My Brother Mocked Me, Saying, A Useless Person Like You Lives In This Luxury Neighborhood Too So I
My name is Valerie Brooks. I’m 31 years old, and the last people I expected to run into at the entrance of the most exclusive country club in Lake Norman were my own family. The same ones who kicked me out two years ago.
I hadn’t seen them once in all that time. Then my stepbrother Connor spotted me, looked me up and down, and laughed out loud. “Are you delivering food here?
Really?”
My parents turned their eyes full of the same contempt I remembered so well. Melanie, his wife, smirked behind her hand. I didn’t say a word.
I just smiled, pulled out my phone, and made one quick call. Moments later, the man I called walked straight toward us. When my family saw exactly who it was, every single one of them froze.
Connor’s face went white. The champagne glass in his hand stopped halfway to his mouth. They had no idea what was coming, and neither did the crowd starting to notice the scene.
What would you do if the family that threw you out suddenly realized you’d become the one person they could never touch again? Drop your thoughts in the comments. I read every single one.
What would you do if the family that kicked you out and cut you off two years ago suddenly looked at you like the hired help, only to watch their faces drain of color when they realized you’re now the one in charge? Drop your revenge story or what you’d do in that moment in the comments. Smash the subscribe button so you don’t miss what happens next and turn on notifications because this one’s going to get good.
I read every single comment. Two years ago, I was officially thrown out of the house for daring to call out how badly they favored my stepbrother, Connor Brooks, who’s 34 now. My mom, Carolyn, had married Richard Brooks when I was 12, and from that day forward, Connor could do no wrong.
They paid full tuition for his private high school and later for UNC Chapel Hill, handed him the keys to a brand new BMW the week he turned 18, and covered every cent of his wedding to Melanie. Meanwhile, I waited tables at night, cleaned offices before dawn, and still took out loans to get through a state college because every time I asked for help, Mom would say I should be grateful Richard even let me stay under his roof. The fight that ended everything happened on a Sunday after Connor and Melanie announced they were taking over the lakehouse for the summer again without asking.
I finally lost it and asked why everything always went to Connor and nothing to me. Mom didn’t even hesitate. She looked me dead in the eye and screamed, “Because he’s Richard’s real son and you’re not.
Don’t ever come back to this house.”
Richard stood right behind her, nodding, then took the spare key to the lake house off my key ring, cancelled the credit card they had added me to years ago, and told me the car I’d been driving was registered in his name. Anyway, two hours later, I walked out with one suitcase of clothes and a duffel bag of books. I slept on a friend’s couch for three weeks, then rented the cheapest studio I could find in Charlotte.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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