Parents left EVERYTHING to my brother, so I stopped paying their bills. A month later, Mom texted: «Mortgage deadline is here!» I just wrote THIS… My reply made everyone GO PALE…

Did they ever appreciate what I did for them at all? I don’t know how long I sat like that, but at some point, Dad noticed I wasn’t scanning anything. «Jacob, what’s taking so long?» he asked, walking into the room.

I didn’t even try to hide the will. I just held it up and, looking him straight in the eyes, asked: «So this is how it is, huh?» «Everything.

To Eric. After all I’ve done for you.» Dad’s face went pale for a second, but then he just sighed heavily, like he was dealing with a whiny kid.

«Jacob, it’s not what you think.» «Really?» I snapped. «Because it looks pretty clear to me. I pay your mortgage, buy your groceries, fix this house, while Eric does absolutely nothing.

And yet he’s the only one who matters.» Dad looked uncomfortable, but instead of a real explanation, he just muttered: «It’s complicated, and that’s all.»

No apologies, no attempt to justify their decision. Just a lame excuse and the expectation that I’d swallow it and keep being their walking ATM. I should have turned and left right then.

But I needed to hear it from both parents. «Mom!» I called. She came into the room and, seeing the will in my hands, at least looked guilty. But the words she said made my blood boil…

«Jacob, honey, you don’t need an inheritance,» Mom said softly, like she was doing me a favor. «You have a good job, you’re independent.

But Eric… he’s struggling. We just want to make sure he’s taken care of.» That’s when something inside me broke.

They weren’t even trying to make excuses; they knew exactly what they were doing, and in their minds, it was totally justified. The years they’d spent enabling Eric’s laziness were now culminating in rewarding him with everything, while tossing me aside like a spare part. I took a deep breath, clenched my jaw, and put the will down on the table.

«Got it,» I said in an icy voice. «Good to know where I stand.» Then I turned and walked out of the house, ignoring their protests, slamming the door behind me with force.

They’d made their choice; now it was time for me to make mine. I never went back to that house outside Chicago, didn’t call, didn’t check in on them. For the first time in years, I let them handle their own problems.

Something needs fixing—let them figure it out. Out of food—let them go to the store themselves. And most importantly—if the mortgage bill comes due, that’s no longer my concern.

The silence lasted about two weeks. I think at first they figured I was just sulking and would crawl back like always. Maybe they were waiting for me to cool off and apologize for daring to question their decision.

But days passed, and there was no word from me. And more importantly—no money. You could practically feel their attitude shifting.

Then, one day, my phone buzzed. A text from Dad. Property tax deadline is coming up.

And that’s it. No «Hey, how are you?» No «Sorry about what happened.» No «We really appreciate everything you’ve done for us.»

Just a cold, business-like message, like I was still their personal ATM they could tap anytime. I stared at the screen, almost amused at how predictable it was. They really thought they could just demand money like nothing had happened…