Those were the words my father spoke to me, his face impassive, a beer in his hand. For years, I had swallowed my rage, bound by a promise to my absent mother to take care of them. But in that moment, hearing my life being carved up and served on a platter, something inside me finally snapped.
I laughed. A loud, hysterical laugh that echoed in the silent dining room. Then I looked him dead in the eye and said, “No. I’ll be taking one hundred percent and leaving. And you two can pay your own bills. It’s that simple.”
My name is Esteban. I’m twenty-seven years old, and this is the story of how I stopped being a money machine and started being a man.
I grew up in a house with thin walls, where my father’s laughter with his friends and my sister’s late-night phone calls were the soundtrack to my exhaustion. My mother, a nurse, left for a better-paying job in Europe when I was fifteen. She promised it was temporary. “Take care of your father and your sister,” she told me before she left. “You’re the man of the house now.”
Like a fool, I took those words as law.
The years passed. Her visits became rare. At eighteen, with no money for university, I started working at a packaging factory. Eight hours a day sealing boxes for minimum wage. Every payday, I handed my entire check to my father. It was for the house, he’d say. Rent, food, bills.
But there was something that never sat right. My younger sister, Claudia, twenty-three, didn’t contribute a single cent. She worked part-time at a clothing store, but her money was for brand-name clothes, club admissions, and nights out with friends. I’d come home smelling of sweat and factory dust, and she would walk in smelling of perfume and freedom.
“Oh, Esteban, don’t be a drag,” she’d say, rolling her eyes if I asked her to wash a single dish. “That’s what you’re here for.”
My father, Gustavo, was another story. After my mother started sending money, he quit his job as a mechanic and never looked for another. He became an expert at spending my salary. I’d come home to find him in the yard, surrounded by empty beer bottles, laughing with his friends.
“Dad, I can’t cover everything,” I’d plead.
He’d just give me a mocking smile. “Esteban, you’re young and strong. I’ve already done my share. Now it’s my turn to enjoy life. And your sister? She’s my princess. I’m not going to ask her to kill herself working like you do.”
I swallowed my rage, year after year, bound by that promise to my mother.
But things began to change. I was good at my job. In five years, I moved from the factory floor to the office, climbing from inventory manager to operations manager. My salary was seven times what I started with. It was more money than I had ever dreamed of, but I never told them. I knew if they found out, they would squeeze every last drop from me. So, I kept giving them the same amount as always and secretly funneled the rest into a savings account no one knew about.
My life at home remained the same. I slept in a small room with a creaky bed. Claudia had the bigger room with a new TV that, of course, I had paid for. My father continued his drunken nights. “Esteban, get me another one from the fridge,” he’d command without even looking at me. And like an idiot, I would obey.
The day everything changed started with a mistake. It was a Friday, and I’d left my printed pay slip on my desk in plain sight.
I came home to find Claudia in my room, waving the paper in her hand, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and pure greed.
“This is what they pay you?” she shouted. “Esteban, you’re earning a fortune and giving us crumbs! How dare you!”
I tried to stay calm. “Claudia, that money is mine. I pay for everything in this house. You two contribute nothing. What more do you want?”
She laughed as if my words were absurd. “Yours? This is a family, Esteban. What you earn is for everyone. I’m going to tell Dad.”
That night, my father called me into the dining room. He sat in his usual armchair, his face red with rage. Claudia stood beside him, her arms crossed, a triumphant smirk on her face.
“What’s this about you earning so much money?” my father demanded, waving the slip in the air. “Do you think you can fool me?”
“Dad, that’s my money. I’ve been paying the bills for this house since I was eighteen. Claudia contributes nothing. You spend my salary on beer. Don’t you think I deserve to keep something for myself?”
He let out a cruel laugh. “Deserve? Let me explain how this works, Esteban. Your sister wants to study at the most prestigious university in the country. That costs money. And I have my expenses. So, from now on, eighty percent of your salary will go to Claudia. The other twenty percent is for me. It’s that simple.”
I stared at him, unable to believe the audacity. Eighty percent for her, twenty for him. And for me? Nothing. The rage I had stored for years erupted in my throat, but instead of a scream, it came out as a laugh. Hysterical. Uncontrollable.
“What are you laughing at?” my father asked, annoyed.
“I’m laughing because I’m fed up,” I said, wiping a tear from my eye. “Fed up with supporting two parasites who claim to be my family. Fed up with your drunken nights, Dad. Fed up with your parties, Claudia. So, you know what? I’m leaving. I’m leaving with one hundred percent of my salary, and you two can pay your own bills. It’s that simple.”
His face went from rage to disbelief. “You don’t call the shots, Esteban! You have an obligation to this family!”
“No,” I said, with a calmness that felt forged in fire. “That’s over.”
I went to my room and started packing. He followed me, yelling, trying to block the door. But I was no longer the boy who bowed his head. I pushed him aside and walked out of that house without looking back.
Three months later, my phone rang. It was Claudia. Her voice, usually dripping with arrogance, was trembling with desperation.
“Esteban, please, you have to help us,” she begged. “We’re going to be evicted. We don’t have the money to pay the rent. Dad and I… we don’t know what to do.”
A dry, bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Evicted? And what does that have to do with me? I don’t live there anymore.”
“No, wait!” she shouted, on the verge of tears. “We have nothing! My salary isn’t enough! Please, Esteban, you’re our only hope!”
“Your salary isn’t enough?” I said, my voice cold. “That’s funny, Claudia. When you were spending it on parties, you never seemed to worry about the rent. Now, suddenly, I’m your savior?”
Before she could answer, my father snatched the phone. “Esteban, listen to me!” he yelled, but the authority in his voice was thin, laced with panic. “Do you think you can just wash your hands of us? We gave you a roof, food, a family!”
“Let’s get something straight, Dad,” I said, spitting the words. “For years, I paid for that roof. I paid for the food. I paid for your damn beers. And what did I get in return? Your mockery. Your contempt. You call me selfish? No. You’re the selfish one, living off my salary while you got drunk. Claudia is the selfish one, laughing in my face while I killed myself working.”
“Don’t make me say it, Esteban,” he interrupted, his voice weak. “You have money. A lot of money. You could save us. Your sister wants a future!”
“A future? The one you wanted me to pay for with my entire salary?” I laughed again, louder this time. “You told me it was that simple. Well, now I’m telling you: get jobs, pay your bills, survive. It’s that simple.”
There was a moment of stunned silence before Claudia got back on the phone, sobbing. “Please, Esteban… we’re your family.”
“Family?” I said, and the word burned in my throat. “A family doesn’t use you. A family doesn’t laugh at you while they bleed you dry. You are not my family. You are parasites. And parasites, sooner or later, have to learn to survive on their own.”
I hung up the phone and, for the first time in years, felt the weight on my chest finally lift.
A few weeks later, my mother called, her voice full of reproach. “I’m disappointed in you, Esteban. How could you abandon your family?”
I told her everything. The drinking, the mockery, the years of humiliation. She didn’t want to listen.
“They’re your family,” she insisted. “You should be there for them.”
“Not anymore, Mom,” I said, my heart heavy but resolute. “I’m done. If you want to help them, you do it.”
I cut the last tie.
A year has passed. I found out Gustavo now drives a taxi, working long shifts under the sun. Claudia had to hand over her entire salary to pay the bills for a smaller place. No more parties, no more brand-name clothes. Just the reality they never wanted to face.
As for me, I’m a regional manager now. Freedom tastes like coffee on the balcony of my own apartment, a space filled with books and photos from my travels. The rage has turned into peace. They are facing their consequences, and I am finally, irrevocably, free.