All my life, I felt like a stranger in my own home. My mother adored my sisters, showering them with love, gifts, and affection. But me? I was treated like a burden. The reason was cruelly simple: I looked too much like the man she wanted to forget.
My sisters, Kira and Alexa, were pampered—new clothes, toys, ice cream trips. Mom brushed their hair and kissed their foreheads. I got hand-me-downs, leftovers, and endless chores. “Olivia, clean the kitchen. Olivia, fold the laundry.” I was the servant, not the daughter.
My father tried to protect me, whispering that I mattered. But as I grew older, his voice faded. Arguments erupted: “She’s your daughter!” Mom screamed. “How can she be mine? She looks nothing like me!” Dad demanded a paternity test.
At fourteen, desperate for answers, I bought my own DNA kit. The truth shattered everything—he wasn’t my biological father.
Dad confronted Mom, and the house exploded with rage. Soon after, he tested my sisters. Alexa was his, but Kira wasn’t. He packed his bags, filed for divorce, and cut ties. Mom’s hatred for me deepened. “This is your fault. If you didn’t look like him, none of this would’ve happened.”
She made me pay rent while Kira lived like a princess. Alexa bullied me, destroying my clothes and stealing my paycheck. I knew I had to escape.
After high school, I landed a sales job and moved into a small apartment. For the first time, I felt free. But Mom and my sisters never stopped calling—always for money. One day, I demanded something in return: “Tell me my real father’s name.”
Reluctantly, she gave me an address. His name was Rick.
I traveled five hours to his home. When he opened the door, his eyes widened. “You’re my daughter,” he said instantly. He explained he had paid child support for years, but Mom told him I hated him. Tears filled my eyes—she had lied to both of us.
Rick embraced me, introduced me to his wife and sons, and gave me something I never had: family. Then, he handed me a folder. Inside was the deed to a house. “It’s yours. For the years we lost.”
One day, I ran into Kira and mentioned the house. Her jealousy was obvious. Days later, while I was away, my neighbor called—Mom and Kira had moved into my home.
I rushed back. “What are you doing here?!” I demanded. Mom shrugged. “We were evicted. So we decided to stay.” Kira smirked, “You can sleep on the couch.”
That was the breaking point. “This is my house. You’re leaving now.” When Mom threatened to sue, I stood firm. “You have no right. Leave, or I’ll call the police.”
They stormed out. I changed the locks, blocked their numbers, and finally cut them out of my life.
For the first time, I felt truly free. My mother had never loved me—only used me. But finding Rick gave me the family I always deserved.
