I never liked my own family—call it dysfunctional if you may. But I still couldn’t fathom how my sister would betray me like this, twice, even though I helped her and our father out.
Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I was born into a better family. You know, with better parents who actually know how to be parents? But you don’t always get what you want in life, isn’t it?
I can’t really blame my mother actually—she ran away from the family when I was just ten, presumably since my father was abusive and manipulative. I still wish she took me and my sister away with her at that time, but then again, it is what it is. Sometimes there’s no use in looking back at things and constantly thinking about “what could’ve been.”
That’s what my therapist kept telling me. Don’t look back on the things you can’t change and think about what could’ve been. Look forward, time is linear, there’s no going back.
But she also said writing it out might help—so here it is, I guess.
I grew up in a dysfunctional family | Source: Shutterstock
As I said, my father was an abusive and manipulative monster—self-centered, arrogant … he only cared about himself and the things that actually concerned him. Sometimes I wonder how come my mother actually married him. That’s something I’d never find out, I guess.
As for my younger sister Cheryl, you can probably understand what kind of person she’d grow up to be under such circumstances. We were close when we were kids—at least before everything happened —but after my mother ran away, it had gotten worse since then.
My father never liked me since I was a kid, but he hated me even more after my mother ran away. Why? I have no idea. He probably thought I was the reason why she ran away—he never thought it was his fault.
Well, he blamed the stripper when he was drunk sometimes, but it takes two to tango, isn’t it? Or that it took two to have a lapdance, in this context.
Anyway. My sister Cheryl.
Cheryl and I used to be close when we were kids | Source: Pexels
Ever since mother left, Cheryl became dad’s favorite, presumably since she was still too young to understand what happened. Since I was too old to be converted into daddy’s little girl at that time, he focused on Cheryl instead.
That’s what I meant when I said things began to go downhill from there—he and Cheryl began to gang up on me, alienating me in the house. It wasn’t pleasant, and to be honest, I don’t really want to go into details about what happened. Let’s just say I wish I had a more functional family.
Cheryl grew up to be a spoiled brat. That’s the thing about my father. He might be an absolute jerk of a person, but he wasn’t stupid. In fact, he made himself a fortune by setting up a trading company. It made sense though since he had every single trait of being a psychopathic CEO.
Chery, being daddy’s little girl of the family, had everything she needed and wanted—and even things she didn’t know she wanted. I can still remember the Gucci bag my father gave her when she was just 12. Can you believe that? A 12-year-old girl holding a Gucci bag?
Needless to say, Cheryl grew up to be a dysfunctional human being.
I remember how I used to smell like fast food every night after work | Source: Pexels
As for myself, I had to work hard for everything that I had. Since I wasn’t getting any allowances from my father, I began taking up part-time jobs here and there just to get by. I worked in McDonald’s, Wendy’s, and even handed out leaflets outside Sears at some point. I can still remember how I used to smell like French fries after my shifts. You just cannot get rid of that stench.
In a way, I am thankful for the experience, since all of these things taught me things I needed to know in life. It made me who I am—it taught me how to be resilient and got me through some dark times.
I moved out as soon as I could. I remember I was 18 at the time—it was a long and hot summer, and I packed up my things and went off to California in my old Honda Civic without even saying goodbye. I probably had $400 in my account at the time, but it was liberating. I can still remember the sweet summer breeze of youth and freedom along the Pacific Coast.
I found myself an IT job in California | Source: Pexels
Fast forward 10 years from there, I got my college degree and began working for an IT company. I wouldn’t say I had a great career, but I managed to have a decent life and save some money of my own. To be honest, I wouldn’t stay in IT if not for the money. But hey, we all gotta make a living somehow.
It was then when I received an email from Cheryl. I hadn’t spoken to her nor my dad since the day I moved out, not that they cared anyway. They could’ve reached out to me somehow, but they did not. Ten years, not a single message from them.
But surprise surprise, Cheryl actually asked me for help in the email. How things have changed, I thought to myself.
It started with a bunch of formal addresses like “Dear Emma,” “I hope this email finds you well,” and my favorite—“Sincerely yours.”
I received an email from Cheryl while at work one day | Source: Pexels
She was asking me for money since her kid got sick and needed surgery, but her ex-boyfriend ran away with some chicks and left her with nothing. She said she hadn’t been talking to dad for a few years already due to some argument … bla bla bla. That was why she needed my help.
I was hesitant at first, but then I opened the attachment in the email—it was a picture of my nephew. He was adorable.
After looking at that picture, I debated on what I would do—or rather, the right thing for me to do. You see, I might not like my family, but the kid was innocent. He shouldn’t be pulled into the whole family feud that we had.
After a night of turning over and over again in my bed, I decided to wire her the money.
Cheryl didn’t respond to my emails after I wired her the money | Source: Pexels
The next month I sent her an email, asking her if everything was alright with the kid—alas, no response.
So I did a bit of research and found out where she lived. Well, as it turned out, she didn’t move far—basically six or seven blocks from where we used to live. I decided to drop by and give her a visit.
It had been more than ten years since I left—but that’s the thing about small American towns … scenery might change, but people don’t. I can still recognize the same shops and people I used to know. Older, but not necessarily wiser.
Then, as if God intervened through some twisted manner, before getting to Cheryl, I bumped into an old classmate of mine who happened to know my family cause you know, small town.
I bumped into John at a gas station—it was truly a strange coincidence | Source: Pexels
John was a classmate of mine back then. His mother and my father were neighbors growing up, so he was kind of a family friend. He was beyond surprised when he saw me at the gas station.
“Hey. Is that you, Emma?” he said as he approached me from his car.
“ …John? God, could barely recognize you there, man,” I said.
“What brought you back here? Haven’t seen you in years,” he continued. “Came here to see your old man?”
I assumed he didn’t know what happened to my family all these years.
“Nah, just wanna check on Cheryl and my nephew,” I said, trying to shrug it off and make it sound as natural as I could.
“Your nephew? I didn’t know Cheryl had a kid,” responded John, with a pair of confused eyes. “That’s strange, I would’ve known since I live across the road from her,” he added.
Now things were getting weird.
John happened to live across the road from Cheryl | Source: Pexels
Out of curiosity, I asked John about my father after a brief explanation that we haven’t been talking for quite a few years.
“Yea, he goes over to Cheryl’s every weekend. His business partner screwed him over, I heard, so he lost quite a bit of money there. He seemed sad for a while but he seems alright now,” he said. “I think Cheryl managed to bail him out or something.”
“His partner screwed him over? When was that?”
“Maybe a month or two ago? I remember seeing him walking around Cheryl’s driveway, calling and cursing at his phone—must’ve been around that time.”
I decided to pay Cheryl a visit. I had to know what happened.
I knocked on Cheryl’s door, not entirely sure what I was expecting | Source: Pexels
So, I pulled up in front of Cheryl’s house, rang the doorbell, and she opened the door for me.
From the door I could see my father sitting in the living room, having a glass of wine in his hand—and no, I did not see any kid in the house.
Cheryl was surprised to see me there, as you can guess by now. “Emma? What’re you doing here?” she asked.
“Just trying to check up on my nephew,” I responded.
For a fleeting moment, I could see it in her eyes that she was trying to avoid the topic.
“Oh, a friend of mine is babysitting Anthony now,” she responded. “Do you want to come in? We haven’t seen you in years,” she added.
I was still hesitant at the time—just one step, and I could step inside the house and perhaps deal with all that trauma sown within me years ago. It was so close, that feeling of being able to make things right at last.
But I wasn’t ready. I told them I was a bit under the weather and got back into my car and drove to a nearby motel.
Unable to face Cheryl and my father, I drove to a motel nearby for the night | Source: Pexels
The next day I bumped into John again at a local diner. God certainly works in mysterious ways.
But it was a bit different this time—when he saw me at the diner he simply turned around without saying a single word.
That was strange, I thought to myself. Considering we were on good terms the whole time, there was something odd about it. I decided to walk towards him and asked him what’s up.
“Hey man, sup? Is everything alright?” I asked him when he sat down at his table.
He tried to avoid having eye contact with me, but I just stood there, utterly bewildered by his reaction.
“Hey, I know it’s none of my business, but I think you might need some help,” he said.
Now this just got way more confusing.
“What? Why? I don’t think I understand,” I said.
“Look, I talked to Cheryl last night, about her having a kid—she told me that … well, she told me why you left,” he said meekly.
“What? What did she say?”
“She said you were … imagining things, and they had to send you away to the hospital.”
“W—what? How?”
I bumped into John again in the diner, but I could tell that something was wrong | Source: Pexels
“She doesn’t have a kid and I don’t understand why you said she has. So last night I went over to her place and asked her about it, and she told me what happened,” he said, but then he paused for a moment. “She said you just showed up out of nowhere and started asking about her kid … Look, I don’t want any trouble here.”
That … wretched woman. I don’t know if I can still call her my sister anymore. Did she just throw me under the bus after all I did for her and presumably our father? Am I hallucinating? No, I was pretty sure I was not.
“Wait a second,” I said to John as he was about to leave. I then went through my inbox and showed the email to John. He looked at it and went quiet for a while. But at last, he responded.
“Look, it’s really none of my business, just leave me out of this,” he said, and he simply left the diner without touching his pancakes.
Here I am, back in San Francisco, wondering if I did the right thing | Source: Pexels
So here I am, back in San Francisco at my own apartment. I just drove all the way back here after that interaction with John—Lord knows what other folks in town were talking about right now. Can you imagine that? My very own sister, fabricating a lie so that I could save our father who never cared about me, and then throwing me under the bus and telling the folks that I was crazy? Seriously?
I am not sure how I should feel about it—I admit that writing it down did make me feel better. But still … I couldn’t help but wonder if it would have made a difference if I actually walked into the house and talked to them. Maybe I had a chance to change something? Maybe things wouldn’t end up the way they are now?
I don’t know. I really don’t know.
What can we learn from this story?
Sometimes we just have to let things go. It is what it is, sometimes there’s just nothing we can do about it. Let go and start living.
Look forward. We cannot change the past, whatever that is, but we can try and move on, one way or another.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
If you enjoyed reading this, you might also enjoy this one where a man sheltered a homeless woman and discovered who she really was.
I Married a Homeless Man to Spite My Parents – A Month Later, I Came Home and Froze in Shock at What I Saw
When I offered to marry a homeless stranger, I thought I had it all figured out. It seemed like the perfect arrangement to please my parents with no strings attached. Little did I know I’d be shocked to walk into my house a month later.
I’m Miley, 34 years old, and this is the story of how I went from being a happily single career woman to marrying a homeless man, only to have my world turned upside down in the most unexpected way.
A woman in her bedroom | Source: Midjourney
My parents have been on my case about getting married for as long as I can remember. I feel like they have a timer ticking away in their heads, counting down the seconds until my hair starts turning white.
As a result, every family dinner turned into an impromptu matchmaking session.
“Miley, honey,” my mom, Martha, would start. “You remember the Johnsons’ son? He just got promoted to regional manager at his firm. Maybe you two should grab coffee sometime?”
A woman talking to her daughter | Source: Midjourney
“Mom, I’m not interested in dating right now,” I’d say. “I’m focused on my career.”
“But sweetheart,” my dad, Stephen, would chime in, “your career won’t keep you warm at night. Don’t you want someone to share your life with?”
“I share my life with you guys and my friends,” I’d counter. “That’s enough for me right now.”
But they wouldn’t let up. It was a constant barrage of “What about so-and-so?” and “Did you hear about this nice young man?”
One night, things took a turn for the worse.
A close-up shot of chairs in a house | Source: Pexels
We were having our usual Sunday dinner when my parents dropped a bombshell.
“Miley,” my dad said in a serious tone. “Your mother and I have been thinking.”
“Oh boy, here we go,” I mumbled.
“We’ve decided,” he continued, ignoring my sarcasm, “that unless you’re married by your 35th birthday, you won’t see a cent of our inheritance.”
“What?” I blurted out. “You can’t be serious!”
“We are,” my mom chimed in. “We’re not getting any younger, honey. We want to see you settled and happy. And we want grandchildren while we’re still young enough to enjoy them.”
A woman looking at her daughter | Source: Midjourney
“This is insane,” I sputtered. “You can’t blackmail me into getting married!”
“It’s not blackmail,” my dad insisted. “It’s, uh, it’s incentive.”
I stormed out of their house that night, unable to believe what just happened. They’d given me an ultimatum, implying that I needed to find a husband in a few months or kiss my inheritance goodbye.
I was angry, but not because I wanted the money. It was more about the principle of the thing. How dare they try to control my life like this?
A woman looking at her mother | Source: Midjourney
For weeks, I didn’t answer their calls or visit them. Then, one evening, I got an excellent idea.
I was walking home from work, thinking about spreadsheets and deadlines, when I spotted him. A man, probably in his late 30s, sat on the sidewalk with a cardboard sign asking for change.
He looked rough, had an unkempt beard, and wore dirty clothes, but there was something in his eyes. A kindness and a sadness that made me pause.
A homeless man | Source: Pexels
That’s when an idea struck me. It was crazy, but it felt like the perfect solution to all my problems.
“Excuse me,” I said to the man. “This might sound crazy, but, um, would you like to get married?”
The man’s eyes widened in shock. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Look, I know this is weird, but hear me out,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I need to get married ASAP. It would be a marriage of convenience. I’d provide you with a place to live, clean clothes, food, and some money. In return, you’d just have to pretend to be my husband. What do you say?”
He stared at me for what felt like an eternity. I was sure he thought I was kidding.
A close-up shot of a man’s face | Source: Midjourney
“Lady, are you for real?” he asked.
“Completely,” I assured him. “I’m Miley, by the way.”
“Stan,” he replied, still looking bewildered. “And you’re seriously offering to marry a homeless guy you just met?”
I nodded.
“I know it sounds insane, but I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything. Just a desperate woman with meddling parents.”
“Well, Miley, I gotta say, this is the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
A homeless man sitting outdoors | Source: Pexels
“So, is that a yes?” I asked.
He looked at me for a long moment, and I saw that spark in his eyes again. “You know what? Why the hell not. You’ve got yourself a deal, future wife.”
And just like that, my life took a turn I never could have imagined.
I took Stan shopping for new clothes, got him cleaned up at a salon, and was pleasantly surprised to discover that underneath all that grime was a rather handsome man.
A man smiling | Source: Midjourney
Three days later, I introduced him to my parents as my secret fiancé. To say they were shocked would be an understatement.
“Miley!” my mom exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Oh, you know, I wanted to make sure it was serious before I said anything,” I lied. “But Stan and I are so in love, aren’t we, honey?”
Stan, to his credit, played along beautifully. He charmed my parents with made-up stories of our whirlwind romance.
A month later, we were married.
A newly wed couple | Source: Pexels
I made sure to get a rock-solid prenup, just in case my little scheme backfired. But to my surprise, living with Stan wasn’t half bad.
He was funny, smart, and always ready to help around the house. We fell into an easy friendship, almost like roommates who occasionally had to pretend to be madly in love.
However, there was just one thing that nagged at me.
A woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
Whenever I asked Stan about his past, about how he ended up on the streets, he’d clam up. His eyes would cloud over, and he’d quickly change the subject. It was a mystery that both intrigued and frustrated me.
Then came the day that changed everything.
It was a regular day when I returned home from work. As I entered the house, a trail of rose petals caught my attention. It led me into the living room.
A woman’s hand on a doorknob | Source: Midjourney
The sight that greeted me in the living room left me speechless. The entire room was filled with roses, and a huge heart made of petals was on the floor.
And there, in the center of it all, stood Stan.
But this wasn’t the Stan I knew. Gone were the comfortable jeans and T-shirts I gave him.
Instead, he was dressed in a sleek black tuxedo that looked like it cost more than my monthly rent. And in his hand, he held a small velvet box.
A man standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
“Stan?” I managed to squeak out. “What’s going on?”
He smiled, and I swear my heart skipped a beat.
“Miley,” he said. “I wanted to thank you for accepting me. You’ve made me incredibly happy. I would be even happier if you truly loved me and became my wife, not just in name but in real life. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, and this past month we’ve spent together has been the happiest of my life. Will you marry me? For real this time?”
A man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney
I stood there with eyes wide open, struggling to process what was happening. A thousand questions raced through my mind, but one pushed its way to the front.
“Stan,” I said slowly, “where did you get the money for all this? The tuxedo, the flowers, and that ring?”
“I guess it’s time I told you the truth,” he said before taking a deep breath. “You see, I never told you how I became homeless because it was too complicated, and it could have put you in a difficult position. And I loved our life together so much.”
A man talking to his wife in the living room | Source: Midjourney
“I became homeless because my brothers decided to get rid of me and take over my company,” he continued. “They forged documents, faked my signatures, and even stole my identity. One day, they dropped me off in this town, miles away from home. When I tried going to the police, they pulled strings, and I never got any help. They even bribed my lawyer.”
I quietly listened as Stan poured out his story.
A woman looking at her husband | Source: Midjourney
How he’d lost everything, how he’d spent months just trying to survive on the streets. And then, how meeting me had given him the push he needed to fight back.
“When you gave me a home, clean clothes, and a little money, I decided to fight back,” he explained. “I contacted the best law firm in the country, one that my brothers couldn’t influence because it works for their competitors.”
A man talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
“I told them my story and promised them a substantial payout,” he revealed. “At first, they didn’t want to take the case without an advance, but when they realized they could finally outsmart their rivals, they agreed. Thanks to them, a court case is set for next month, and my documents and bank accounts have been restored.”
He paused, looking at me with those kind eyes that had first caught my attention.
A man looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
“I’ll be honest with you,” he smiled. “I’m not a poor man. I’ve spent my whole life looking for love, but every woman I met was only interested in my money. You, however, were kind to me when you thought I had nothing. That’s why I fell for you. I’m sorry I kept all this from you for so long.”
I sank onto the couch, unable to process his story. I couldn’t believe the man I married on a whim was actually wealthy and harbored genuine feelings for me.
A woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
“Stan,” I finally managed to say, “you’ve really taken me by surprise. I feel like I have feelings for you too, but all this new information is overwhelming.”
He nodded understandingly and guided me to the dining table. We ate the dinner he had prepared.
I shared my feelings with Stan once we finished eating.
“Stan, thank you for such a romantic gesture. No one has ever done anything like this for me in my life.” I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I spoke.
A woman talking to her husband | Source: Midjourney
“I will marry you. That’s my decision now. But could you ask me again in six months? If my decision remains the same, we’ll have a real wedding. Let’s first see how life goes with all of this new information for both of us. You have a tough court battle ahead, and I’ll support you through it.”
Stan’s face lit up with a smile. “I’m so happy. Of course, I’ll ask you again in six months. But will you accept my ring now?”
A ring in a box | Source: Pexels
I nodded, and he slipped the ring onto my finger. We hugged, and for the first time, we kissed. It wasn’t a Hollywood kiss with fireworks and swelling music, but it felt right. It felt like coming home.
As I write this, I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything that’s happened. I married a homeless man to spite my parents, only to discover he’s actually a wealthy businessman with a heart of gold. Life really does work in mysterious ways.
A couple holding hands | Source: Midjourney
If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might like: When a wealthy man cruelly mocks an elderly woman after a minor accident, no one dares intervene — until Mark, a homeless man, steps forward, demanding respect. The rich man jeers at Mark’s appearance, but the next day, fate flips the script, and he’s on his knees begging for forgiveness.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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