Reddit Stories - DISCOVERED that my RELATIVES concealed my sister's CELEBRATION of betrothal from me, claiming

Episode Date: November 26, 2025

#redditstories #askreddit #aita #familydrama #betrayal #secrets #relationships #celebration Summary: DISCOVERED that my RELATIVES concealed my sister's CELEBRATION of betrothal from me, claiming it was a misunderstanding. Confronted them and learned the truth, leading to a heated argument and strained family dynamics. Tags: redditstories, askreddit, reddit, aita, tifu, familydrama, betrayal, secrets, relationships, celebration, confrontation, misunderstanding, argument, familydynamics, sister, betrothal, concealed, discovered, relatives, heatedargument

I hope you enjoy this story. Discovered that my relatives concealed my sister's celebration of betrothal from me, claiming that I needed to dedicate myself to academics in order to support their retirement. Consequently, I declined to provide assistance when they faced financial ruin and begged for money. My life had always revolved around studying, sacrificing, and silently existing in the background while my older sister basked in the golden light of our parents' love. They doted on her, calling her their pride and joy, while I was the afterthought the one expected to achieve for the sake of their future. It wasn't a role I chose, but one I accepted because

there didn't seem to be another option. One evening, after hours buried in textbooks and lecture notes, I was exhausted. My cramped dorm room felt more stifling than usual, its dim light barely cutting through the weight of my solitude. Seeking a momentary escape, I opened my phone and scrolled mindlessly through social media. Then I saw it. The post was like a punch to the gut. There she was, my sister, glowing in a sleek dress, surrounded by smiling faces at her engagement party.

The caption below the photo sent my heart plummeting. I can't wait to celebrate our Hawaii wedding with all our loved ones. All their loved ones, apparently, didn't include me. I stared at the picture, hoping I had misread it. Was this a joke? But no. My parents stood proudly by her side, dressed to the nines, beaming as if they had won the lottery. Relatives I hadn't seen in years filled the frame, laughing and toasting with champagne

flutes. Everyone was there. Everyone but me. A cold numbness spread through me, followed swiftly by a sharp, burning pain in my chest. They didn't even think to tell me. My sister had always treated me like an outsider, but I hadn't expected that she wouldn't even bother to send so much as a text. My parents, the same ones who endlessly drilled into me the importance of family, hadn't

thought it necessary to include me in one of the most significant moments of her life. My memories came rushing back, unbidden and relentless. Some are spent working two part-time jobs so they wouldn't have to stress about bills. Skipping outings with friends to study because failing wasn't an option. I had to make them proud. Enduring lectures about how my future success was the family's retirement plan. Every sacrifice I made was for them, for this family. Yet, when it mattered most, I was invisible.

The tears came without warning, blurring my vision as I stared at the screen. I wasn't the type to cry, not anymore. Years of keeping my emotions bottled up had turned me into a master at hiding my pain. But this? This cut deeper than I thought possible. I wiped my face and tried to compose myself. My first instinct was to call my parents and demand an explanation. I needed to hear them tell me why I didn't matter enough to be part of this celebration.

With trembling hands, I dialed their number. Voice mail. I tried again. Still, voicemail. The realization hit me like a second wave. They weren't just oblivious. they didn't even care enough to answer. My throat tightened, my breathing was heavy and I was trying not to cry. I couldn't bring myself to call my sister. What would be the point? She would either ignore me or, worse, give me some half-hearted excuse that would only add salt to the

wound. I dropped my phone onto my desk and sat there, staring blankly at the wall. The silence felt gross and suffocating. I had to acknowledge the ugly truth I had always avoided. I was expendable to them. It was two days later when the first notification from my parents came through. A cheery don't forget to study hard. Text. I felt something inside me snap. My thumb hovered over the mute button for a moment before I pressed it, silencing their number.

Then I did the same with my sister. I didn't care about their excuses or apologies if they even planned to offer any. The pain was too raw, and I couldn't bear the thought of hearing them dismiss my feelings yet again. All I had ever wanted was to feel like I belonged in my own family, but it was clear now that I never truly had one. That night, as I sat in my dorm room, I felt utterly abandoned. They might have cast me aside, but I wasn't going to let them keep breaking me. If they didn't need me in their lives, maybe it was time I stopped needing them in mine. Update 1, the silence stretched on as I ignored their calls. Days turned into weeks,

and my inbox overflowed with their messages. At first, their tone was calm, almost sweet, as if nothing had happened. They wanted to know why I hadn't returned their calls, why I was being so quiet. My mother mentioned how they were worried and hoped I wasn't stressing too much over exams. But that act of concern quickly gave way to passive-aggressive remarks. My mother's voice, now sharper, started hinting that I was being ungrateful. She listed everything they had done for me how they'd supported me through college, the roof they'd put over my head, the meals they'd provided.

My father chimed in on another message, accusing me of being selfish and dramatic for not appreciating the sacrifices we've made for you. Their carefully crafted guilt-tripping wasn't new to me, but hearing it now, when I was already raw with pain, felt unbearable. Their disappointment soon escalated into anger. My mother's tone hardened as she accused me of being distrable. respectful, saying that after all they had done for me, the least I could do was be a good son and returned their calls. My father's messages were louder and more aggressive. He thundered

about how I was wasting time on drama instead of focusing on my studies and future. He called me ungrateful, a disappointment. I deleted each message without listening to them in full. Their words cut deep, but I couldn't bear hearing how they twisted everything to make themselves the victims. I had sacrificed so much for their approval, my time, my energy, my happiness, and now they were painting me as the villain. The breaking point came the following week when a cousin reached out. We were close but I hadn't expected to hear from her. I knew she was at the engagement party. Her name had been in the endless tags on my sister's glittering social media posts. She sounded hesitant, almost nervous, as she asked why I hadn't been at the party.

I told her that I hadn't even been invited, she could hear the barely suppressed anger in my voice. There was a pause on the line before she spoke again, her voice cautious, like she wasn't sure if she should say what she was about to say. She told me she'd overheard my parents discussing me at the party. Not only had they known I was free that weekend, but they'd actively decided not to invite me. Their reasoning? I needed to stay focused on my studies so I could secure a high-paying job and eventually repay the family for their efforts. Her words hit like a punch to the gut. I had spent years sacrificing everything to meet their impossible expectations, always hoping that one day they'd see my worth, and yet here they were, treating me like an

investment rather than a son. What had I done to deserve that treatment? I didn't sneak out to parties, refused outings with friends just so I could make them proud. But my cousin wasn't finished. She hesitated again before telling me that she had heard from her parents that the Hawaii wedding wasn't just a splurge, it was a financial catastrophe waiting to happen. My parents had emptied their entire retirement savings and taken out a second mortgage to fund it. At the engagement party, my father had even joked with their guests about how I was too busy being a bookworm to join them. I felt sick, the image of my father casually mocking me in front of a crowd of smiling faces, surrounded by people who didn't care enough to question

my absence. It was more than I could take. The betrayal ran deeper than I had ever imagined. That night, I sat in my dorm room, staring at my laptop screen. My chest felt tight as I typed out a message to my parents, each keystroke fueled by years of pent-up hurt and anger. I didn't hold back. I reminded them of all the sacrifices I had made to meet their expectations. I wrote about the summers the first spent working instead of enjoying my youth, the late-night I stayed up studying while they poured attention on my sister, and the countless times I pushed my own needs aside to make their lives easier. I asked them how they could possibly justify excluding me from such an important family milestone. Did they ever stop to consider how their

decisions affected me? Or was I nothing more than a tool to them, a means to an end? The message wasn't a plea for reconciliation. It was a demand for accountability. I needed them to understand the depth of the pain they had caused, even if they never apologized for it. When I hit send, I didn't feel too good. Part of me hoped they would finally see the error of their ways, but a larger part knew better. Days passed with no response. The silence didn't surprise me, but it still stung. Then, one morning, a message from them appeared in my inbox. I hesitated before opening it. But as I read their words, my chest tightened with a different kind of of pain. The message was as cold and dismissive as I had feared. They accused me of being ungrateful

and selfish, throwing all they had done for me back in their faces. My father wrote that I needed to stop playing the victim and focus on my studies. My mother added a parting jab, reminding me that family obligations come with sacrifices and that I needed to grow up and stop acting like a child. I reread the message several times, each word confirming what I had always known but never wanted to admit. They didn't see me as a person. To them, I was a project, an investment, a tool for their comfort and convenience. They accused me of being ungrateful and selfish, throwing all they had done for me back in their faces. They said I should be focusing on my studies instead of whining about a party. The watery eyes didn't come this time.

Instead, a strange calm settled over me, the kind that comes with finality. I realized that that I didn't need their approval, their validation, or their love, not if it that left me feeling invisible and unworthy. Y'all are right, I should choose me. I closed my laptop. Let them pour their time and money into my sister. Let them reap the rewards of their golden child. Why should I care? Update 2. The anger simmered in me for days after their dismissive message. Every word they wrote replayed in my mind, each sentence more insulting than the last. They had twisted my herd into some ridiculous narrative of ingratitude. I wasn't ungrateful, I was tired. I was tired of always giving, of always sacrificing, and receiving

nothing but contempt in return. The weight of their manipulation crushed me, but this time, it didn't paralyze me. It fueled me. I couldn't keep swallowing their behavior, hoping for the bare minimum of love and respect. They'd made it clear where I stood in their lives, and I was ready to accept it on my terms, not theirs. Late one night, I opened my laptop again. This time, there was no hesitation. I wrote back, each word sharp and deliberate. I started by reminding them that whatever sacrifices they thought they'd made for me, they were only fulfilling the basic duties of parenthood. Providing food, shelter, and education wasn't a favor, It was an obligation they signed up for when they decided to have children.

I pointed out that, unlike my sister, I hadn't relied on their financial support for years. I had secured a scholarship to cover my tuition and worked part-time jobs to handle my expenses. I told them, in no uncertain terms, that I didn't owe them a single thing. Then I let them have it. I told them how deeply their exclusion from the engagement party and wedding plans had hurt. Not just the act itself, but the calculated choice. to leave me out, paired with their casual jokes about me at the party, was proof that I didn't matter to them beyond what I could provide. I asked them if their golden daughter, with her lavish

wedding and fancy parties, would now be responsible for their retirement since they'd emptied their savings and taken on debt to fund her happiness. And finally, I ended it with a clean break. I told them that since I was over 18 and capable of living independently, I didn't see any reason to continue this farce of a relationship. They clearly valued my sister above all else, so they could lean on her and her new husband for everything moving forward. I would no longer be their scapegoat or punching bag.

I didn't hit send out of desperation for their apology or acknowledgement. I sent it for myself. Their reply came the next day, and I couldn't bring myself to read it. I deleted it without opening it, knowing it would only be more of the same blame shifting and gaslighting. But they weren't done.

Later that afternoon, my phone buzzed with a call from my mother. I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the decline button, but I decided to answer. Her voice was cold, barely masking her annoyance. She launched into a monologue about how disappointed they were in me, how they couldn't believe I would abandon my family over something so trivial. She insisted that the wedding wasn't about me, so I had no right to feel excluded. I interrupted her saying that she was missing the point entirely. It wasn't just the wedding, it was everything.

Years of being overlooked, dismissed and treated like an afterthought. I asked her how she would feel if the roles were reversed if I had excluded her from something so important without a second thought. Her response was as predictable as it was infuriating. She said I was being dramatic, that I had no reason to make such a big deal out of this. According to her, I was letting my emotions cloud my judgment. The anger I'd been holding back erupted. I told her that my emotions weren't the problem, her complete lack of accountability was.

I said that I had spent my entire life trying to meet their impossible expectations, sacrificing my happiness for their approval, and now I was done. She tried to interrupt, but I didn't let her. I told her that if she wanted to keep playing favorites, she could do so without me in her life. Her tone turned icy. She accused me of being selfish, of throwing away my family over a misunderstanding. I laughed bitterly, telling her that the only misunderstanding here was her belief that I would tolerate their behavior any longer.

I hung up before she could respond. Not five minutes later, my phone rang again. This time, it was my father. His tone was harsher, more confrontational. He accused me of being ungrateful and disrespectful, of dishonoring the family. I matched his tone. I told him that respect was earned, not demanded. I reminded him of all the sacrifices I had made for the family, sacrifices that went unacknowledged

while my sister was showered with praise for doing the bare minimum. His response was to deflect, as always. He said that life wasn't fair and that I needed to toughen up. He claimed that the wedding wasn't about me and that I needed to get over my home. myself. That was the last straw. I told him that I was done trying to earn their approval and that they could save their lectures for someone who actually cared. Then I hung up. I thought I was done, but my sister decided to insert herself into the situation. She called me later that evening, her voice dripping with fake concern. She said she didn't understand

why I was so upset and that she had assumed I wouldn't care about the wedding since I was so busy with school. I couldn't hold back my frustration. I told her that her assumption was just another example of how little she and the rest of the family valued me. I said that she was a lazy, entitled brat who had never worked for anything in her life. I told her that she owed our parents for everything they had given her, including her engagement party and wedding, and that she'd better step up when they came knocking for help in their old age. Her tone shifted, becoming defensive. She accused me of being jealous and of trying to ruin her happiness. I laughed while she was talking, telling her that I didn't need to ruin anything. She and our

parents were doing a fine job of that on their own. Before she could respond, I hung up. I felt free. Free from their expectations, their manipulation, and their constant reminders of my supposed inadequacy. I didn't need their approval. I didn't need their love. I didn't need their love. I didn't need their I had spent my entire life chasing something they were never willing to give, and now I was finally ready to stop running. They had made their choice, and now I was making mine. Update 3, the constant feeling that I was never enough, that my accomplishments were never celebrated, was being replaced by peace.

I had started my internship at a prestigious company, one of the connections my professors had helped me secure. The work wasn't easy, but I was thriving. I felt like I was being recognized for something I did on my own, not because of my family or the image they tried to force on me. They had even expressed interest in giving me a full-time job, which felt like a huge leap forward. It wasn't the golden opportunity I dreamed of as a child, but I had earned it. And that made all the difference.

I kept my distance from my parents, from my sister. I knew they would keep trying to pull me back into their world of expectations, manipulation, and guilt. I refused to give them the power to make me feel small again. If they couldn't respect me when I was struggling, they didn't get to have me around when I was succeeding. I deleted their numbers and blocked their profiles. I was done. Then, one afternoon, I ran into an old family friend at a coffee shop. I hadn't expected to see anyone I knew, but there she was, and one of my mother's closest friends. She recognized me immediately and asked how I was doing. We started with small talk. She asked how school was going and how my family was. I gave her the

usual answers, keeping things surface level. But when she asked about my parents, I knew something was off. She leaned in a little closer as if she didn't want anyone else to hear. She told me that things weren't going too well for them. My father, had lost his job, she said. She didn't know the exact details, but it seemed he was struggling to find anything else that paid well enough to keep up with their bills. She mentioned that my mother was working herself to the bone, but it wasn't enough. The situation was dire. It stung more than I wanted to admit, but I tried to keep my face neutral. And went on, her voice dropping as she shared how my parents' debts were piling up. The Hawaii wedding,

everything my parents had sacrificed for it was a financial disaster. Their savings were gone, and they were facing the consequences. I already knew they had put everything into that wedding, but hearing it confirmed by someone else made it feel more real. They had spent their last time to make my sister's wedding a fairy tale while I was left to fend for myself. It wasn't just about the money, it was about the priorities they had chosen. They didn't care about me.

Not really. I tried to play it cool, asking about my mother's health, pretending I didn't already know how bad things had gotten, but and was too caught up in the gossip to notice. She said she hoped my parents would figure it out, but it was hard to see how they could when they were drowning in debt. As I walked away, I felt that rush of satisfaction again, followed by something else, something darker. I wasn't happy that they were struggling, but I couldn't lie to myself either. They had pushed me aside for years, always demanding that I excel but never giving me the support I needed. Now, they had sacrificed everything for a wedding that didn't even matter in the long run.

It was all crashing down around them. A few days later, I received a text from my mother. It was a new number. She said they needed to talk. She told me that my father was having trouble finding a job, and they needed my help. She reminded me of everything they had done for her. She reminded me of everything they had done for me, all the sacrifices they made so I could succeed. Now, they needed me to come back and support them. I didn't respond. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to type something snarky or angry. But I didn't. Instead, I just deleted the message. I had nothing to say to her. She had never understood the sacrifices I had made, and now she expected me to just drop everything and save them. I wasn't going to be their safety net anymore. A few days later, I ran into a cousin,

someone I hadn't spoken to recently. He casually mentioned the state of things back at home. He confirmed what I had already suspected. My sister's life wasn't as perfect as it seemed. Her marriage, the one that had been built on the pedestal of that extravagant wedding, was crumbling under the pressure. Apparently, her new husband's family wasn't happy about the amount of money spent on the wedding, and they had started pulling their support. My sister, who had always been so perfect in my parents' eyes, was facing the consequences of her choices. I couldn't help but feel a small flicker of sympathy for her, but it was quickly replaced by something else. I wasn't going to be the one to rescue her. She had always been the golden child, always the one who got

everything handed to her. Now, she was learning what it meant to deal with the fallout of her own decisions. She had gotten everything she wanted, but now, when things weren't going according to plan, she had no one left to turn to. The sense of satisfaction I felt wasn't from wishing harm on her, but from finally realizing that her life wasn't as perfect as I had once thought. I could see it for what it was. Update 4. I was catching up on work one evening when my phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number. At first, I hesitated, not recognizing it. Then, Against my better judgment, I answered. It was my mother.

Her voice was thin and strained, and I could tell something was off. She wasted no time getting to the point. They had fallen on hard times, she said, and they needed my help. She mentioned how their financial situation had spiraled out of control, how the wedding had drained their savings, and how my father's job loss had left them struggling. I could hear the guilt in her voice, but it didn't hit me the way she'd probably hoped.

She said that she hoped I had finally calmed down. My father came on the line next, his tone more defensive than remorseful. He started by blaming their bad luck, how things had just gotten out of hand. He said he'd been working tirelessly to fix it, but nothing seemed to work out. They didn't know who else to turn to, he admitted, almost pleading with me. I was their only hope. His words sent a wave of disgust through me. I listened for a moment, letting them talk themselves in circles.

There was no apology, no acknowledgement. They expected me to forget it all, to overlook the betrayal, just because they were in a tough spot now. When I finally spoke, my voice was steady but colder than I'd ever heard before, the fact that they'd drained their savings, mortgaged their house, and even dipped into their retirement funds for one day of luxury for my sister and her new husband. I told them how stupid they were. I couldn't believe they'd thrown their financial future away on something as frivolous as a wedding,

and for what? To impress people who didn't care about them? I asked them if they really thought they could afford that kind of waste, especially when they had me, the one they'd ignored for years, working my off to make sure they'd have a future. But did they ever consider that? Of course not. I told them how unbelievably selfish they were.

They spent all that money, all those resources, on a party that last a few hours. The nerve they had, calling me for help now. They didn't deserve my help. Not anymore and I made that clear. My sister called later that evening from her husband's number. I had assumed another unknown number meant it was one of them. Her voice was different, shaky, full of guilt and desperation. She was crying. She said she didn't know how things had gotten so bad, how her life had crumbled after the wedding. She begged. She begged, me to forgive them, to forget the past, to just help them get back on their feet. She insisted that family comes first. I scoffed at that, the irony. She was asking me to pretend like

everything was fine like the years of neglect, favoritism, and exclusion had never happened. She didn't even try to understand why I was so angry. She just wanted me to bail them out, to fix everything for her, for them. She hadn't once acknowledged that I was part of this family, too. I told her that I wasn't interested in mending things. Family may come first, but for too long, I had been the one who came last. She'd spent years enjoying the spotlight, living in the bubble they'd built around her, while I was left to fend for myself. Now, when the perfect little life she'd constructed started to crack,

she wanted me to fix it all. She stuttered, begging me not to be so cold. I wasn't cold, I was just done. I reminded her how easily they had erased me from, their lives when everything was good. I wasn't going to let them back in just because they'd made a mess of their own lives. I wasn't the one who'd built their world, and I sure as hell wasn't the one who'd torn it down so why should I fix it? I hung up before she could say anything else. In the days that followed, I got texts, emails, calls, apologies wrapped in guilt,

and demands disguised as pleas for help. But I ignored them all. Let them wallow in the consequences of their actions. I didn't need them anymore. I had my own future to focus on, a future that didn't include them. The last message I received from my mother was just a simple line, we're sorry, please, don't abandon us. The truth was, they never really had me to begin with. And now, when they were at their lowest, they had no one to turn to but themselves. I didn't have to say another word. They had their answer.