All my life, I felt like an outsider in my own family. My mother adored my sisters but treated me like a burden. The reason? I looked too much like the man she wished to forget. When I finally discovered the truth about my real father, everything changed—but not in the way she expected.
They say children pay for the sins of their parents. My mother made sure that was true. Though she never admitted it, I always knew I was different.
I grew up with two older sisters, Kira and Alexa. Our mother showered them with love—new clothes, toys, ice cream trips on warm summer days. She brushed their hair, kissed their foreheads, and told them how much she adored them.
Meanwhile, I got their hand-me-downs. Their old toys, their leftovers. I didn’t get bedtime stories or hugs.
Instead, I got orders.
“Olivia, clean the kitchen.”
“Olivia, fold the laundry.”
“Olivia, stop standing around and do something useful.”
I was a servant in my own home, and nobody seemed to care.
My father tried to protect me. He would pull me into a hug when my mother’s words cut too deep.
He used to tell me, “You’re special, Olivia. You matter.” But as I grew older, his voice lost its strength. His kindness faded into silence. Then, the arguments started.
“I’m telling you, she’s your daughter!” my mother screamed.
“How can she be mine?! We are both brunettes, and she’s a blonde with blue eyes!” my father shouted back.
“That happens! Maybe someone in the family had lighter features!” my mother insisted.
“Then let’s do a paternity test!” my father yelled.
Their fights became a routine. And they always ended the same way—my mother crying, accusing my father of hating her, and him backing down. But I never forgot those words.
By fourteen, I couldn’t stand being home. I got a job, not just for money, but to escape.
With my first paycheck, I bought a DNA test. And when the results came, everything fell apart.
One evening, I stepped through the door and saw my father standing in the living room. He held an envelope in his hand, my name printed across the front.
“What is this?” he asked sharply.
My stomach dropped. “Give it back,” I said, reaching for it.
He pulled it away. “Explain first,” he demanded.
I hesitated, my hands trembling. “It’s… a DNA test.”
He didn’t wait. He tore it open. His eyes scanned the page. Then, his face twisted with rage.
“SIMONA!” he roared.
My mother rushed in. “What is it, darling?”
“Olivia, go to your room,” my father ordered.
“But—”
“NOW!” he shouted.
I turned and left, my heart pounding. I didn’t have to guess what the results were.
Through the thin walls, I heard the truth unravel.
“She’s not mine?!” my father shouted.
“It doesn’t matter!” my mother snapped.
“It matters to me! You lied to me, Simona! For fourteen years!”
“You don’t understand! I had no choice!”
Days later, he tested my sisters. Alexa was his, but Kira wasn’t. I watched from the hallway as he packed his bags.
“You’re leaving?” I whispered.
He didn’t look at me. “I have to.”
He filed for divorce, paid child support for Alexa, and cut ties with the rest of us.
After he left, my mother’s hatred for me grew.
“This is your fault,” she hissed. “If you didn’t look so much like him, none of this would have happened.”
She ignored me unless she needed something.
“Olivia, wash the dishes.”
“Olivia, mop the floor.”
I was invisible until it was time to clean. But Kira? She never lifted a finger.
One day, my mother walked into the room, arms crossed. “You will start paying rent.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You earn money. It’s only fair,” she said.
I clenched my fists. “Then make Alexa and Kira pay too!”
Her eyes darkened. “You ruined my life!” she shouted.
My throat burned, but no words came. I turned and ran to my room.
As soon as I finished high school, I knew I had to leave. My manager at work helped me get a job as a sales representative.
With my first few paychecks, I found a small apartment and moved out.
For the first time in my life, I felt free.
But my mother and sisters never disappeared. They only contacted me when they wanted money.
One day, my mother came knocking again. This time, I had a demand of my own.
“I want to know my biological father’s name.”
She scoffed. “He abandoned you.”
“No money unless you tell me.”
She sighed. “His name is Rick.”
I traveled thirty hours to the address she gave me—only to find out she had lied. Again.
Furious, I confronted her.
“You gave me the wrong address!” I shouted.
“Because he doesn’t want you!” she snapped.
I refused to back down. Finally, she wrote the real address.
Rick lived only five hours away.
When I knocked on his door, a middle-aged man opened it. His eyes widened. He stared at me as if he had seen a ghost.
“Are you Rick?” I asked, my voice unsteady.
He nodded. “Yes.”
“I—”
“You’re my daughter,” he said before I could finish.
He knew. Without hesitation.
I learned the truth. He had paid child support until I turned eighteen, but my mother told him I hated him.
Shock rippled through me. “I never knew,” I whispered.
“You’re my daughter. Of course, I wanted you,” he said, pulling me into a hug.
For the first time, I felt loved.
Rick welcomed me into his life. One day, he handed me a folder.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“A house,” he said. “It’s yours.”
Tears filled my eyes as I threw my arms around him.
Finally, I had a home.
But my mother and Kira weren’t done with me.
While I was on a business trip, they moved into my house.
I stormed in. “What are you doing here?!”
“We got evicted,” my mother said casually. “So, we decided to stay with you.”
I clenched my fists. “This is MY house!”
“You’ll have to sleep on the couch,” Kira smirked.
Something inside me snapped. “Leave. NOW.”
My mother’s face darkened. “I raised you! I gave you everything!”
“No, you didn’t,” I said coldly. “Rick did more for me in months than you did my whole life.”
“If you don’t let us stay, I’ll sue you!” she threatened.
“You have no legal right.” I grabbed my phone. “Leave, or I call the police.”
Her confidence vanished. The moment I started speaking to the officer, she and Kira bolted out.
That was the last time I saw them. And I had never felt so free.
