Kicked Out as a Teen for False Rumors Spread by My Brother, Years Later Parents See My Success and..

At 17, I was kicked out with nothing but a small suitcase and shattered trust. My brother, always the golden child, had spread false rumors that turned my parents against me. I was left to fend for myself, taking on two jobs just to survive. They never once reached out, not even to check if I was okay. But last week, something changed. After all these years, a message from them appeared on my phone. My heart raced as I opened it, their unexpected request leaving me speechless.

The unexpected message from my parents sparked a whirlwind of emotions, from anger to cautious curiosity. My first instinct was to ignore it, to delete the message and continue with my life. But, unresolved questions nagged at me. I couldn't help but wonder why they'd reached out now, after eight long years of silence. My mind raced through countless scenarios, but none seemed to make sense. I decided I'd sleep on it, hoping for clarity by morning.

Despite their previous betrayal, I decided to respond, unable to resist the pull of closure. I typed a brief reply, careful not to reveal too much. 'What do you want?' I sent it and waited, my phone clutched tightly. Within minutes, a response came through. 'We need to talk, it's urgent.' Urgent? What could possibly be so important after all this time? My curiosity deepened, battling with the anger that still simmered inside me.

In our brief exchange, they insisted on meeting in person, claiming they had something urgent to discuss. I was cautious but agreed to a meeting. 'Okay, but on my terms,' I replied. 'Let's meet at the café on Maple Street, 10 AM tomorrow.' I wanted a public place, somewhere neutral. If things went south, I could walk away without causing a scene. Their reply came quickly: 'See you there.' My stomach knotted with both dread and anticipation.

I arranged the meeting at a neutral location, a cozy local café, dreading but also eagerly anticipating the confrontation. The café on Maple Street was a favorite of mine, and its warm ambiance contrasted sharply with the coldness of our impending meeting. I arrived early, choosing a table near the window. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee did little to calm my nerves. As the minutes ticked by, my thoughts raced, preparing for what lay ahead.

As I walked in, my parents were already seated, my father looking older than I remembered, my mother’s eyes filled with a mix of guilt and hope. They hadn't changed much, except for a few more gray hairs and the weariness etched on their faces. I took a deep breath and approached them, my heart pounding. 'Hi,' I said, trying to keep my voice steady. They looked up, their expressions a tangle of regret and relief.

The initial conversation was tense and awkward, with polite but forced cordiality. 'How have you been?' my father asked, breaking the ice. 'Fine,' I replied, my tone clipped. Silence followed, thick and uncomfortable. My mother fidgeted with her napkin, as if searching for the right words. 'We heard you started a business,' she finally said. I nodded, not ready to delve into my achievements just yet. The tension was palpable, a chasm of years and hurt between us.

My father began to apologize, but it felt rehearsed, and my mother sat quietly, occasionally nodding. 'We made some mistakes,' he said, his voice shaky. 'We shouldn't have believed everything...' he trailed off, glancing at my mother for support. 'We were wrong to let you go like that,' she added softly, her eyes watering. It was hard to tell if their remorse was genuine or driven by ulterior motives. Either way, their words barely scratched the surface of the pain they caused.