Reddit Stories - SIBLING INFORMED my GUARDIANS that I was a fiend during my stay with

Episode Date: June 29, 2025

#redditstories #askreddit #aita #relationships #family #confession #drama #secretsSummary: SIBLING INFORMED my GUARDIANS that I was a fiend during my stay with them, causing turmoil and strained relationships within the family dynamic.Tags: redditstories, askreddit, reddit, aita, tifu, familydrama, siblingrivalry, familysecrets, relationshipissues, familyconflict, familybetrayal, familybonding, familycommunication, familyunity, familyvalues, familylove, familytrust, familyhealing, familyreconciliationBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/reddit-stories--6237355/support.

I hope you enjoy this story. Sibling informed my guardians that I was a fiend during my stay with her, leading them to refuse me entry when I came unannounced to celebrate mom's birthday, now they want to reconnect after realizing she was lying. My name is Austin and I'm 28 now. This whole mess started about a year ago when I was 27. My family is my mom, Jennifer, 54, my dad, William, 56, and my younger sister. Deborah 24. I always thought we were a pretty regular family. I had a good job in a city that was a good six-hour drive from where my parents. I was paying my own way, had my own apartment, and made sure to visit for big holidays and birthdays. I wasn't super close to Deborah as adults, mainly because

living in different cities, but we were generally friendly. There were times when she was younger, in her teens, where she could be quite dramatic if she didn't get her way, making big scenes over small things, but I mostly put it down to her being young. Everything changed when I lost my job. The company I worked for was cutting costs, and my position was one of those that got eliminated. It was a shock. I had a bit of money saved up, but not nearly enough to keep paying rent and bills in an expensive city for too long without a new job. I spent a solid month's sending out resumes and going to interviews, but nothing solid came through in my city. So, I had to make a tough choice. I decided to move in with my sister. My sister, Deborah,

had her own two-bedroom apartment in a different town also around six hours away from our parents. She called me up when she heard I was laid off and offered me her spare room. She said it was no problem at all and I could stay as long as I needed. At that moment, it felt like a really kind thing for her to do, a real lifeline. I said yes, thinking I'd stay for a few months, cut down on my expenses, and keep hunting for a job. I made it clear I'd pay for my share of groceries and help with utility bills with what I had for my unemployment benefits, and I planned to handle all the cleaning and cooking to make up for not paying actual rent. Moving in with Deborah turned out to be very different from what I imagined. The first couple of weeks were okay.

I pretty much stayed in my room, working on job applications online, sending out emails, and preparing for any phone screenings. I made sure the apartment was always tidy, washed the dishes, did the laundry, and had dinner on the table when Deborah got home from her job as a receptionist at a doctor's office. But then, about three weeks after I moved in, things started to get weird. Deborah would come home from work in a terrible mood. She'd slam her bag down and start going on and on about how awful her colleagues were, how her boss was unfair, or how annoying the patients had been that day. Her complaining got louder and more aggressive. If I tried to ask her about her day or say something supportive,

she'd often bite my head off, telling me I didn't understand or to just leave her alone. I remember one night clearly. She came in, looking like she was about to explode, and started shouting about how her manager had given her a warning because she was late for work again. I just asked if she was okay, or if there was anything I could do. She spun around and accused me of not really caring, saying I was probably happy I had a free place to stay and didn't have to work. I reminded her that I was paying for groceries and utilities, doing all the chores, and was desperately looking for a job. Then, just like flipping a switch, she burst into tears and said the

pressure was too much for her to handle. The next morning, she mumbled an apology, saying work stress was getting to her. This up and down behavior, where she'd have a huge outburst and then act sorry or just ignore me for days, started happening more and more. Deborah's actions became more unpredictable. She began accusing me of silly things. For example, she claimed I was using up her expensive special shampoo, even though I had my own bottle I bought myself. She said I was losing her mail, but I never even went near her desk where she kept it. There was this one time with her car. She asked me to move it because of street cleaning rules. I went out, moved it to a different spot down the street, and came back.

Later that afternoon, she came into my room and started yelling that I had put a big scratch on her car. I was sure I hadn't hit anything. We went down to look, and she pointed to this tiny, faded scuff mark on the rear bumper. It was clearly old, probably been there for years, you could tell by how worn it was. But she kept insisting it was new and I must have done it when I moved the car. She screamed at me for nearly an hour, calling me careless and irresponsible. Then she stormed off to her room and slammed the door. The next day, she came out and acted like nothing had happened, all cheerful.

It was confusing. When my parents called to check in, maybe once a week, I tried to keep things light. I didn't want to dump all this on them or sound like I was complaining about Deborah offering me a place. I'd just say things were okay and that I was still job hunting. But Deborah went over to their house a lot, or she'd have these long, hushed phone calls with mom in her bedroom. I noticed that after she'd talked to them, my parents would sometimes sound a bit distant or short with me on our next call. If I asked if anything was wrong, they'd just say they were tired or had a lot on their minds. I started to get a bad feeling that Deborah might be telling them things about me.

I managed to get a few online interviews for remote jobs, and one interview for a position in a town about an hour away, but none of them led to an offer. My savings were getting very low. The stress of living with Deborah got worse. She started treating me like her personal assistant, demanding I run errands for her all the time, even if she was just sitting on the sofa watching TV. If I was typing up a cover letter for a job or researching a company for an upcoming interview, she'd come in and insist that I had to drive her to her friend's house right then, or go pick up her dry cleaning, or go to the store because she wanted a specific snack.

If I told her I was busy with job stuff, she'd have a total meltdown. Then, about two months after I moved in, Deborah lost her job. She came back to the apartment in the middle of a workday, crying uncontrollably. She said her manager had fired her for no good reason, that they were just trying to get rid of her. She spent the entire afternoon and evening pacing the apartment, screaming and crying. At one point, I saw her hitting her own fists against her temples, over and over, yelling that she didn't know what she was going to do, that her life was over. I tried to gently suggest that maybe she could start looking for a new job, that it wasn't the

end of the world. She just turned all her anger on me. She accused me of being happy she got fired, saying things like, now you're not the only loser in this apartment, are you? The very next day, I heard her on the phone with mom, crying loudly and telling her how she'd been fired unfairly and how terrible everything was. With both of us home all day, every day, and both of us out of work, the apartment felt like a pressure cooker. Deborah's moods were all over the place. One hour she'd be trying to be friendly, asking me if I wanted to watch a movie, and the next she'd be giving me the silent treatment or snapping at me for breathing too loudly. She completely stopped doing any chores. She would leave her dirty dishes piled up in the sink for days,

leave her clothes all over the bathroom floor, and drop food wrappers wherever she happened to be sitting. If I didn't clean up her messes, they just stayed there. If I ever tried to say anything, even something gentle like, hey Deborah, could you maybe rinse your plate? She would accuse me of attacking her or trying to control her. She started saying strange things, like I was secretly trying to ruin her life for that I was jealous of her. When I'd ask her what she meant by that, she'd just give me a blank stare or turn and walk out of the room. I started applying for any job I could find, no matter what it was or where it was located. The thought of having to live with her for much longer was really weighing on me.

I just wanted out. I spent more time in my room with the door closed, trying to stay out of her way. My mom's 55th birthday was coming up. By this point, I'd been living with Deborah. for about three and a half months. Things were still very tense in the apartment. But no matter what, I wanted to do something nice for mom. I still hadn't found a job, and my money situation was bad.

I barely had enough for gas and a small present. I'd been eating really cheap food, like instant noodles or just rice, to try and save every dollar. I came up with a plan, I'd drive down to their town on her actual birthday, give her a surprise, visit and a little gift I'd manage to buy her, and then I'd drive straight back the same day. It was a long trip, six hours each way, meaning 12 hours of driving in one day, but I really thought the effort would show her I cared. I decided not to tell Deborah about my plan. I was worried she'd either try to stop me, or insist on coming along which would make the whole trip miserable, or even worse, call Mom and Dad and spoil the surprise. The night before Mom's

birthday, Deborah told me she was going to stay over at her friend's place for a girl's night and wouldn't be back until late the next day. That made it easier for me to leave early without her knowing. The day before the trip, I used most of my remaining cash to fill up my car with gas. I think I had about $40 left in my wallet, total. I woke up at 4 a.m. on mom's birthday. I got dressed, scribbled a quick note for Deborah saying I'd be out for the day, I didn't say where I was going, left it on the kitchen counter, and got in my car to start the drive. The roads were empty that early. The drive itself was fine, just long. I listened to music and thought about how surprised mom would be. I pictured her smiling. I got to my hometown around 10 a.m.

I drove right to my parents' house. I remember my hands were a little sweaty on the steering wheel. I was a bit nervous, but mostly I was excited to see my mom and give her the present. I pulled my car into their driveway and walked up the front path to the door. I still had my old house key, but it felt more polite to knock. My dad, William, opened the door. His face changed when he saw me. He looked surprised, but not in a happy way. More like shocked and a little annoyed.

His first words were, Austin. What on earth are you doing here? I tried to sound cheerful. Hi, Dad. I came to surprise mom for her birthday. I held up the small, wrapped gift bag. He didn't smile back. He kind of half stepped out onto the porch, pulling the door partly closed behind him,

like he didn't want me to come in. He said, Austin, this really isn't a good time. You shouldn't have come today. I was completely confused. What do you mean? Is Mom okay? Is something wrong? He said, she's fine, she's fine.

It's just. It's better if you're not here today. We've got things planned. I asked him again what was going on. I could hear voices coming from inside the house. I definitely heard Mom's voice, and then, to my complete shock, I heard Deborah's voice. Deborah?

She was supposed to be at her friend's place. What was she doing here, six hours away, so early in the morning? Then my mom, Jennifer, came to the door. She pushed it open a bit more. When she saw me standing there, her face just crumpled. There was no happiness, no pleased surprise. She just looked tired and sad, and almost scared. She said, her voice very quiet, Austin, honey, what are you doing here?

I said it again, I came for your birthday, Mom. To surprise you. She glanced at my dad, then back at me. She said, Austin, I really appreciate you thinking of me, I do. But your father's right. Today just isn't a good day for a visit. We have other plans, and well, it's just better this way. I was just standing on their porch like an idiot, after driving all morning, holding this little

gift. I asked, better how. Can't I just come in for a minute, say happy birthday, and give you your gift? That's when Deborah appeared in the doorway, right behind Mom. She wasn't saying anything, just standing there with this little smirk on her face, looking right at me. then said, Austin, please. I just want to have a peaceful birthday. And to be honest, I really didn't want you here today. Those words, I didn't want you here today, almost made me cry.

My dad then spoke up, his voice suddenly very firm, almost harsh. You need to leave now, Austin. Just get in your car and go. I looked straight at my mom, trying to see if there was any mistake, any sign that this wasn't really happening. I couldn't believe it. After everything I tried to do for them over the years, and especially making this long trip, this is how they treated me. I didn't shout. I didn't make a scene. I just felt something inside me go cold and shut down completely. All I said was, okay. I turned around, walked back to my car, got in, and drove off. The gift was still on the passenger seat next to me. I drove for maybe an hour, my mind totally blank. Then I saw a sign for a rest stop. I pulled in, got out of the car, took the gift, and threw it into one of the big

trash cans by the picnic tables. Then I got back in my car and drove the other six hours straight back to Deborah's empty apartment. When I got back to Deborah's apartment, it was dark. I didn't even turn on many lights. I went into my room. I went into my room. room, pulled out my old duffel bag, and started throwing my clothes and my laptop into it. I didn't have a plan. I had almost no money left. I certainly couldn't stay there. I thought for a minute, then remembered an old friend, who still lived in the city I'd moved from, I called him. I just said I was in a really bad spot and needed a place to crash for a few days. He said yes right away, no questions asked, just told me to come over.

I put Deborah's apartment key on her kitchen counter. I found a sticky note and a pen and wrote, I'm gone. Don't contact me. That was it. I looked in my wallet. I had about $20 left. I opened my banking app on my phone and transferred that last $100 to Deborah's bank account. In the reference, I just put for electricity.

Then I picked up my bag, walked out, and drove back through the night to my friend's place in my old city. The next few days are kind of a blur. Friend was amazing. He let me sleep on his sofa, gave me food, and just let me be quiet. But I knew I couldn't stay there for long. I had to get my own life sorted out, what was left of it. I made a hard decision, I sold my car. It was a few years old but in good shape, so I got a few thousand dollars for it. It wasn't much, but it was enough to put a deposit down on a tiny, single room in a shared house in a rougher part of the city. It also gave me enough for some basic groceries. After about two weeks of desperately searching, I took the first job I was offered. It was working nights in a huge warehouse,

loading and unloading trucks. The pay was terrible and the work was backbreaking, but it was an income. It meant I could eat. In those first few days after the birthday, my parents and Deborah did try to call my phone a few times. I didn't reply to the text. I didn't answer their calls. After about a week, the calls and text stopped. That's when I blocked their numbers on my phone. I went on social media and blocked all of them there too.

I just decided I was completely done. The thought of my own mother looking at me on her birthday and saying she didn't want me there, after I'd driven all that way just for her, was a pain that was too deep. And my dad telling me to leave, and Deborah standing there smirking. It was a very clear message that they didn't want me in their lives. So, I decided to give them what they wanted. It was incredibly hard trying to cope.

I saved every single dollar I could. The warehouse job was exhausting. I'd come home in the morning as the sun was coming up, smelling of sweat and dust. and just fall into bed. I ate the cheapest food I could find. Pasta, bread, eggs. I didn't go out. I didn't talk to many people. My friend would text or call sometimes to see how I was doing. But I usually just said I was busy or tired. I mostly kept to myself. The most immediate result of all this was that I was totally and completely alone. But in a strange way, I was always also free from all their family drama. There was a kind of bleak piece in that. Almost eight

months went by like that. Eight months of working, sleeping, and eating, and not much else. I did manage to find a slightly better job after about six months. I started working as a data entry clerk for a small logistics company. It was daytime hours, and it wasn't nearly as hard on my body as the warehouse. I was still living in that same tiny room in the shared house. The house was noisy, and the neighborhood wasn't great, but it was all I could afford. I had managed to build up a tiny bit of savings again, a few thousand dollars. Throughout all those months, I didn't speak to my parents or my sister. I figured they had just forgotten about me and moved on with their lives, which is what I was trying to do, even though I still had no real idea why

they had treated me so badly on mom's birthday. I couldn't understand the coldness, the rejection. But I had started to accept it as just the way things were, their decision. Then, about two weeks ago, something unexpected happened. I got a message on social media. It was from my maternal aunt, my mom's sister. I hadn't spoken to her in over a year either, but I hadn't specifically blocked her, just my parents and Deborah. Her message was pretty short. She said she was really worried about my mom. She said mom had been very unhappy and that there was a lot of family stress going on, but she didn't want to put the details in a message. She finished by saying I should really try to call my mom. I read the message and then I just ignored it for a few days.

I didn't feel anything, no urge to get back in touch. Why would I? After the way they threw me out. But then, a few days after that, I got an email. I recognized the sender address right away. It was from my dad. The subject line just said, your mother misses you. I clicked on it. In the email, he said that mom was not doing well at all.

He said she missed me a lot. Then he wrote something like, things were very complicated back then and maybe we all misunderstood the situation. He asked if I would be willing to talk to them. The email was so vague, it almost made me angry. Misunderstood the situation. How do you misunderstand telling your son to leave your house? How do you misunderstand your wife telling your son she didn't want him there on her birthday?

It felt perfectly clear to me what had happened. I haven't replied to his email. I don't know if I should. I'm not really sure what I'm asking for maybe I just needed to get all of this written down where someone could read it. I guess my question is, would I be wrong if I just keep ignoring them and refuse to talk to them, even after this email? What could they possibly say that would make what they did okay? Considering their actions, especially my mom saying she didn't want me there and my dad telling me to get lost, is there really any point in opening that door again? Update 1. First off, I want to say thank you to everyone who read my long story and took the time to comment. I really didn't expect so many people to respond. A lot of people wondered if there were other big blow-ups with Deborah that I didn't mention, or if I ever told my parents straight out how bad things were living with her. The truth is, no, I never sat my parents down and told them the full extent of Deborah's behavior, like her smashing the vase or constantly accusing me of things.

I would sometimes say on the phone that living with Deborah was a bit stressful, or that we had different ways of doing things, but I always tried to downplay it. I didn't want to sound like I was a winner, and I didn't want to cause a huge fight between them and Deborah. I kind of figured they already knew Deborah could be very dramatic. She had a history from when she was a teenager of making big scenes to get attention or get her own way. But her behavior when I was living with her was much, much worse than anything I'd ever seen. from her before. It was like she was a different person. Many of you asked if Deborah might have been actively saying bad things about me to our parents during those months I lived with her. Thinking about it now, especially with how cold my parents started acting towards me in their

phone calls, it seems very likely. Deborah made a point of visiting them at their house at least once every two week, and she was always having long phone calls with mom, often with her door closed. I couldn't hear the exact words, but I could often hear Deborah's voice sounding upset or like she was crying. At the time, I just thought she was complaining about her job or something else. I never imagined she might be systematically turning them against me. Another common question was about how much money I was actually giving Deborah. When I was getting unemployment benefits, I gave her between $200 and $250 in cash each month for my share of the utilities. That was a big chunk of my benefits. I also bought all my own food, paid my own phone

bill, and covered all my car expenses like gas. For the first two months, I cooked dinner for both of us almost every night. But then Deborah started complaining about my cooking, saying it was too bland, or not what she felt like eating. So, I started just cooking for myself. I always did the grocery shopping for the apartment. Deborah would give me a list of things she wanted, and sometimes she'd give me money for her items, but often it wasn't quite enough to cover everything she asked for, so I'd make up the difference from my own small funds. And I did all the cleaning in the common areas. Plus I often ended up cleaning up messes she made and just left. I really was trying my best not to be a burden in any way. A few people also said that

my parents' reaction on the birthday seemed way too extreme if it was just about them wanting a quiet day or having other plans. I totally agree. The level of coldness, especially for my mom, felt like it came from something much deeper and darker than just being annoyed by a surprise guest. Reading all the comments really made me think hard. The idea that Deborah had been deliberately poisoning my parents against me for months started to seem more and more like the only explanation for what happened. Their level of rejection just didn't make sense otherwise. My dad's email, with him saying there was a misunderstanding, also kept playing in my mind. Even though I was still incredibly hurt and angry, a tiny part of me remembered my family from years ago, before all this

ugliness, wanted to know what misunderstanding he was talking about. It wasn't because I wanted to forgive them or go back to how things were. I decided I definitely wasn't going to call them. I wasn't going to put myself in a position where they could just yell at me again or try to make excuses for what they did. But then I read a comment from someone who suggested that if my dad was being unclear in his email, I could reply with a very short email. No emotion, just asking him to explain exactly what this misunderstanding was before I would even think about having a real conversation. That sounded like a way I could maybe get some answers without having to risk too much. So, that's what I did. It took me about a week after I got my dad's email to actually do it.

I wrote and rewrote my reply many times. Finally, I sent him a very short and to the point email. All it said was, Dad, your email was not clear. Before I would even consider talking about anything, I need you to tell me in plain English exactly what you meant by misunderstood the situation on mom's birthday. I also need a clear and direct explanation for why I was told to leave the house and why mom said she did not want me there. If you can't provide that, then there's nothing more for us to talk about. I made sure to keep it completely factual.

I didn't say anything about how much they hurt me or how angry I was. I just asked for information. I hit send and then tried my best to forget about it. I honestly expected him to either not reply at all, or to tell you. send back something angry and defensive. But my dad replied two days later. His email was not what I expected at all. And it wasn't defensive like I thought it would be. It was like he was finally telling me the whole story. He wrote that on the morning of mom's birthday, just before I arrived, Deborah had completely fallen apart in front of them. He said she had been telling them

a whole list of very serious and terrible things about me for weeks, even months, while I was living with her. According to Dad, Deborah claimed that I had been regularly stealing money from her purse and her bank account the whole time I was there. She also told them that I had been actively trying to get her fired from her job, this was before she actually lost it, by supposedly calling her clinic anonymously and spreading nasty rumors about her to her manager. Dad even said Deborah showed them bruises on her arms. He wrote that at the time, they believed the bruises were for me. He said Deborah claimed I had become physically aggressive with her during arguments,

that I had shaken her heart, and that I had even pushed her down once. In the email, Dad now said that, thinking back, the bruises looked like something she could have easily done to herself, especially given how upset and agitated she was when she showed them. Debra also told them I was constantly putting her down, calling her names, and basically making her life a misery in her own apartment, to the point where she felt scared of me. She had apparently convinced them that I was furious and bitter about losing my job and was taking all my anger and frustration out on her.

Dad explained in his email that Deborah had been feeding them these horrible stories piece by piece for months. So, on mom's birthday morning, when Deborah had this huge meltdown, crying and screaming that she couldn't take living with me anymore and that I was destroying her life, they were already be primed to believe her. Deborah apparently told them that my surprise visit was just another one of my schemes to create drama and ruin Mom's special day. She even threatened to pack her bags and leave immediately if they let me stay. Dad wrote that he and Mom felt completely overwhelmed by everything Deborah was saying and showing them. In that moment, he said, they just believed her. He said

mom was especially horrified and heartbroken by the claims that I was stealing from Deborah and being physically violent. So, when I suddenly appeared on the doorstep, cheerful and oblivious, they just reacted based on all the poison Deborah had filled their heads with. He wrote that they felt like they were forced to choose between my surprise visit and what they thought was Deborah's safety insanity. He did admit in the email that he and mom should have questioned Deborah much more carefully and should have talked to me before believing such terrible things. He said that after I cut off all contact, and then Deborah had to move back in with them a few months later, because she couldn't pay her rent after losing her job and apparently didn't even try to find a new one,

they started to see a lot of problems in Deborah's stories and in her behavior towards them. He mentioned that Deborah started having explosive anger issues with them too. One time, she apparently completely trashed her own bedroom in their house during a screaming match over something as simple as being asked to help with chores. He also said she developed a habit of borrowing money from their wallets or mom's purse without asking, and then would either deny it or throw a massive tantrum if they confronted her about it. The real turning point for them, Dad wrote, came just a few weeks before he sent me the email. Mom had been cleaning out a closet and found a box of Deborah's old bank statements from the time I was living with her. The statements showed that

Deborah was spending a huge amount of money on online shopping, clothes, makeup, and expensive takeout food deliveries during the exact same period she was claiming to them that I was stealing all her money and that she was broke. That discovery, combined with Deborah's increasingly difficult and erratic behavior towards them, finally made them realize that Deborah had probably lied about everything concerning me. Dad's email finished by saying he understood if I was still furious with them and that he wasn't trying to make excuses for their actions. He just wanted me to know the full context of what they were dealing with from Deborah.

He asked again, very humbly this time, if I would please consider talking to Mom, saying she was filled with regret and cried about me often. I must have read that email ten times. I just couldn't quite take it all in. So, my own sister, Deborah, had deliberately set out to destroy my relationship with my parents. The things she accused me of were unbelievable, stealing, trying to get her fired, physical abuse, making her fear for her safety. None of it, not one single bit of it, was true. She had built this entire false narrative, painting me as some kind of violent, thieving monster, and my parents had swallowed it whole.

The part about the bruises, I still have no idea where they came from, but I know I never, ever laid a hand on her. The thought that she might have hurt herself just to make her story more believable was deeply disturbing. But then I remembered her hitting her own head that day she got fired, and throwing the vase, and it suddenly seemed horribly possible. I haven't replied to Dad's second email yet. Knowing this information changes things, but it doesn't erase what they did or how they handled it. Their slip-up was Dad admitting the extent of Deborah's campaign against me and their own realization that they'd been duped, but only after Deborah's behavior became a problem for them directly.

Update 2, it has been a little over a year since my original post, and about 10 months since my first update where I explained what I learned from my dad's email about Deborah's accusations. After receiving that detailed email from my dad explaining Deborah's lies, I took a long time to think. The information was a lot to absorb. It explained their actions on mom's birthday, but it didn't excuse them in my mind. The fact remains they believed horrific things about me, told to them by someone they knew could be dramatic and volatile, without ever giving me the chance to speak.

They chose to believe I was capable of theft and violence against my own sister. I did not reply to my dad's email for several weeks. During that time, he sent one more short email simply saying he hoped I would consider talking. My mom also sent an email, her first direct call. contact since before the birthday incident. It was full of remorse, saying she was so sorry she believed Deborah, that she had been a terrible mother, and that she missed me terribly. She said Deborah was now getting some help after a particularly bad incident at their home, but didn't elaborate on what kind of help or what the incident was. The situation with my parents has not improved

in terms of reconciliation because I have not sought it. I eventually sent one final email to my dad, and asked him to share it with my mom. I stated that while I understood they were manipulated by Deborah, their failure to question her, to speak to me, or to show any basic trust in my character was something I couldn't easily get over. I told them I acknowledged their explanation but that I needed more time, potentially a very long time, and that I was not ready to resume any kind of relationship. I told them not to contact me further and that if I ever felt ready, I would reach out.

I explained that their actions, regardless of Deborah's influence, had damaged my ability to trust them. They respected this. I have not heard from them directly since the last email about nine months ago. My aunt, mom's sister, sent me a Christmas card with a short note saying mom talks about me a lot and is still struggling. I didn't reply to that either. My relationship with my parents, therefore, remains non-existent. The deterioration that culminated in them kicking me out on my mom's birthday has become a permanent state of no contact, initiated and maintained by me now. The information about Deborah's lies didn't make me want to rush back, it just confirmed that the entire situation was even more toxic than I initially realized.

I don't foresee any further updates to this situation. I shared my story initially to vent and try to understand if I was out of line for cutting contact. The responses and the eventual truth that came out helped solidify my decision. My life is quieter now, and while the herd is still there, it's not the raw wound it once was. I'm focusing on moving forward. For those who offered support or shared their own similar experiences, thank you. It helped to know I wasn't entirely alone in navigating complex family breakdowns. This will be my final post on this matter.