feel the shift in their attitude. Then, one afternoon, my phone bust. Dad texted, the property taxes are due.

That was it. No he didn’t text, hey, how have you been? No, sorry for what happened. No, we really appreciate everything you’ve done.

Just a cold, transactional message as if I were still the walking bank they could tap into whenever they pleased. I stared at the screen for a moment, almost amused at how predictable they were. They really thought they could just demand money like nothing had happened? That I’d keep playing my part as their financial safety net, even after they made it clear I was disposable? I calmly typed back, I’m sure Eric will handle it, since the house is his and all.

It took exactly five minutes before my mom called. I let it ring. Then another text came through.

Mom texted, Jake, please don’t be like this. We need to talk. Oh, now they wanted to talk? Now that their bills were piling up and reality was finally slapping them in the face? I waited an hour before replying, there’s nothing to talk about…