My wealthy uncle took me in after my parents abandoned me at 13. Fifteen years later, they showed up smirking at the will reading—expecting millions—until my uncle’s lawyer exposed the truth and left them pale.
I am Dela, 28 years old, standing in the plush waiting room of an upscale law firm. My eyes are still swollen from crying at Uncle Walter’s funeral yesterday.
He was the man who saved me when my parents abandoned me 15 years ago.
The elegant mahogany door swings open and my heart stops.
There they are—Frank and Elaine, my parents.
Fifteen years of silence, and now they appear draped in cheap knockoff jewelry, exchanging smirks about the millions they expect to inherit.
If you are watching this right now, let me know if you have ever had family members suddenly reappear when money was involved.
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My childhood in Pittsburgh was far from idyllic.
We lived in a run-down apartment in a neighborhood where sirens were our nightly lullaby. The building had peeling paint, broken elevators, and the constant smell of mold.
Our one-bedroom apartment housed four people, with Tommy and I sharing a pullout couch in the living room.
Most nights, one or both of our parents were absent, leaving me to care for my little brother.
Frank, my father, worked sporadically as a construction worker, but his real passion was sports betting.
Every payday followed the same pattern. He would cash his check at the corner store, stop at the bookies, and disappear for hours.
Sometimes he would return jubilant, taking us out for ice cream and promising a better future.
More often he would stumble home drunk, reeking of cheap whiskey, his mood volatile as a summer storm.
One minute he would be crying, telling us how much he loved us.
The next he would be throwing plates against the wall because dinner was cold.
“You are just like your uncle, always judging me,” he would snap at me when I asked where the rent money had gone.
I learned early to read his moods—to know when to speak and when to make myself invisible.
Elaine, my mother, worked at a department store makeup counter. She was beautiful in a brittle way, with carefully applied makeup and clothes she could not afford. She spent her paychecks on designer knockoffs and costume jewelry, dreaming of the luxury life she deserved.
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