Betrayal from Kin: All Went to My Sister, While I Got Only Pain and Resentment
Sometimes betrayal doesn’t come from strangers—it comes from those closest to you. The pain gnaws at your soul like no wound upon flesh ever could. My name is Evelyn, and this is my story. A tale of how I lost not just my childhood home, but my faith in fairness itself.
My younger sister, Harriet, was always the favourite. What she got away with, I never could. My mistakes were met with scolding; hers were excused. I bore it all. For years. Because I believed our parents loved us equally, each in their own way. But I was wrong.
For the last decade, I lived near our parents. When Mum fell ill, I was there daily—cooking, cleaning, nursing her through her worst days. When Dad suffered a stroke that left him paralysed, it was me and my husband who carried him to hospital appointments, turned him in bed, spoon-fed him. Harriet, meanwhile, was off in Brighton, posting glossy snaps online, remembering our parents only on birthdays or holidays.
A few years back, Mum and Dad bought Harriet a flat. Just like that. “She needs it more,” they said. They gave me nothing. No help, not a single pound. I had to take out a loan just to buy a modest place—thank heavens my in-laws stepped in to help me clear the debt.
I bit my tongue then. Thought, well, if they gave Harriet the flat, surely they’d leave me the family home. Made sense. I was the one here, the one caring. I wasn’t asking, wasn’t demanding—just trusting in some semblance of justice. But I was wrong. Terribly, crushingly wrong.
About two years ago, Mum started acting oddly—cold, sharp, picking fights over nothing, accusing me of things I’d never done. I knew something was off. Then, the truth slipped out.
A neighbour let it slip by accident: the house wasn’t ours anymore. Quietly, without a word, they’d signed it over to Harriet. A sale deed, all done in secret. I couldn’t believe it. Checked the land registry—there it was. The home I grew up in, where I’d spent half my life, where I’d fed Dad from a spoon and washed Mum’s sheets after her worst nights—it wasn’t even theirs anymore. It was Harriet’s.
How? Why? When? And worst of all—how could they do this to me? No warning, no discussion, no explanation. Just a signature. Mum was sharp enough to know what she was doing, but Dad… Dad couldn’t speak, couldn’t hold a pen. How did he sign? What notary allowed this? Where was their conscience? Or is everything for sale, even a dying man’s name?
I screamed into my pillow. I wanted to sue—this was fraud, no question. Exploiting Dad’s state, faking the paperwork. But in the end… I let it go. I couldn’t drag myself through the mud of court battles I’d likely lose. It was too neatly done, too well-lawyered, too concrete.
Mum and Harriet had cut me out. So I cut them out too.
I haven’t stepped foot in that house since. I don’t call, don’t write. To them, I’m a stranger. Fine. But I can’t forget. I can’t forgive. Especially Harriet. She’d always been jealous—of my studies, my husband, my work. Even when I had little, she’d sneer that I’d “always land on my feet.” Well, now she’s the one who landed. Took everything. The house, the land, even the memories of our childhood. Left me with nothing.
And Mum… I don’t know how she could do it. How does a mother choose between her children? Worship one, discard the other like rubbish? I don’t understand. I don’t forgive. And I doubt I ever will.
Dad, if he’d been himself, would’ve never allowed it. He loved us both. Respected me. Knew how much I’d given—my youth, my time, my life—to stay by their side. But now he can’t speak, can’t write. A prisoner in his own body. And me? A prisoner of their betrayal.
I pray often. Not for revenge. No. Just that God sets things right. That Mum and Harriet might one day feel the pain they’ve dealt me. That they, too, might find themselves with nowhere to call home. That their souls might ache as mine does now.
And you know… I don’t expect miracles. But I believe there’s justice in the end. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday. Greed and betrayal don’t go unpunished.
All that’s left for me is this: to not turn bitter. To keep believing in kindness. And to carry on—without them.
