So I'm Worth Less Than My Brother?

In order to take care of my father, who got hurt from a fall, I gave up on my chance to get promoted and even took a week's leave.

On the day he gets discharged from the hospital, my dad hands me a mysterious envelope with a wide smile on his face.

"Thank you for your trouble over the past few days, Luther. This is a little token of appreciation from me. You can buy yourself a nice pack of smokes."

I rub my hands together, feeling warmth surging into my heart. But when I open the envelope, all I see is seven dollars.

Still, I comfort myself in thinking that the sum isn't important at all. It's the thought that counts, after all.

But the next day, I come across a social media post of my younger brother, Felix Grayson, who never showed his face around the hospital during Dad's hospitalization. It features a photo collage of a luxurious villa, with a photo of the purchasing contract smack dab in the middle of collage.

The caption writes, "I bought the top-tier riverside villa for seven million dollars! Thank you so much for your support, Dad!"

I called my father, Winston Grayson, directly, doing my best to keep my voice calm. "Dad, I saw Felix's post. He said he paid in full for a villa. Where did the money come from?"

On the other end of the line, Dad sounded delighted. "Oh, Luther, you saw that too? It's wonderful news! Our family finally has a new place in the city center!"

"I asked where the money came from," I cut in.

He paused, sounding slightly awkward. "Luther, that was the compensation money from when your mother passed away. She loved your little brother the most when she was alive. I'm just fulfilling her wish for her."

The compensation from Mom's death had only been a little over a million dollars, so where did the rest of the money come from?

I pressed on, saying, "That villa cost seven million dollars. The compensation alone wouldn't have been enough, right?"

Dad hesitated before answering, "Well, the demolition compensation for those two old houses back in our hometown came through a few days ago. I gave that to Felix too so he could buy the place."

My mind buzzed.

I hadn't even known about the demolition compensation until now.

"Dad, both the compensation money for Mom's death and the demolition compensation from the houses legally include my share. Why didn't you say a word before using all of it to buy Felix a villa?"

Dad immediately snapped, "Luther, what exactly are you trying to say? Are you really going to fight your own brother over family property?

"He just got into a big company, and the next step is getting married. How can he do that without a proper house? As his older brother, you should be supporting him. Instead, you're asking for a share of the money? Don't you feel any shame?"

I almost laughed from sheer anger, and my eyes burned with unshed tears.

"Shame? Dad, when you fell and injured yourself, I gave up a rare promotion opportunity and took a full week off work just to take care of you until you were discharged. You gave me seven dollars afterward, and I was actually touched.

"I thought it meant you appreciated what I'd done. Meanwhile, Felix didn't even show up once during that whole time, yet you casually handed him seven million dollars to buy a villa. I'm your son too. Isn't the difference in how you treat us a little too obvious?"

Dad didn't sound the least bit guilty. If anything, he spoke in the same patient, lecturing tone. "Luther, why are you acting so childish? Felix is your little brother. When I'm old, I'll still have to count on you to help take care of him. If you behave like this, how can I rest easy?

"You've always had a wild streak. Who knows when you'll run off with some woman? What's the point of giving you money if you're just going to spend it on outsiders? And the seven dollars was just a good-luck gift from your old man. Why are you suddenly being so petty about it?"

Petty?

When I first graduated and started working, my monthly salary was 20 thousand dollars. Every time payday came around, Dad would call and complain about how tight money was at home. Without fail, I transferred 15 thousand dollars to him each month.

Meanwhile, I lived as frugally as possible, wearing cheap street-market clothes and renting a small, rundown apartment. The money I had saved through all that sacrifice had ultimately turned into Felix's luxury home, and all I received in return was seven dollars.

"Fine, Dad," I said coldly. "Since I'm just an outsider who might run off with someone one day, then return the deposit I've been leaving with you these past few years."

I had always called it a deposit, because whenever he asked for money, he would say, "I'm saving it for you. It'll be your future wedding fund."

There was a short pause on the other end of the call.

Two seconds later, Dad said impatiently, "What do you mean your money? Why are you being so clear-cut about things within a family? Anyway, today we're celebrating Felix buying his new villa. Come over for dinner and stop making those snide remarks."

With that, he hung up.

I listened to the dial tone and wiped the tears from my eyes.

Dinner?

Fine. I would definitely go back and enjoy that meal.