When My Father Won the Lottery, I Lost My Family

“Besides, that money was lent to your cousin. He’ll pay it back later…”

“Pay it back?” I cut her off. “He didn’t even write an IOU. How is he supposed to pay it back? Aunt, put your hand on your heart—do you really believe that?”

She froze, unable to finish a full sentence.

At that moment, my mother grabbed the phone back, anger burning hotter after my words.

“Yes! It was us! So what?”

“It’s our money. We can give it to whoever we want!”

“We’re happy to buy your cousin a car! What right do you have to question me? Who do you think you are?”

“Let me tell you, Ryan, with that attitude, don’t expect a single cent from us ever again!”

“Open a shop? If you lose money later, go sell your blood or kidneys!”

“Just don’t come crying to us!”

“We raised you all these years, and you’ve achieved nothing, yet you’ve learned to argue with your own family?”

“At least your cousin knows how to be grateful. He comes back to see us every holiday.”

“And you? You disappear for half a year, and every call is about money!”

“Do we owe you anything?”

“If I had known you’d turn out like this, I should’ve aborted you back then!”

Hearing this, I suddenly felt like laughing.

When her rant finally slowed, I spoke quietly.

“You’re right.”

“The money is yours. You can give it to whoever you want.”

“I really don’t have the right to interfere.”

I paused, my throat tight, but forced myself to continue.

“In that case, from now on, just pretend you never had me.”

“I’ll disappear on my own. I won’t ask you for a single cent again, and I won’t trouble you anymore.”

A few seconds later, my mother’s furious scream came through the phone.

I didn’t listen anymore and hung up.

The world finally fell silent.

I stared at my phone screen. The 30,000-dollar online loan had arrived.

The interest was high, and the repayment plan was crushing.

This should have been support from my parents, a warm beginning.

Now, it was only debt.

I opened my cousin’s Social Media.

The post showing off his iPhone 15 Pro was still there. In the photo, he sat in the brand-new driver’s seat, hands on the wheel, smiling brightly.

Below were rows of likes and congratulations, with my parents’ accounts clearly visible.

Comments read things like, “We’re family, no need to be formal,” and “My nephew is doing great.”

It was painfully ironic.

Since I was young, my parents have been extremely strict with me.

No talking at the table, proper posture, and always in the top ten in class.

As for pocket money? That didn’t exist.

They said, “What do kids need money for? Just study.”

But every time my cousin visited, my dad would smile and pull out a few bills, stuffing them into his hand.

“Here, Kevin, buy yourself something tasty.”

Then he’d turn to me and say, “You’re the older brother. You should give way to your younger cousin.”

I was eight then. My cousin was six.

In sixth grade, I saved recyclables for three months and sold them to scrape together twenty dollars to buy a set of Curious Minds.

When my mom found out, she not only took the money but also scolded me.

“What’s the use of reading useless books? Do more math problems instead.”

The next day, I saw my cousin running around the living room with a new remote-controlled car, priced at exactly twenty dollars.

In junior high, the school organized a spring trip to an amusement park. The fee was one hundred fifty dollars.

When I got home, I carefully asked my dad. He didn’t even look up.

“What’s the point of going there? It’s a waste of money. Stay home and study this weekend.”