Paid for my sister’s wedding, and my mother sent me a message: «You don’t have to come to the celebration. Your stepfather thinks you’re ruining the family photo.» The next morning they received a notification that made everyone in the family FURIOUS…

Supported Mom after the divorce, provided for the family, tolerated the stepfather’s mockery. I gave them the apartment, paid for repairs, for my sister’s education. And you know what? Their gratitude boils down to telling me you’re not presentable enough for our celebration.

Please give money and disappear.» «I understand,» nodded Andrew. — That’s really.

Crappy. Exactly. So yes, I’m sure I want to do this.

Moreover, I plan to sell the apartment.» Andrew’s eyes widened. «Seriously? Do they know about this?» «They’ll find out,» Alex shrugged.

When they have to look for new housing. On the wedding day, which was supposed to take place in five days. Alex sent the certified letter with the eviction notice to his apartment’s address.

He sent a duplicate notice to his mother’s messenger with a short text. «You have exactly one month to vacate the apartment.» An hour later, the calls started.

First his mother, her voice breaking into a scream after Alex’s first words confirming the seriousness of his intentions. Then Victor, threatening, promising to use his connections in the administration. Finally, Mary, confused, not understanding how the situation could spiral out of control.

«Alex, you can’t do this to us,» she sobbed. «Where will we go?» «Where all people go when they need housing,» Alex replied calmly. «Rent an apartment.

Victor has a stable job, right? But his salary won’t cover rent downtown. Then not downtown. Alex, this is cruel.»

«Cruel, Mary,» said Alex, feeling the tension of recent days turn into fatigue. Saying to a person that he’s not beautiful enough to attend a celebration he himself paid for. «And my decision is just business.

Nothing personal.» The last phrase sounded with bitter irony because everything happening was too personal. That was the problem.

On the wedding day, Alex didn’t go to work. He stayed home, turned off his phone, and spent the day reading a book he had put off for several months. In the evening, he turned on the phone and saw dozens of messages and missed calls.

Among the photos on social media, wedding shots flashed: happy Mary in a white dress, proud Victor next to her, touched mother. A perfect picture paid for by the person who had no place in it. Alex turned off the phone and poured himself more whiskey.

A strange feeling, a mix of liberation and sadness, filled him. He understood that he had turned the page of his life. And the next chapter would be written only on his terms.

Alex, for the first time in a long time, woke up with a sense of lightness. The morning sun filtering through the blinds seemed brighter than usual. He stretched, went to the window, and flung it wide open, letting the cool autumn air fill the apartment.

Strange, he thought, looking at the awakening city, but I feel free. The phone, which he had turned back on yesterday, persistently vibrated on the nightstand. Alex glanced at the screen; it was his mother calling.

Already the twelfth time in the last day. He dismissed the call and went to the kitchen to make coffee. The morning ritual—grinding beans, brewing in a French press, leisurely enjoying the aroma—always calmed him.

Today, he allowed himself to add an omelet with cheese and greens to breakfast. Usually, there wasn’t time for such indulgences, but today was a special day. The day he decided to finally part with the past.

The phone rang again and again. When his patience ran out, Alex finally answered, yes, Mom. Finally.

Her voice sounded both accusatory and pleading. Do you even understand what you’re doing? We received your letter. This is some horrible joke.

It’s not a joke, Alex replied calmly, stirring his coffee. I really plan to sell the apartment. You have a month to find new housing.

But where will we live? His mother’s voice rose to a scream. You’re throwing us out on the street. Your own mother…