Let Dad & his New Wife Stay in My House Because He Was Struggling Financially, but then Just...

Let Dad and his new wife stay in my house because he was struggling financially. But then, just one month later, his wife sits me down for a talk to get me to pay monthly rent. My life has always been difficult since the moment I was born.

You see, my mom passed away while giving birth to me in the hospital. I was then raised by my dad, who somehow blamed me, a literal baby, for his wife's untimely death. Throughout my childhood, there was not a single day in our house that passed without my dad reminding me, in his own harsh way, that I was the reason my mom was gone from this world.

He would constantly tell me how my birth had taken away the person he loved the most and how he never really wanted me in the first place. He would point out that because my life had come at such a high cost, I needed to work hard and live up to it; otherwise, my mom's death would have been in vain. As you can imagine, hearing those harsh words as a child was devastating.

I was too young to fully understand the complexities of grief, loss, and anger. I needed my mom too, but she was gone, and the only living parent I had left treated me like I was the problem. My dad, who was supposed to be my protector, my guide, my source of comfort, instead became the one who constantly reminded me that I was unwanted in his life, that my very existence was a curse.

Growing up in that environment was incredibly difficult. I often felt guilty for even existing and breathing. There were times when I desperately wanted to talk to him, to tell him how his words hurt, how they made me feel like I didn't belong even in my own home.

But fear kept me silent, and the few times I did try to speak up, I was met with more bitterness and anger. The result was a childhood marked by a profound sense of loneliness and isolation. While other kids had parents who cheered them on, who comforted them when they were sad, and who made them feel safe, I felt like I was constantly walking on eggshells, trying to avoid triggering more of my dad's resentment towards me.

It wasn't just the lack of love that hurt, but the presence of so much anger and blame directed at a part of me I couldn't change: the simple fact that I was alive. Despite everything, I tried to understand my dad's pain. I knew losing my mom had shattered him and that he never fully recovered from that loss, but it didn't make it any easier to bear the weight of his words.

I was just a child trying to find my place in a world that often felt cold and unwelcoming, and yet despite all the hurt, deep down, I still longed for his approval, his love, his acknowledgement. I always hoped that despite everything, I could somehow make my dad proud. I remember the anticipation I felt every time I brought home a report card with good grades, thinking that maybe this time things would be different.

I would go to him full of excitement, eager to show him what I had accomplished, hoping for a smile, a word of encouragement—anything that would make me feel like I was enough in his eyes. But every time it was the same. He would barely glance at my grades, let out a grunt, and tell me to keep studying harder because it still wasn't good enough.

He would point out that there were hundreds of other kids who could get the grades I got, so it wasn't really a big deal. Instead of pride or approval, I was met with indifference and the constant reminder that I wasn't meeting his expectations—no matter how well I did, it was never enough for him. It wasn't just academics that I felt the weight of his disapproval.

Anytime I wanted to do something outside of school, like play sports or participate in activities with my friends, he would shut it down immediately. I was told that the only thing I needed to focus on was my studies so I could get the heck out of his house as soon as possible. Those words stung, reminding me that I was more of a burden to him than a child to be loved and cared for.

My friends would talk about how their parents encouraged them to explore their interests and enjoy their childhood, but for me, there was no such support. I was constantly reminded I was just a guest in his house and that I needed to do as I was told or risk being thrown out. The weekends, which should have been a time to relax or have fun with friends, were no different.

If I ever asked to go out or spend time with my friends, he would go on a rant about how I was wasting his money, even if all I wanted to do was something simple like hang out at a friend's house or go to the park. He would launch into a lecture about how hard he was working to put me through school and how I had no right to waste time or resources on maintaining friendships. It was as if anything that brought me joy or a sense of normalcy was automatically deemed unworthy or frivolous by him.

I remember one of the most painful memories was how he reacted to my 15th birthday. Now, most kids look forward to their birthdays with excitement, planning parties or gatherings with friends, but for me, it was a day filled with dread. Each year, he didn't like me celebrating my birthdays, but that year I thought things would be different.

I wanted to go out for a movie with. . .

My friends and I decided to have some pizza when I finally mustered up the courage to ask him for some money. He had a fit. He screamed and told me that I had no right to celebrate the date since it was also the day that my mom had passed away.

He made it clear to me that my birthday was always going to be the worst day of the year for him and that I should never even think about enjoying it. As a result, I never celebrated with my friends. As you can imagine, over time, all of these repeated experiences taught me that my dad clearly hated me and didn't want me around.

The constant rejection and criticism took a toll on me, making me feel like I was always walking on thin ice, trying not to do anything that would trigger his anger or disapproval. I slowly learned to keep my hopes and dreams to myself. I stopped expecting approval or encouragement from him because I knew it would only lead to disappointment and hurt.

I tried my best to be strong for myself and focused all my energy on getting good grades so I could escape my dad's house. In the end, all the hard work, perseverance, and determination I poured into my studies finally paid off. I remember the moment I received my acceptance letter to a top university, complete with a full scholarship.

It was a mix of relief and pride. I was finally getting out of the house, away from my dad's oppressive grip, and stepping into a new chapter of my life where I could live on my own terms. Leaving home felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

For the first time in my life, I was truly free. Those four years in college were some of the best days of my life. It was a period of self-discovery, growth, and joy.

I could finally live like a normal young adult, experiencing all the things that had been out of reach for so long. My dad no longer had control over me, although he tried to extend his influence even from afar. But I didn't listen to him anymore.

I had spent enough of my life under his thumb, and now it was my time to make my own decisions, to carve out the life I wanted for myself. Despite all the newfound freedom and the fun of college life, I didn't lose sight of my goals. I kept my grades up, determined to make the most of the opportunity I had worked so hard to earn.

But I also made sure to enjoy myself and experience everything college had to offer. I went to parties, joined clubs, made new friends, pursued my hobbies, and finally started living life the way I had always imagined it could be. It was during this time that I met my girlfriend, Sheila.

Meeting her was one of the most unexpected yet wonderful things that happened to me in college. From the very beginning, there was something about Sheila that drew me in. We're both incredibly similar—ambitious, driven, and focused on building our careers.

But beyond that, what really made our relationship special was the way we connected on a deeper level. Sheila understood me in a way that no one else ever had. One of the things I love most about her is how we can just sit together for hours without the need to fill the silence with words.

She allows me to be lost in my thoughts, something that's incredibly rare to find in a relationship. With Sheila, I never feel pressured to be anything other than myself. We enjoy each other's company, whether we're talking about our dreams and goals or simply sitting side by side, comfortable in our silence.

Sheila was the first person in my life who truly made me feel like I didn't have to carry the weight of guilt that I had been dragging around for so many years. She saw right through the pain that I had been living with, the pain that had become such a constant presence in my life that I almost didn't recognize it as abnormal. Sheila pointed out how deeply wrong it was for my dad to have blamed me for my mom's death and how no child should have to bear such a burden.

She encouraged me to seek therapy, something that up until then I had never really considered. My dad's words were so deeply ingrained in my mind that I didn't even realize there was a way to escape from their influence. Going to therapy was one of the most transformative experiences of my life.

It wasn't easy at first. Confronting the reality of my upbringing, acknowledging the trauma I had endured, and learning to dismantle the toxic beliefs I had internalized took a lot of courage and effort. But therapy opened my eyes in a way nothing else had.

It allowed me to understand just how flawed my dad's thinking was and how much I deserved better. I slowly learned that I wasn't to blame for my mom's death and that my dad's anger and bitterness were his issues to deal with, not mine. As I started to heal, I remember I found myself growing angrier at my dad.

It was like all the resentment I had buried deep inside me was finally coming to the surface. I had spent so many years trying to earn his approval, trying to be the child he wanted me to be, all while carrying the guilt he had placed on my shoulders. But now I was realizing that none of that was my responsibility and that he had unfairly and cruelly burdened me with his grief and anger.

This anger made it difficult for me to maintain any kind of relationship with him during my college years. I hardly talked to him, and when. .

. I did; our conversations were short and tense. I would snap at him, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice, and I had little patience for his attempts to control or criticize me.

There was one time when I finally confronted him about everything; it wasn't something I had planned, it just came out in a moment of frustration and pent-up emotion. I told him about all the years he had blamed me for my mom's death, how his words and actions had deeply impacted my mental health, and how I wasn't going to let him do that to me anymore. I made it clear that I was done being his scapegoat and that I deserved to be treated with respect and dignity; otherwise, I would cut him off permanently from my life.

For once, he didn't have anything to say. He didn't apologize, which I had hoped for, but he also didn't deny what I was saying. After that conversation, I noticed a change in the way my dad interacted with me.

He seemed to try to be gentler, less harsh whenever he talked to me. It was as if he was making an effort to change, to be more considerate of my feelings. But despite this, our relationship remained strained; the years of pain and resentment couldn't just be erased with this.

I appreciated the small shift in his behavior, but the damage he had done would take more than that to repair the relationship—if it could be repaired at all. Over the years, even though my relationship with my dad has remained sour, I no longer feel the same level of anger or guilt that I once did. I have slowly come to terms with the fact that while I can't change the past, I can control how I let it affect my future.

Of course, Sheila's support and encouragement have played a huge role in this journey, and I'm incredibly grateful to her for helping me see that I am worthy of love, respect, and happiness. Recently, my dad got married to his girlfriend, Dei. It was a small, intimate wedding, and despite everything that had happened between us over the years, I decided to attend the event along with my girlfriend, Sheila.

We wanted to show our support and wish them the best as they started this new chapter of their lives together. I was happy for my dad and thought that perhaps being married now would change him for the better. However, just a month after they got married, my dad called me, sounding desperate.

He had made some poor financial decisions and was struggling to make ends meet. He told me how he hadn't been able to pay the rent on his place for the past six months, and now he was facing eviction. He told me that he couldn't tell his wife about this, as it would start a fight between them.

The first thing he asked was if I could cover his rent. Hearing this, I immediately refused. Even though I had the means to do it, I didn't want to be used as a financial safety net, especially given our complicated history.

I've worked hard to build the life I have, and I didn't want to set a precedent where he could turn to me for money whenever things went wrong. But after I talked it over with Sheila, I started to feel guilty. I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe I was being too harsh, that despite everything, he was still my dad and maybe he genuinely needed help.

So I called my dad back and offered him a compromise. I told him that while I wasn't willing to pay his rent, I would let him and Dei stay with me temporarily, since I lived in my house all on my own and had plenty of space for both of them. I told them that they could live at my place until they managed to save enough money to get back on their feet and find a new place.

It wasn't an easy decision, given everything that had happened between us in the past, but I felt it was the right thing to do. I made it clear that this arrangement was temporary and that I expected him to work toward getting back on his feet. My dad took some time to think about my offer, but he eventually called back and agreed to the arrangement.

Within two weeks, he and Dei moved into my place, and I set up a guest room for them. The first month or so was a period of adjustment for all of us. It had been years since I had lived with my dad, and we were both very different people now.

I was no longer the teenager who had to silently endure his criticisms; I was an adult with my own life, habits, and routines. Unfortunately, it didn't take long for his old patterns to resurface. My dad started commenting on my lifestyle and habits as if nothing had changed.

Whether it was the way I spent my time, the way I kept the house, or even the way I managed my day-to-day life, he seemed to always have something to say. But I wasn't the same person I used to be. This time, I wasn't willing to let him have that kind of power over me.

Whenever he would start criticizing or trying to control aspects of my life, I would stand my ground and tell him to stop. I would make it clear that he had no right to comment on my choices, especially while living under my roof. I wasn't about to put up with it, but I was firm; I wasn't going to let him dictate how I should live my life—not anymore.

Of course, this didn't sit well with his wife, Dei. Once or twice, she made comments about how I needed to respect. .

. My dad, she would tell me, had sacrificed so much. I would simply shake my head because I knew the truth about him, and it was clear that she didn't know about half of the things that he put me through as a child.

I did respect my dad, but I wasn't going to allow him to walk all over me or undermine my choices. I had spent too much of my life trying to please my dad at the expense of my own happiness, and I wasn't about to fall back into that pattern. Still, it wasn't my place to tell the truth about my dad to Dei, so I would just keep my mouth shut whenever she made those remarks.

It wasn't worth getting into an argument over. I knew that living together was going to be challenging, but I hoped that with time we could all find a way to coexist without too much friction. But then one evening, after a particularly long day at work, I came home to find my dad sitting in the living room watching TV with his wife.

The house was a mess, and there were dishes piled up in the kitchen. I asked my dad why he hadn't cleaned up since I had told him and his wife repeatedly that they needed to pick up their share of the household duties and that it was his day to clean. "You know," he started in that familiar tone that always set my teeth on edge, "you were a grown-ass adult who I raised single-handedly after your mom passed away.

You should feel ashamed for even asking me to do more work for you at this age. You can wash the dishes yourself. " I was so pissed hearing those words that I shot back, "You know what's really embarrassing?

The fact that you're sitting here on my sofa, in my house, watching my TV, eating my food, and ordering me around when you were the one who begged me to move in for free! You and your wife have done nothing to help me out this whole time. Guess what?

If you don't feel like doing the dishes, then you can just pack your bags and leave anytime! " My dad just stared at me, taken aback by the force of my response. There was a tense silence, and for a moment, I thought he might actually get up and storm out.

However, I knew he had nowhere to go, so I turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door to the kitchen behind me, my heart pounding with a mix of anger and frustration. The next morning, I went downstairs and found myself alone in the kitchen with Dei. My dad had likely left early for work.

As I was about to exit the kitchen, Dei asked if she could talk with me. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but I agreed to sit down and listen. With a serious expression, Dei began to tell me how hurt my dad was after our conversation the previous night.

She said that I had no right to treat him that way, especially considering how much money he had supposedly spent to help me buy my house. Naturally, I was taken aback. My dad hadn't given me any financial support since I left for college.

I had bought this house with my own money that I had saved diligently for years. The claim that he had contributed significantly to my purchase was completely unfounded. I asked Dei to clarify what she meant, and she explained that my dad had told her he had used some of his savings to help me buy the house.

It was as if a light bulb had gone off, and I almost found it amusing that this was the narrative my dad had fed her. Before I could respond, Dei continued to insist that I should be grateful for the help my dad had supposedly given me. She felt that, given his financial struggles, it was only fair for me to start repaying some of that money back to him by paying rent to them while they stayed with me, since this was basically my dad's house.

Also, her argument was that it was the least I could do considering the financial sacrifices my dad had supposedly made for me. I stared at her face and couldn't help it anymore; I started laughing at Dei. I mean, the whole thing was so absurd that I couldn't take it seriously.

When I finally managed to stop laughing, I told her the truth: that I was the actual owner of the house and my dad had not paid for a dime. The look on her face was priceless. It was clear that she had no idea that I owned the house, and the embarrassment and anger she felt must have been overwhelming.

She asked me if it was really true that my dad had never helped me out, and I told her how my dad didn't even have money to pay for his own rent, so how could he ever afford to pay for my house? I guess after our talk, she must have seen the truth too since she didn't argue much. However, not long after, she packed up her things and left my place that very same day.

I didn't stop her because it was none of my business. Later in the evening, when my dad came back home, he called Dei, asking her about why her things were gone. When he found out that I had told her the truth about the ownership of the house, he started to blame me for not keeping my mouth shut.

He accused me of making his wife uncomfortable and of deliberately sabotaging their relationship by spilling the truth. According to him, I should have been more understanding and should have let her believe his lie. Since now he felt too small compared to me, as if somehow it was my fault that he couldn't afford a place of his own, it was frustrating beyond belief.

I pointed out to him that here I was, offering my home to help them out, and instead of gratitude, I was being blamed for their problems. My dad seemed to forget that I didn't owe him anything and that the only person to blame here was himself. It was like all those years of him treating me like I was the problem had come rushing back, and now even as an adult, he was trying to make me the scapegoat for something that wasn't my fault.

But he wouldn't listen. Instead of understanding my perspective, he insisted that I should call and apologize to Dii and clear things up by lying and letting her believe that he had somehow helped me during the purchase of this house. I argued back that I was not going to lie for him to his wife.

I was exhausted from the constant manipulation and blame, and I had reached my limit. Finally, I told my dad that I couldn't handle having him around any longer, as his constant fights with me were starting to affect my mental health. I asked him to pack up his things and move out by the next day.

It was a decision I made with a heavy heart, but I needed to establish and maintain boundaries to protect my own peace and sanity. My dad did argue that he didn't have a place to go and pleaded for more time, but at that moment, I couldn't bring myself to care about his excuses or his situation any longer. I stuck to my decision and made my dad move out the next morning.

Ever since then, my dad has been reaching out to me and complaining about how I have ruined his life and his marriage. Since Dii refuses to talk to him, he keeps blaming me for how things are with Dii and says that a good son would have never kicked their parent out. **Update One:** I am glad that everyone understands just how much trauma my dad has put me through over the years.

A lot of people have advised me to contact Dii and share the truth about my childhood, as she might not be fully aware of who my dad really is. Until now, I preferred to stay out of his business, but I believe it's important for her to know the reality, since he might have lied to her about other things. I plan on reaching out to her and having a one-on-one conversation.

**Update Two:** It's been a week since I last updated. I finally had a chance to sit down with Dii and discuss everything. It turns out she had no idea about the kind of childhood I had.

I shared with her the blame and emotional trauma I went through and how it affected me. She seemed shocked and admitted that Dad had painted a completely different picture, portraying himself as a struggling single father who had sacrificed everything for his child. I couldn't help but shake my head in disbelief.

I recounted stories from my childhood and how I was constantly blamed for my mom's passing. She expressed her sympathy and understanding. Next, I explained to her how hard I worked throughout college to establish myself and how fortunate I was to land a high-paying job.

This allowed me to save money and move into a place of my own. I told her that this is why I didn't like Dad dictating anything around my place since he never allowed me to be myself in his house while growing up. Dii understood my pain.

She then revealed that Dad had actually lost all his money due to gambling, and she had not mentioned it to me earlier because he was too ashamed about it and wanted to keep it hidden. She explained that when my dad first suggested moving into my place, she had outright refused. She wasn't comfortable with the idea of moving in with me, and I guess this is why my dad had lied to her and told her that he had financially contributed to my home, which made her feel less guilty about accepting the offer to stay with us.

However, later when she found out from me that his claims about helping with my house were entirely fabricated and were just another manipulation tactic to get what he wanted, she felt devastated. She then told me how embarrassed she was about asking me for rent that day. I reassured her that it wasn't her fault and that the blame was completely on Dad for his lies.

As we were parting ways, Dii mentioned that after our conversation, she was planning to take some time off from Dad to reflect on their relationship. **Update Three:** Hi everyone, I know I haven't updated anything here for the past three months. I have completely cut off my dad from my life since I asked him to move out.

It hasn't been an easy choice, but it is necessary for my mental and emotional health. The last time we spoke, he tried to blame me for everything again, but I didn't engage anymore. I straightaway just blocked him.

Since then, I have to admit that I have been feeling much better. The stress and manipulation have lifted, and I'm experiencing a sense of relief and clarity. It feels like I finally reclaimed my space and peace of mind.

My girlfriend, Sheila, has been incredibly supportive throughout this process. She's been there for me, offering comfort and encouragement and helping me work through my emotions. Her support has made a huge difference, and I'm really grateful for her.

With my dad out of the picture and Sheila by my side, I'm slowly finding. . .

A new sense of stability and happiness; I'm focusing on building the life I want, pursuing my goals, and enjoying the positive aspects of my relationship.