My Own Mother Kicked Me Out of Our Flat Because She Loved My Stepfather More Than Me!

My own mother kicked me out of our flat because my stepfather meant more to her!

I lived with my father until I was five, and those were honestly the happiest days of my childhood. When he passed away, Mum stopped paying much attention to me and seemed determined to build a new life just for herself. By the age of eight, I suddenly had a stepdad, and he tried to control every little thing me and Mum did. From then on, life turned upside down.

My stepfather set strict routines for everything. He assigned chores to everyone well, to me really and always claimed he was too tired from work to do anything himself. Mum made sure I did whatever he wanted, terrified hed get upset and theyd argue.

Once I hit my teenage years, I started to push back. Id get home from school and was expected to cook, clean, wash my stepdads car, and take care of any little job theyd dream up. Meanwhile, the lovebirds would just laze about in front of the telly. If I protested, thered be a smack round the face and a rant about how ungrateful I was, since they gave me so much.

The only things they really provided were a roof over my head and meals, and even those I felt I earned through all the cleaning. God forbid I asked to join a club, get tutoring, or go to the gym theyd laugh in my face and say I needed to earn some money before thinking about spending it. Clothes were bought rarely, and whenever I did get something new, they reminded me about it for weeks.

When I turned eighteen and finished school, Mum told me point-blank it was time for me to find my own place. She said I shouldnt bother with uni I needed to get a job right away because I couldnt live with them anymore.

Were from a small English town and finding work there isnt easy. Honestly, I didnt want to work full time straight away; I was still hoping my parents would change their minds if they saw me studying independently. But Mum kept insisting, so instead of revising for my A-Levels in those last three months, I worked as a waitress long shifts from ten till midnight, barely making enough for two months rent, with tips almost non-existent. I had no idea how Id afford food. I did poorly on my exams because Id missed so many key lessons, so I couldnt get into a state university and there was no hope of anyone helping with my tuition.

I quit waitressing that summer and tried desperately to find something better, as Mum and my stepdad nagged me every day about when Id finally be moving out. In the end, they kicked me out of the flat…

I tried working in a shop selling household goods, but after just a few days I got sick from the chemicals. When I tried returning, they told me theyd already hired someone else. Time was running out I kept trying various jobs, but nothing offered a wage I could actually live on.

The middle of summer was my birthday, and my aunt came round to visit. I hadnt told anyone what was happening, but when she pulled me aside and asked, I couldnt hold it in any longer. I broke down, sobbing and pouring my heart out. That very day, she helped me pack and brought me to hers. Id finally granted my parents wish and moved far away from them in the end, it felt like a relief.

My aunt helped me find a decent job at a lovely bookshop in town, which meant I could keep studying for my exams. Thanks to her, I took my A-Levels again the following year and got into a state university by myself. She was there for me always and never let me drown in bad thoughts, even when Mum and my stepdad would message to tell me, again, how awful and ungrateful I was.

Time passed, I finished my studies and landed a great job. Now, Im endlessly grateful to my aunt for standing by me through my worst days. I support her, too, and treat her to the sort of holidays she always dreamed of.