Reddit Stories - RELATIVES DESERTED me shortly after my knee OPERATION to embark on a family

Episode Date: July 9, 2025

#redditstories #askreddit #aita #family #relatives #operation #abandonment #relationshipsSummary: After my knee operation, my relatives deserted me to start a new family, leaving me feeling abandoned and alone. Their sudden departure shattered my trust and left me struggling to cope with the emotional aftermath.Tags: redditstories, askreddit, reddit, aita, tifu, familyrelationships, kneeoperation, abandonment, emotionaltrauma, copingalone, trustissues, familydrama, supportsystem, dealingwithloss, personalstruggles, emotionalhealing, familybond, feelingabandoned, relativesbetrayal, emotionalrecoveryBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/reddit-stories--6237355/support.

I hope you enjoy this story. Relatives deserted me shortly after my knee operation to embark on a family trip without informing me, so I have ceased being a doormat and they are upset with me about the residence. Falling apart. This isn't easy to type out, partly because my leg is propped up and throbbing, and partly because I'm still trying to process the sequence of events. I need to get this down somewhere, maybe just to make sense of it myself. For context, I live in the base.

unit of my parents' house. I pay rent, handle my own bills for the unit, but it's technically their property. I'm 32, have a decent job in IT, fully remote. I could afford my own place easily. The reason I stayed here, specifically moved back into this arrangement about 18 months ago, was complicated but practical. I knew I needed significant knee surgery, ACL reconstruction from an old sports injury that finally gave out completely. The recovery was projected to be long, especially the first few weeks where I'd be non-weight-bearing and unable to drive. All my close friends lived several hours away, scattered across different states from college and previous jobs. I don't really have a local support network outside of my immediate family.

So, staying here seemed logical. My parents occupy the main floors. My older brother and his wife live nearby and are over constantly, practically part of the household fabric. Before scheduling the surgery, I had conversations with everyone. Explicitly, I laid out the timeline, the expected limitations post-op, particularly the first week or two needing help with basic things like meals, maybe grabbing items from high shelves, taking out the trash, potentially driving me to a follow-up appointment if needed. My parents agreed it made sense for me to recover here. My brother clapped me on the shoulder and said, yeah, man, of course, we'll be around. My sister-in-law nodded, mentioned something about making casseroles.

Everyone gave clear indications they understood and would pitch in. The understanding was that collective effort would see me through the initial difficult phase. I planned the surgery timing around this assurance, coordinating with work for leave. The surgery happened three days ago, on Tuesday. Medically, it went textbook. Surgeon was pleased, nerve block worked, I got discharged Wednesday morning with crutches, a hefty brace locked straight, and a list of instructions, ice, elevate, pain meds on schedule, minimal movement. My dad drove me home from the hospital. He helped me get settled downstairs in my unit, brought down a glass of water in my prescription bag, then went back upstairs. That was fine, I expected to mostly sleep. the first day anyway. Thursday morning, the second day post-op, I woke up around 9 a.m. The pain was kicking in as the nerve block wore off. I took my meds. The house upstairs was silent. Completely silent. I figured maybe they were being quiet for my sake, or perhaps they'd run out early for errands.

I texted the family group chat around 10 a.m. asking if someone could grab me some more ice packs from the garage freezer when they had a moment, as the ones I had downstairs were melting. No reply. By lunchtime, still silence. No footsteps overhead, no TV sounds, nothing. I needed food and more water. Getting up was an ordeal. Using the crutches on the stairs took concentration. I slowly made my way up to the main kitchen. The house was empty. Not just quiet, empty. Car gone from the driveway. No note on the counter. There was almost nothing in the fridge.

Some condiments, milk, leftovers for maybe Monday night. Certainly no casseroles, no prepped meals, nothing set aside for me. It looked like a fridge before a long trip. I managed to grab a yogurt and an apple, trying balancing them while maneuvering back down the stairs. Back in my unit, I checked the group chat again. Still nothing. My text from the morning sat there, unread by anyone. I tried calling my mom's cell.

Voice mail. Tried my dad. Voice mail. Tried my brother. Ranged several times, then voicemail. This felt wrong. Not just neglectful, but intentional. Why would the entire house be empty the day after I specifically needed help?

I opened Instagram, more out of habit than anything else. My sister-in-law had posted a story about an hour ago. It was a short video clip. Snow covered trees outside a large window. Inside, my parents, my brother, and her, mugs in hand, laughing around a fireplace. The caption read, Surprise Getaway. Needed this. Hashtag skit trip hashtag family time.

They were in a cabin, several hours away, judging by the scenery typical of the mountain resorts in the next state. They left Wednesday, probably right after my dad dropped me off, or maybe even while I was still sleeping off the anesthesia haze. They planned a ski trip, booked it, packed for it, and left without a word, knowing I was immobilized in the basement. I just stared at the screen. Then I texted the group chat again. Something blunt, did anyone forget I just had surgery yesterday and can barely walk? Nothing. For about two hours, nothing.

Then my phone rang. It was my brother. I answered immediately. He didn't sound concerned. He sounded irritated. He asked what my problem was. I started to explain, my voice probably shaky, about being alone, needing help, the agreement. He cut me off.

Told me to chill out, said I was making everything about myself, that they just needed a break and decided spur of the moment to get away for a few days. He said they'd be back in a few days. He told me not to guilt trip them for trying to enjoy a short vacation. Before I could respond, he said he had to go, signal was bad, and hung up. That call clarified things in a way the silence hadn't. This wasn't an oversight. It was a choice. They knew.

They just didn't assign it enough importance to alter their plans or even inform me. The last two days have been difficult. My leg is swollen and painful. Moving around is exhausting and risky. Yesterday evening, I nearly fell trying to get a glass of water from my mini-fridge. My crutch slipped on the rug. Reaching my pain medication on the nightstand requires twisting in a way that jars my knee. I've been ordering food delivery, but getting the bags down the basement

stairs is a challenge. I have to hop down backwards, one step at a time, dragging the bag with me. One driver left a heavier order with multiple drinks at the top of the stairs, and I just couldn't manage it. I ended up leaving it there overnight. The trash is piling up by my door because I can't carry the bin up the outside steps. The recycling bag tipped over this morning. It's just lying there. Sometime yesterday afternoon, stuck on the couch, staring at the ceiling, I started thinking about all the things I do around here. Not relationship things, but functional things. I opened a notes app on my phone.

I started listing them, just as they came to mind. It wasn't about keeping score, initially. It was just, filling the silence, trying to understand my actual role in this household beyond pain. my basement rent. I pay for the Netflix premium plan. Have for three years. I pay for the Spotify family account. I frequently add $50 or $100 to the grocery total when my mom mentions things are tight, usually via transferring money to her account after she shops. This happens maybe twice a month. Last fall, the garage door sensor was acting up. Dad got a quote for $300 to replace I spent an afternoon troubleshooting, found the alignment was off, fixed it with a wrench and level.

Took maybe 90 minutes. No charge mentioned, no real, thanks beyond a grunt. My dad was appealing a health insurance claim denial. The paperwork was complex. I spent two evenings organizing the documents, drafting the appeal letter based on the policy specifics, and showing him how to submit it through the online portal. My mom got a new smartphone and couldn't figure out the mobile banking app. I sat with her for over an hour, setting it up, explaining security features, walking her through a deposit. I mow the lawn every two weeks from spring through fall because my dad's back bothers him.

He owns the mower, I provide the labor. I cleaned the gutters last October. It's a two-story house, took most of a Saturday. My brother's work laptop died suddenly a few months ago. He used my personal high-spec laptop for nearly a month while waiting for his replacement, often needing it during times I would normally use it myself. I juggled my own work schedule around his needs. Setting up and troubleshooting the house Wi-Fi network whenever it glitches.

That falls to me. Dealing with any tech support calls for the shared internet or TV service because I understand that stuff. The list got longer than I expected. And looking at it, None of it was asked for with an offer of payment. None of it was particularly acknowledged beyond the moment it was resolved. It was just absorbed. Expected.

I haven't been living with my family in a reciprocal arrangement. I've been living here as embedded, unpaid, uncall tech support, household maintenance, and occasional financial stopgap. The agreement for surgery support wasn't about familial care. It was just another task they assumed I'd handle mostly myself, while they provided minimal, convenient backup. And when something better came along for them, the minimal backup was instantly withdrawn without notice.

I don't know what happens when they get back. But the list is still on my phone. And the silence down here has given me a lot of time to think about what it means. Update 1. It's now Friday, day 10 post-surgery. Nobody has come back yet. The house above me remains empty and silent. The family group chat has seen no activity since my unanswered texts last week. No calls. No individual texts checking in. My recovery is progressing, I guess, but slower than it should be. The pain flared up significantly around day five or or six, mostly because consistent icing became impossible.

I ran out of the good gel ice packs that could wrap around my knee, and navigating the stairs to the main freezer multiple times a day wasn't feasible. Carrying a rigid, frozen block of ice down steep basement stairs while on crutches felt like a recipe for another injury. For a couple of days, I was using a bag of frozen peas, then a bag of frozen corn, swapping them out when they thought. It's not ideal. The swelling hasn't gone down as much as the physical therapist likely expects.

Eating has been inconsistent. Sometimes the effort of preparing something simple, like toast or a sandwich, and then figuring out how to transport it back downstairs without spilling it or falling, just feels like too much. Crutches occupy both hands. Balancing a plate is tricky. So, I've skipped meals, or just eaten protein bars I had stashed away. The pile of takeout containers and food wrappers near my door grew until yesterday, when I managed to consolidate it into one larger bag.

Getting that bag up the exterior basement steps took three separate attempts, resting in between. The recycling bag that fell over. It's still there. Bending down that far sends sharp pains up my leg. The area smells faintly of old food and stale air. Yesterday afternoon, Thursday, my phone buzzed. A text message from my mom. It read, Hope you're okay.

Let us know if you need anything. That was it. Seven days after abandoning me post-surgery for a ski trip, six days after my brother told me to stop guilt-tripping them. This was the extent of the communication. No apology. No explanation for their extended absence. They were supposed to be back Sunday or Monday, it's now Thursday.

No acknowledgement of the situation they left me in. Just a bland, passive, cover your bases text. It felt like something you'd send to a distant cousin you heard was under the weather. I stared at it for maybe five minutes. Then I put the phone down. I didn't reply. I still haven't. There's nothing to say to that message that feels productive.

The lack of response, combined with the ongoing physical discomfort and the sheer quiet, prompted a different kind of action. It wasn't angry or impulsive. I got my laptop, propped myself up more comfortably on the couch, and started logging into various online accounts. Not social media. Utility accounts, subscription services, shared platforms. The things I manage or pay for, the things on the list I made last week. I didn't delete accounts or change passwords to lock anyone out. I just started disentangling myself.

I logged into Netflix. Found the billing details section. Canceled the subscription. It runs until the end of the current billing cycle, May 1st. I went to the grocery delivery service website we occasionally used, mostly initiated by me for household staples when I noticed things running low upstairs. I removed my saved credit card information and turned off the auto renewal for the premium delivery membership I was paying for annually.

I logged into the city utility portal. My debit card was linked for auto pay for the water bill, which is under my dad's name but often landed on my desk to handle. I removed my card details. The next payment due isn't for a couple of weeks, but it won't come from my account. I accessed the shared Google calendar where family appointments. appointments, reminders, like filter changes, pest control visits I scheduled, and my parents' medication refill dates were tracked, mostly by me. I exported my own personal entries,

then removed myself from having access to or managing the shared calendar. Spotify Family Plan Same process. Logged in, went to subscription management, cancelled the plan. It also runs until the end of the current cycle. I didn't send any announcements. I just executed the digital equivalent of quietly packing a box and moving it out. They wanted independence for my perceived neediness. Fine. They can have functional independence too. Let the accounts lapse. Let the reminders fail. Let the payments bounce back to the account holder. Alongside this, I started organizing my own digital files related to the house. I created a new main folder on my cloud storage, named plainly, house responsibilities, archive. Inside, I started creating subfolders, utilities, maintenance,

insurance, taxes, property, manuals, shared logins, old. I began moving copies of relevant documents into these folders. PDFs of past utility bills I'd paid or managed, the contact information for the plumber I found last year, the email chain with the insurance company about that appeal, a scan of the garage door opener manual, log in details for the router I set up. Anything I had handled, documented, or saved that related to the running of the main house. My goal wasn't to withhold information needed for basic function. It was to consolidate it in one place, ready to be handed over if requested, removing it from my active mental load and my daily digital workspace.

Last night, I woke up around 3 a.m. Sharp cramp in my calf, likely from dehydration or holding my leg in one position too long. It subsided after a few painful minutes. I wanted an ice pack. I remembered then that the good gel packs were still upstairs somewhere, probably thawed and useless in the main fridge, and the freezer downstairs in my unit was barren. All I had left was that half-empty bag of frozen corn. Sitting there in the dark, the absurdity hit me again.

I picked up my phone, opened the Notes app where I'd made that list. I scrolled to the bottom and added a new bullet point. Had to ice post-surgical knee with frozen bag of corn because family was on unannounced ski trip and took all the proper ice packs or left them inaccessible. Seeing it written down didn't make me feel better. They are due back any day now, presumably. I don't know what state they'll find the house in. functionally speaking. And I find I don't particularly care about it anymore.

Update 2. They came back. Sometimes Sunday evening. I didn't know exactly when because no one texted they were home, no one knocked on my basement door, no one called out a hello down the stairs. I just heard heavier footsteps overhead than usual for a Sunday night, the sound of luggage rolling, doors opening and closing upstairs. There was no inquiry about my knee, no mention of their trip, nothing directed towards the basement. It was as if they'd returned from a normal day out. Monday morning was quiet initially. Then, around 10 a.m., my phone buzzed.

A text from my brother, why isn't the storage code working? Need to get the summer tires. I read it and deleted the notification. I hadn't changed the code, I simply used to be the one. who kept track of it and reminded everyone else. The login details for the storage company's online portal, where the code was likely accessible, were probably in an old email chain I hadn't forwarded to the House Responsibilities Archive yet.

Or maybe not. It wasn't my problem to solve. A few hours later, around 2 p.m., my phone rang. My mom. I let it go to voicemail. The message she left was brief. Hi honey, the thermostat seemed stuck on the nighttime setting. Can you take a look when you have a chance?

It's kind of chilly up here. I deleted the voicemail. The smart thermostat was linked to an app account I'd set up using one of my secondary email addresses. An account I had logged out of and removed my access from last week. Later that afternoon, I went upstairs carefully to refill my water bottle. There was a folded piece of paper on the landing at the top of my stairs. My dad's handwriting, did the Wi-Fi go out. Internet not working on my computer.

I picked it up, carried it downstairs, and put it in my recycling bin, the one that's still awaiting emptying. The Wi-Fi hadn't gone out. But the bill, linked to an auto-pay from an account I no longer managed, might be overdue. Or perhaps the router needed a reset, a tab. I usually performed. I didn't respond to any of it. Throughout Monday, I continued the quiet disentanglement. Logged out of the shared cloud storage account where family photos were backed up, using storage space I paid for. Remove my profile from the family plan on the streaming music service. Unlinked my personal library card from the app my mom used to borrow e-books because

she couldn't remember her own login. Tuesday afternoon, the confrontation started. Around 4 p.m., a knock on my basement door. Before I could even call out, the door opened and my mom walked in. She didn't ask how I was. She looked flustered. She asked if I could please just fix the utility stuff because the internet wasn't working, the thermostat was off, and she couldn't log into the library app. I told her, keeping my voice level, that I wasn't managing any of those things anymore. She blinked, said I was overreacting to them taking a short trip. She said it wasn't a big deal. I told her being abandoned after major surgery was a big deal. I told her I needed her to leave my space. She started to say something about how she was just trying to keep things calm for

everyone by not making a fuss before the trip and that I should have said something if I was worried. I cut her off. I reminded her I did say something. Multiple times before the surgery about needing help. And I texted the day after, the one asking if they forgot I existed. Her explanation made no sense. She faltered, then turned and walked out, pulling the door closed behind her without another word. She was still talking, mid-sentence about needing the internet for banking, as she walked away up the stairs. The relative quiet lasted only a few hours.

Around 8 p.m. Tuesday night, my basement door flew open. No knock this time. My brother stormed in. He didn't ask, he accused. Started yelling about the house falling apart. Said the internet was down, said the thermostat was broken and it was cold. Said the storage unit code wasn't working and he wasted a trip over there. He demanded to know what I had done.

Something in me snapped then. I yelled about the years of fixing things, paying for things, managing things without a word of thanks, always being the default problem solver. I asked him when was the last time anyone upstairs had thought about me or my needs unless something was broken or a bill needed paying. We argued. It wasn't a discussion. It was just raised voices, accusations, and deflections. He accused me of sabotaging things deliberately. I told him I just stopped. doing tasks that were never mind to begin with. He said I was acting like a stranger suddenly, being difficult and hostile. That line struck me. I looked at him, standing there red-faced and furious because his conveniences were interrupted, and I replied, my voice low again, then don't

expect me to act like family. He stared at me for a second, then turned abruptly and stormed back out, slamming the basement door hard. Nothing was resolved. No understanding was reached. But the dynamic in the house shifted after that. It's Wednesday evening now. Upstairs, things are audibly dysfunctional. I can hear snippets of arguments. The trash bins at the curb weren't collected today because no one put them out last night, something I usually did.

The printer is offline, the lawn is looking shaggy. The grocery delivery I used to schedule for Tuesdays never arrived, obviously. Everything up there seems to be running slower, hitting small snags, requiring effort that was previously invisible because I absorbed it. No one has apologized yet. This is my life now, but I finally caved and contacted a friend who lives a few hours away to come and get me. He was horrified over what I went through, so he said he will come tomorrow itself. I'll update again if anything significant develops.