When My Father Won the Lottery, I Lost My Family

I locked myself in my room until I heard laughter from the living room.

My uncle’s family had arrived, and my dad happily said he would take my cousin to the amusement park next week.

“The tickets are expensive, but that’s fine. Your uncle will take you. We’ll have lots of fun!”

Later, I hid under my blanket and cried.

That was the first time I doubted whether I was really his biological child.

The next day, my mother spoke to me seriously. “We’re strict with you because we expect a lot from you.”

“Your cousin’s family isn’t doing well, so we help them when we can.”

“You’re the older brother. You need to understand.”

She sounded so sincere, her eyes so earnest, that my doubts felt like a sin.

During three years of high school, my monthly allowance was 500 dollars.

At school, it was only enough for the cheapest cafeteria meals, and I was often hungry.

I didn’t dare join any activities that cost money, and I even hesitated for a long time before buying a birthday card for a classmate.

Once, my dad came to visit me at school and saw me eating plain rice with free seaweed soup.

He frowned.

“Why are you eating so badly? You’re growing. You need proper nutrition.”

I thought he would feel sorry for me and give me more money, but instead he said, “It’s good to suffer a bit. It will make you tougher.”

A few days later, I heard my cousin had signed up for piano lessons. The fee was 4,800 dollars.

My dad paid two-thirds of it.

I went to university in another province, thinking I could finally relax.

But my living expenses were still tight—only 800 dollars a month. After phone and internet bills, there was barely enough left for food.

My roommates went out on weekends for dinners, movies, and shopping, having fun together.

I could only make excuses and stay in the library.

Once, I couldn’t refuse and went along. After that, I ate instant noodles for half a month.

During the winter break of my sophomore year, I went to the bathroom one night and heard voices from the bedroom.

“Honey, are we giving Ryan too little for living expenses? Prices are higher now.”

My dad frowned. “Too little? Boys should live frugally.”

“Oh, right. Kevin said yesterday he wants a new phone, so I borrowed 3,000 dollars from you.”

My mom laughed softly. “Of course. That kid has such a sweet mouth. Last time, he even said he’d support us when he earns money.”

I stood outside the door, my hands and feet freezing cold.

After graduating, I was rejected again and again when job hunting.

I called home and carefully asked if they could help ask around.

My dad said flatly, “We don’t have that kind of ability. You have to find your own way.”

“And we won’t spend another cent on you. You’re twenty-two. It’s time to be independent.”

That month, I lived in a tiny small rented room in an City suburb, eating only two steamed buns a day.

I sent out hundreds of resumes and got only three interviews, all of which I turned down.

At my worst, I had only seven dollars and thirty cents left in my account.

Just when I was completely desperate, my cousin updated his Social Media.

He had gotten a job at a local state-owned company with great benefits.

In the photo, he wore a brand-new suit, with a grand office building behind him.

My parents were the first to comment:

“My nephew is amazing!”

“Work hard! Your aunt believes in you!”

Later, I learned my dad had used many connections to get him that job.

An old classmate of his was a leader there. My dad treated him to three dinners, gave him two cartons of good cigarettes and a thick red envelope, and only then got my cousin hired.

I asked my mom why.

She replied casually, “Your cousin didn’t study as well as you. If we don’t help him, who will?”