Reddit Stories - Elders ENDEAVORED to take in my sibling following our GUARDIANS' DISAPPEARANCE and abandon

Episode Date: July 17, 2025

#redditstories #askreddit #aita #familydrama #guardians #siblings #mystery #supportSummary: Elders endeavored to take in my sibling after our guardians' disappearance and abandonment. The situation unraveled secrets, tested loyalties, and revealed hidden motives. As we navigated this turbulent time, we learned the true meaning of family and resilience.Tags: redditstories, askreddit, reddit, aita, tifu, familydrama, guardians, siblings, mystery, support, elders, disappearance, abandonment, secrets, loyalties, motives, family, resilience, relationships, challengesBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/reddit-stories--6237355/support.

I hope you enjoy this story. Elders endeavored to take in my sibling following our guardians' disappearance and abandon me in the care of the state, believing that males are simpler to bring up. Thus, when my father and grandfather expressed their desire to do so, apologized 20 years later my brother chose their side over mine. I am a 28-year-old woman. This is about my paternal grandparents. When I was 8 years old and my brother was 12, our parents passed away in a car

accident. It was very sudden and there was no plan for us. We had no other close family who were able to take us in, so we were placed into the foster care system. It was a confusing and scary time. We were moved to a temporary home together, and we were just trying to understand what was happening to our lives. Our grandparents started visiting us at the foster home about a month after we were placed there. At first, the visits were for both of us. They would bring some snacks and ask us how we were doing in a very formal way. It was awkward. They were our grandparents, but we had not seen them very much when our parents were alive. They lived a few states away and were not a big part of our lives. After a few weeks, I started to notice a change in the visits.

They would arrive and my grandmother would give me a quick, tight hug while my grandfather patted my head. Then, their full attention would turn to my brother, Scott. They would talk to him for the entire visit. They asked him about school, about his friends, and about his memories of our dad. They started bringing him things. One week it was a new model airplane kit, something our dad had loved. Another week it was a book about the history of the town where our dad grew up. These gifts were never for me. They were always for him, always connected to our father. The foster parents we were with at the time were a kind couple, and they noticed it too. They would try to include me in the conversation, asking my grandmother about her garden or something similar. She would answer in

short sentences and then immediately turned back to Scott. It got to the point where they would take Scott out for the afternoon. They would get permission from the social worker and take him to a museum or out for lunch. I was always left behind at the foster home. I would sit in the living room and wait for him to come back. He would return with a new toy or a full stomach, and he would look at me with a guilty expression. He tried to share his things with me, but it was not the same.

This went on for several months. The separation became very clear. They were building a relationship with him, and I was just the other child in the room. I did not understand it then. I just knew that it hurt. I remember asking my foster mother why they did not want to take me out,

too. She just hugged me and said that some adults are complicated. Our social worker also had several talks with them about the importance of treating us equally, but nothing changed. They would just nod and say they understood, and then the next visit would be the same. The real problem happened about a year after our parents died. Our social worker picked us up from the foster home one afternoon. She told us we had a very important meeting. She seemed more serious than usual. We drove to the Family Services building and sat in a small, plain room with a big table. Teresa sat down with us and took a deep breath. She told us that our grandparents had made a big decision.

She said they had filed a petition with the court. I remember Scott's face lit up. He looked at me and smiled. He thought we were finally getting a permanent home, that we were going to live with our grandparents. He grabbed my hand under the table. Teresa saw his expression and her face became very sad. She looked at him and said that the petition was to adopt him. Scott's smile got whiter.

He did not understand. He asked her, what about me? The social worker looked down at her hands for a moment before she looked at me. She said very gently that their petition was only for him. They had explained to the court that they were getting older, and they did not think they had the energy or the money to raise two children. They said they felt a duty to raise their son's son, to carry on the family name and legacy. They had told the court that Scott was old enough to be more independent, but a young girl

like me would be too much for them to handle. They were requesting to be granted full legal custody of Scott, and they were consending for me to remain a ward of the state, to be raised in the foster care system until I was an adult. I cried a lot and sat there, frozen. I could not processed the words. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. I looked at my brother. His face was white with shock. The smile was gone, replaced by a look of horror. He let go of my hand. He started shaking his head, looking back and forth between me and the social worker. He kept saying, no, that could not be right. He said they would never do that. The social worker explained that the papers were filed. There would be a court hearing. She told us that her office

would be strongly recommending against the separation of siblings, but that a judge would make the final decision. The meeting ended. The car ride back to the foster home was silent. Scott sat as far away from me as he could get. When we got back to our room, he broke down and started crying. He kept saying he was sorry. The court process was a nightmare. We had to talk to a court-appointed therapist. We had to attend hearings. I saw my grandparents in the courtroom. They would not look at me.

They sat with their lawyer and looked straight ahead. Their lawyer argued that they were offering a good home to at least one of the children, which was better than none. He said they had a right to a relationship with their grandson. Our social worker fought for us. She argued that separating us would cause immense and lasting psychological damage to both of us, especially to me. The judge asked my grandparents directly why they would not take me. My grandfather stood up and said, with a straight face, that they were old,

and boys were easier. He said their son would have wanted them to look after his heir. The judge looked at him for a long time without saying anything. In the end, the judge denied their petition. He told them that the court would not be a party to tearing siblings apart. He said their request was cruel and not in the best interest of either child. He also added while that they were the only relatives alive, he found it hard to hand over a child to elders since both of them were above 55 years old. He ruled that we would remain together in the care of the state. After the ruling, my grandparents disappeared from our lives.

They never visited again. They never called. They never sent a card. It was like they had never existed. We stayed in the system. We were moved to a few different homes over the years. Our relationship was never the same. There was always this huge, unspoken thing between us.

Scott carried a lot of guilt, and I carried a lot of anger. We both aged out of the system. I worked hard, I got into a state university, and I built a life for myself from nothing. Scott and I are in contact, but we are not close. We talk on holidays and birthdays, but that is it. Now, after almost 20 years of complete silence, my brother called me last week. He told me that he had reconnected with our grandparents about a year ago. He had kept it a secret from me.

He said that our grandfather is 85 years old and is dying of cancer. Our grandmother is 82 and is not in good health. He told me that they regret what they did. He said they are tormented by their decision. and they want to see me before our grandfather dies. They want to apologize. They want to explain themselves. I was silent on the phone for a long time.

Then I told him no. I told him I have no interest in seeing them. I have no interest in their apology. They did not want me when I was an eight-year-old girl who had lost her parents. They were willing to let me grow up alone in an institution. Why should I give them the comfort of my presence on their death-time? bed. Scott did not accept my answer. He started to get angry. He told me I was being cold and unforgiving. He said they are old and they made a mistake. He said I am holding onto a grudge from my

childhood and that it is unhealthy. He told me I need to be the bigger person and find it in my heart to forgive them. We had a huge fight on the phone. I started yelling. I told him that it was not a mistake, it was a choice. They actively chose to abandon me. I screamed at him that he had no right to ask this of me after he kept his relationship with them a secret. He yelled back that he did it to protect me. He said that he was trying to mend our broken family and that I was the one standing in the way. He said that our father would want us to be a family. The fight ended with me telling him that my family consists of him. And he is pushing me away by siding with them. I hummed. I up on him. He has been texting me every day since, sending me pictures of our grandparents

looking old and frail. He is begging me to reconsider. He says I am tearing apart the last of our family. I feel like I'm going crazy. My resolve is strong, but the pressure from my brother is immense. So, I'd offer refusing to have a deathbed reunion with the grandparents who tried to throw me away. Update 1. One week later first, I want to thank everyone who commented on my original post. I read every single comment. I did not expect such a huge response, and it was a lot to take in. Your words have given me a lot to think about, and I appreciate the different perspectives, even the ones that were hard to read. Many people asked clarifying questions in the comments, and I want to address some of the most common ones because they are

important to the situation. A lot of you asked about Scott's motivations for reconnecting with them and why he kept it a secret. I actually called him yesterday and we had a conversation that was calmer than our last one, at least for a little while. I asked him directly. He told me that he started feeling a pull a couple of years ago. He said he felt unmoored, without any connection to his past or his roots. He is married now and thinking about having kids, and he said he wanted to know more about our father's side of the family. He found them through an online search and reached out. He told me he kept it from me because he knew I would be angry and hurt. He said he thought that if he could build a bridge back to them, he could eventually convince

me to cross it with him. He said he wanted to fix our family. I told him he could not fix what was fundamentally broken by the people who broke it. Several people asked if we had any other family. We do not. Our maternal grandparents died before we were even born, and our mother was an only child. Our father had no siblings. The paternal grandparents who were the subject of this post were literally our only living relatives besides each other. When they walked away, they were walking away from their only two grandchildren. There were no aunts or uncles to step in. It was just us. The other major question was about my relationship with Scott while we were in foster care. It was terrible. After the court case, I could barely look at him for a

long time. I know it was not his fault, but I was a child, and I blamed him. I felt like they had chosen him, and for a little while, it felt like he had chosen them too, even though he had no say in it. He carried so much guilt that it was like a wall between us. He would try to be extra nice to me, but it felt like pity. We fought a lot. As we got older, we just drifted apart. We lived in the same homes, but we were not really living the same life. We built our own separate worlds to survive. We love each other because we are all we have, but we are not close. We do not know how to be.

Finally, some people asked what my grandparents actually want now. According to Scott, their main goal is to get my forgiveness before my grandfather dies. Scott also told me something new in our conversation yesterday. He said they have set aside a significant amount of money for me. He called it an inheritance. He said they told him they know they cannot buy my forgiveness, but they want me to have financial security, something they failed to give me as a child.

Hearing this made me feel sick. It felt like they were trying to put a price tag on their abandonment. After reading all of your comments and thinking about this for a week, I have made a decision. Your responses helped me see that my anger is not just a childish grudge. It is a valid response to a deep trauma. The idea of them offering me money now feels like an insult. It confirms that they think this is a problem that can be solved with a transaction, not

a wound that has shaped my entire life. So, my decision is that I will not be seeing them. I will not be accepting any letter, and I will certainly not be accepting any money. My peace of mind is not for sale. However, I also realize that my conflict is not just with my grandparents anymore. It is with my brother. The way he is pressuring me is not okay. So, I have decided to take a step that many of you suggested.

I am going to meet with Scott in person. I will not have this conversation over the phone or through text messages. I am going to sit down with him, in a public place, and I am going to tell him my final decision. I will explain that this is my boundary, and if you want to be able to be able to say that this is my boundary, and if he wants to have a relationship with me, he has to respect it. I am going to tell him that he has to choose. He can have a relationship with them, or he can have a relationship with me, but he cannot use me to make himself feel better about his relationship with them.

This is not just about them anymore. It is about him and me and what is left of our relationship. I am nervous about this meeting. I do not know how he will react. But I know I need to do it. I will post another update after it happens. Thank you again for all of your support. Update 2 Hello Everyone.

It has been two weeks since my last update. I am writing this now because a lot has happened, and I feel like I owe it to everyone who invested their time in my story to share the outcome. It is not a good outcome. I followed through with my plan. I called Scott and asked him to meet me for coffee. He agreed immediately, and his voice, voice sounded hopeful on the phone. I think he thought I was meeting him to tell him that I had

changed my mind. It made what I had to do even harder. We met at a small coffee shop. I wanted it to be public so that things would hopefully stay calm. I was wrong about that. For the first few minutes, it was okay. We ordered our drinks and made some awkward small talk. Then I took a deep breath and told him why I'd asked him to meet. I told him, as calmly as I could, that I had made my final decision. I said that I would not be visiting our grandparents, and that I did not want to hear their apology or receive anything from them. I looked him in the eye and said that I understood his need to have a relationship with them, but that he needed to understand my need to protect myself. I told him that I loved him, but that my one and only boundary was that he could never bring them up

to me again. I told him that I wanted my brother back, but not. not if it meant I had to accept them into my life. His face fell as I was speaking. The hope in his eyes just disappeared. He was quiet for a long time, just stirring his coffee. I thought maybe he was processing it. I was wrong again. He put his spoon down and looked at me, and his expression was cold.

He started speaking and told me I was being unbelievably selfish. He said that I was so wrapped up in my own pain that I could not see anyone else's. He said our grandmother cries every day because of what they did to me. I just snapped. I told him that that family had 20 years to cry about it. They had 20 years to find me, to write a letter, to do anything. But they waited until one of them was on his deathbed. I told him it was not about regret, it was about easing their own guilt before the end.

He started yelling then. You are throwing away the only family we have left for a grudge you have held since you were a little girl. People in the coffee shop were starting to stare at us. I yelled back at him. I said, they are not my family. You are my family, you are the only one I have, and you are choosing them. You are choosing the people who were willing to watch me rot in the system. He slammed his flat palm down on the table and got right in my face and said, our father would be so ashamed of you right now. He would be ashamed of your bitterness and your hate. That was it. That was the moment everything broke.

Using our father against me was the one thing I could not handle. I felt a sharp pain in my chest that was worse than all the yelling. I stood up from the table. I looked down at him and I said, in a voice that did not even sound like my own, if you ever speak to me again, make sure it is to tell me that you have cut them out of your life. Otherwise, you are dead to me. I turned and walked out of the coffee shop. He screamed my name behind me. I did not turn around. I kept walking. I got to my car and I locked the

doors. I sat there for a long time, just shaking. Then I took out my phone and I blocked his email address. I blocked his wife. I blocked everything. So that is where things are. The relationship with my brother is over. He made his choice. He showed me. He showed me. who he values more. There is no coming back from the things he said. There is no coming back from him using our dad's memory to try and hurt me. It is done. I do not know if I am the asshole anymore. I just know that I am alone. Thank you for reading. I do not think I will have any more updates. Final update, hello everyone. I know in my last post I said it was the final one. I truly believed it was. I was so certain about my decision and the path I was on. But the last six months have

been confusing. And I feel like I am back at square one, but in a different way. I am not even sure what I am asking for anymore, maybe just a place to write this down. The silence with my brother, Scott, has been total. After our fight in the coffee shop, we did not speak again. I kept his number and all his accounts blocked. But about five months ago, late one night, I could not sleep and I did what I had avoided doing for years. I searched my grandfather's name online. I found his obituary. He passed away just two months after my fight with Scott. Reading the words on the screen felt unreal. The obituary was short and listed his surviving family, his wife and his grandson, Scott and me. At first, I felt that same anger. But as the days passed,

the feeling started to change. The anger started to feel thin, he was gone. A chapter of my life I never got to properly read was just over. And my brother went through it all alone. Then, about a month ago, the certified letter arrived from a law firm. It said what I expected it to say, that they were trying to give me an inheritance from my grandfather. And inside, there was that handwritten letter from my grandmother. My first, immediate instinct was to burn it. My second thought was to hire a lawyer and send a letter back telling them to leave me alone, just like I had planned. But I did not do either of those things. I just left the envelope on my kitchen counter. I found myself thinking about the comments so many of you left

on my previous posts. Many of you urged me to take the money, arguing that it was not a gift to be accepted or rejected, but reparations. You called it 20 years of back-due child support for a childhood they chose not to provide for and said I should not let my pride stop me from taking what I was owed. What could make my life easier? So I started thinking about the future. I do not have a partner right now, but I hope to have children one day. I thought about starting a family with nothing, the way I had to. The struggle, the constant worry about money, the lack of any safety net. After two weeks of staring at that envelope, I opened it, and I deposited the check. But I could not bring myself to spend a single dollar of it on myself.

I opened a separate savings account, and I put all of it in there. I told myself this was not for me. This was for my children, if I ever have them. It is the one and only thing my grandparents could ever give them. After the money was secured, I was left with her letter. I told myself I would throw it away. But one night, I sat down and read it. It was not a good apology.

It was full of excuses and justifications. She wrote about how they were old and scared after our dad died. How they were grieving and did not know how to handle one child, let alone too. How they thought Scott, as a boy, would be easier. It was everything I expected. But underneath all the weak reasons, I could also hear the voice of a very old, very tired woman who was running out of time. The last line of the letter was, I hope one day you can understand.

I am not a monster, just a woman who made a monstrous mistake. I pray for you every night. Reading it did not fix anything. But it cracked something open in me. Now I just feel regret. I regret not going to the funeral. Not for him, but for my brother. He stood at our grandfather's grave alone, and I was the reason why. I was so focused on my own pain that I could not see his. I told him he would be dead to me, and then I let him bury a piece of our past by himself. The thought of it makes me feel sick with shame. My grandmother is still alive. She is 82, and from what her letter said, she is not well.

She is with Scott and his wife. A part of me, a part that I am ashamed of, wants to see her.