No explanations. Just another demand. I didn't respond.
Another message: "Mom: We're not leaving until you talk to us." I exhaled sharply and leaned back in my chair.
They didn't back down. Good. I was ready to teach them a lesson they'd never forget. I grabbed my keys and headed downstairs, my anger growing with every step.
I wasn't scared. I was furious. What kind of nerve does it take to show up uninvited at my door in Chicago and demand money like it's their personal ATM? They didn't even knock.
They didn't even apologize. It was pure, blatant coercion. They actually thought they could corner me and force me into obedience as if I were a small child.
I flung the door open. And there they were. Mom.
Dad. And of course Eric. Shoulder to shoulder, as if they were staging a family intervention…
Mom had her arms crossed, her typically critical gaze as sharp as ever. Dad stood there, his face tense, his hands in his pockets. Disappointment and contempt were reflected in his eyes.
As if he couldn't believe he had to deal with it personally. And Eric? That guy had the nerve to look bored, as if he couldn't care less. As if he weren't the cause of this whole mess.
As soon as Mom saw me, she adopted a dramatic tone: "Jacob, finally. We need to talk."
I leaned against the doorframe with my arms crossed: “No. You have to go.”
She blinked as if she couldn't grasp what I had just said: "What?" "You heard me correctly." My voice was calm, controlled, but firm.
"You can't just show up at my door and demand money. That's insane!" Dad snorted sharply.
"Do you really want us to lose the house over something so trivial?" I gave a cold laugh. "Something so trivial?" I took a step forward. "You mean the one where you decided I'm good enough to pay your bills, but not good enough to be included in your will?" "That trivial thing?" Mom gasped, placing a hand on her heart as if I'd just slapped her.
“Jacob, that’s not fair. We only did what was best for the family.” I inclined my head and looked at her with obvious interest.
"What's best for the family? Do you mean what's best for Eric? Say so." Silence. A deafening, oppressive silence.
Eric, who had been suspiciously quiet until then, finally opened his mouth: "Listen, man, I don't want to get involved in this. I didn't ask for anything." I turned to him and finally let out my pent-up anger:
"No. You just sat there and took everything they gave you." I leaned closer to him and looked directly into his face.
"You're twenty-eight, Eric. Get yourself a job!" His face instantly turned red.
"Dude, are you kidding me?" You understood me perfectly. I took another step forward.
You want to inherit the house? Then behave like a proper homeowner! Or do you want to be the spoiled brat? He pays his damn bills.
I straightened up and folded my arms. "I don't want to be your personal bank anymore." Eric looked away, suddenly fascinated by the sidewalk.
Mom took a deep breath, clearly prepared for another wave of emotional strain. "Jacob, he's your brother." I nodded.
"Yes. And I've been supporting him longer than you have." The father's face darkened.
"You're selfish." I laughed. Honestly.
“Oh, how ironic, isn’t it?” I waved to them. “You two decided that Eric deserves everything, and I get nothing.”
I leaned closer to him. "And now that you have to face the consequences of your decision, you're trying to force me to correct it." I shook my head.
"That won't happen." Mom's voice hardened. "We thought you'd be the sensible one in this situation."
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