My brother got 6 women pregnant and always asks me for money. Recently, he said he’s going to have another child soon. I firmly said, “Get a vasectomy!
Why do you keep having kids you can’t afford?”
I was stunned when he dropped a bombshell: “Actually, it’s because… I want a big family like Dad always dreamed of. I thought if I had enough kids, maybe something would finally feel right.”
I stared at him, mouth half open, trying to make sense of it. Our dad died ten years ago, and I hadn’t realized how deep that grief had settled into my brother’s bones.
But still—six kids? From six different women? None of whom he really took care of?
That wasn’t a family. That was chaos. “Dean,” I said, slowly, “wanting a big family doesn’t mean scattering children all over town like confetti.
You don’t even see them!”
He looked away, jaw tight. “You don’t get it, Maddie. You have a stable job, a husband who actually stuck around, and you live in a house you didn’t inherit from Grandma.
I’m barely hanging on, and this—having kids—makes me feel like I’m someone.“
I didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe a part of me pitied him, but mostly I was furious. Furious because every time one of those women threatened legal action, or a kid needed school clothes, or groceries, or even a toothbrush, I was the one he called.
“I can’t keep bailing you out,” I said, crossing my arms. “You keep telling me this is about Dad, but you’re just running from yourself. You want to feel important?
Be present for the kids you already have.”
He laughed bitterly. “You think I don’t want that? Half their moms hate me.
They don’t even let me in the door.”
“Maybe because they’re tired of your broken promises,” I snapped. We didn’t speak for three weeks after that. Not a text.
Not a missed call. I was angry, but also… tired. Tired of being the one to hold the family together.
Mom was gone. Dad too. And Dean—Dean was like a grown child who never grew out of needing rescuing.
But then, around week four, I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize. It was a woman named Kayla. “Hi, are you Dean’s sister?”
My stomach dropped.
I braced myself for news of another pregnancy. “Yes?”
“I… I thought you should know. Dean’s in the hospital.
He got jumped outside a liquor store. They took his wallet, and… he’s not doing great.”
I was already grabbing my keys. When I got to the hospital, he looked pale and rough.
One eye was swollen shut. There were stitches in his lip. But the thing that got me most was the way he looked at me.
Like a little boy who’d just been caught in a storm. He tried to sit up when he saw me, but winced. “You didn’t have to come.”
“Yeah, well,” I sighed, sitting beside him.
“Someone had to.”
We were quiet for a bit. Machines beeped softly behind us. “I’ve been thinking,” he said after a while.
“You were right. About everything. I messed up.
And I don’t know how to fix it.”
I looked at him, really looked. For the first time, I saw not just my screw-up brother, but a man who’d been drowning for years, grabbing at anything to feel okay. Even if it meant fathering children he wasn’t ready to love.
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