I am Jacob, and if I ever had doubts about my place in the family, they disappeared the day I found out about the will. It wasn’t even a dramatic conversation where my parents broke the news to me. No, I found out by pure chance, by pure luck.

This happened a few months ago, when I was at their house in a small town outside of Chicago. In the same house I’d been helping pay for for the past five years. The mortgage, the occasional shopping trip, fixing whatever broke.

I was the one keeping everything afloat. Meanwhile, my brother Eric did absolutely nothing. And when I say “nothing,” I mean literally nothing.

No job, no responsibilities, just endless laziness waiting for life to hand him everything on a silver platter. And, apparently, my parents were happy to provide him with that life. That day, I was helping Dad with some paperwork because, as always, neither he nor Mom could handle it alone.

He asked me to scan some documents, both legal and financial. I didn’t think twice until I saw a folder labeled “Estate Plan” and the words “Last Will and Testament.” I’m not one to snoop through other people’s papers.

But curiosity got the better of me. After all, I was the one who made sure they had a roof over their heads. It seemed reasonable to check on how they managed their assets for the future.

I opened the folder and saw the words that saddened me. “Everything.” Literally, “everything” was going to Eric.

The house, the savings, the assets. They didn’t even mention me, except for a few obligatory lines about how much they loved their two children. Equally.

Yes, of course, Jacob, just as much. That’s why their golden boy got everything, and the one keeping them afloat didn’t even get a footnote. I felt like a complete idiot…

I’d worked my butt off for them, paid their bills, made sure they always had food, while they sat back and planned a future where I had no place. And Eric? He wasn’t just lazy. He wasn’t entitled to anything.

He never helped, never contributed a cent, but somehow he convinced our parents that he was the one who deserved everything. Maybe because he was the youngest son, maybe because they always spoiled him, or maybe because he knew how to earn their trust. Whatever the reason, they’d already made their decision.

I sat there, staring at the papers, my hands shaking with a mixture of rage and betrayal. How long had they been planning this? Had they always intended to use me as a financial safety net without reward?

Did they ever appreciate what I did for them? I don’t know how long I was like this, but at some point, Dad realized I wasn’t scanning anything. “Jacob, what’s taking you so long?” he asked as he entered the room.

I didn’t even try to hide the will. I just held it up and, looking him straight in the eye, asked, “So it’s like that, huh?” “Everything.”

For Eric. After everything I’ve done for you.” Dad’s face paled for a second, but then he sighed deeply, as if dealing with a whiny toddler.

“Jacob, it’s not what you think.” “Really?” I snapped. “Because I’m pretty clear about it. I pay your mortgage, I do your shopping, I fix up this house, while Eric does absolutely nothing.”

And yet, he’s the only one that matters.” Dad looked uncomfortable, but instead of a real explanation, he simply mumbled, “It’s complicated, and that’s it.”

No apology, no attempt to justify his decision. Just a lame excuse and the expectation that I would swallow it and remain his walking ATM. I should have turned around and left right then.

But I needed to hear it from my parents. “Mom!” I yelled. He came into the room and, seeing the will in my hands, at least looked guilty. But his words made my blood boil…

“Jacob, honey, you don’t need an inheritance,” Mom said quietly, as if she were doing me a favor. “You have a good job, you’re independent.

But Eric… he’s struggling. We just want to make sure he’s well taken care of.” That’s when something inside me snapped.

They weren’t even looking for excuses; they knew exactly what they were doing, and to them, it was totally justified. The years they’d spent tolerating Eric’s laziness now culminated in rewarding him with everything, while they cast me aside like a spare part. I took a deep breath, clenched my jaw, and laid the will on the table.

“Understood,” I said icily. “I’m glad to know where I stand.” Then I turned and walked out of the house, ignoring their protests, slamming the door behind me.

They’d made their decision; now it was my turn to make mine. I never went back to that house on the outskirts of Chicago. I didn’t call them, I didn’t call them. For the first time in years, I let them deal with their own problems.

If something needs fixing, let them figure it out themselves. If they’re out of food, let them go to the store themselves. And most importantly, if the mortgage is due, it’s no longer my problem.

The silence lasted about two weeks. I think at first they thought I was just grumpy and would crawl back to my usual self. Maybe they were hoping I’d calm down and apologize for daring to question their decision.

But days passed, and I didn’t hear from them. And most importantly: there was no money. You could almost feel their attitude changing.

Then, one day, my phone vibrated. A text from Dad. The property tax deadline was approaching.

And that was it. Not a “Hi, how are you?” Not a “Sorry about that.” Not a “We really appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”

Just a cold, serious message, as if I were still their personal ATM they could access at any time. I stared at the screen, almost amused by how predictable it was. Did they really think they could demand money as if nothing had happened…

That I would continue to be their financial savior, even after they made it clear they didn’t need me. I quickly responded: “I think Eric can handle it, since the house is now his.”

Exactly five minutes later, Mom called. I didn’t answer. Then a text came in.

Mom: “Jacob, please don’t be like that. We need to talk.”

“Oh, so now you need to talk?” Now that the bills were piling up and reality was finally hitting them, I waited an hour before responding: “There’s nothing to talk about. You made your decision.”

Now live with it.” I thought that would be the end of it. I was completely sure I’d made my position clear, and I didn’t regret it one bit.

But then Eric decided to intervene. That same night, I received a text from him. As soon as I saw his name on the screen, I knew it was going to be annoying.

I opened it, and sure enough, it was pure arrogance: “Jacob, dude, what’s all the fuss about? It’s not the end of the world. Just help them like always.”

I almost laughed. “Isn’t it the end of the world?” I genuinely believed I had no right to be angry. I immediately replied:

“No, I think it’s your responsibility now. After all, you’re the favorite.” Eric:

“Jesus Christ, are you really mad about a will? Grow up, dude. It’s just money. Yeah.”

Now that the money was his, it suddenly didn’t matter. There was an astonishing irony in that. I replied:

“Well, since it’s just money, it shouldn’t be hard for you to spend it on the mortgage, right?” Silence. A few minutes later, another text from Mom. This time he felt completely guilty:

Mom: Jacob. We’re your parents.