For years, I thought I’d made peace with the past. But the look on my parents’ faces when they showed up at my front door—a door they never expected I’d own—showed me that old wounds don’t close so easily. Especially when you’re the son who didn’t follow their plan.
I never thought I’d see them again. After seventeen years, I’d accepted that I was nothing more than a disappointment they left behind. But when my parents stood on the front step of my house last Friday, their eyes scanning the place like they’d walked up to the wrong door, I realized things were about to get interesting.
Senior couple standing infront of a luxurious house | Source: Midjourney
Let’s rewind to when I was seventeen, back when I told my parents that I wouldn’t be going to med school.
“You’re what?” my mother whispered, as if I’d just confessed a crime.
“I’m not going to be a doctor,” I said again, my voice firmer this time, though I could feel my heart pounding. “I want to pursue acting…and maybe start a business.” I’d spent months working up the courage to say it out loud.
A teen boy having a chat with his parents | Source: Midjourney
My father scoffed, throwing up his hands. “Acting? Business? You think this is some kind of joke? We’re doctors, son. It’s in our blood. It’s who we are.”
“But it’s not who I am,” I replied, almost choking on the words. “I don’t want that life.”
I thought they’d calm down, maybe talk things through. But instead, my father shook his head, stone-faced. “Then leave. If you can’t carry on this family’s legacy, you don’t belong here.”
A man refused to be a doctor like the rest of his family. | Source: Shutterstock
Just like that, they cut me out. I had nothing but a bag of clothes, a hundred bucks, and a lot of questions about what my future would look like. I wandered for a while, couch-surfed, picked up small jobs, anything to get by.
The acting gigs were far and few, but I hustled and made it work, eventually setting up a modest business on the side. Those early days were hard—no family, no support, just me.
Sad young man seated on a couch | Source: Pexels
And my family? They packed up and left for the UK, moving my siblings along like they were on a conveyor belt to medical school.
My older brother became the pride of the family, a neurosurgeon, of course. He even made it into some highly specialized fields, cutting into spinal tumors and raking in awards. I was the one they never talked about. The son who failed, the one who’d broken away.
When my parents announced they were coming back to Sydney, I didn’t expect much. Sure, they’d call here and there, asking the usual, “How are you?” and “What have you been up to?” But they never seemed interested in the details.
They’d never once asked about my job, what I did, or if I was managing well. I’m pretty sure they thought I was barely scraping by.
Their focus, as usual, was on my older brother, especially when he got an offer for a surgical position that would pay him $750,000 a year. Even in Sydney, that kind of income was nothing to sneeze at.
But when they started house-hunting, the reality of Sydney’s property market hit hard. Northern Sydney is no joke. Even for doctors, buying in some areas means you’re competing with millionaires, tech moguls, and old family money.
In the neighborhoods they liked, homes started around $20 million. It didn’t take long for them to realize they’d need to adjust their expectations.
We’d been out looking at properties all day when my dad finally sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It seems we’ll have to settle for something smaller,” he said. “Or wait.”
My mother nodded, reluctantly. “Maybe… just until prices drop?”
I chuckled, surprising myself. “You know, why don’t you come see my place before dinner?” I suggested, trying to keep my tone casual. “It’s nearby.”
“Your place?” My mom looked at me, almost amused. “Of course. We’d love to see where you’re staying.”
When we pulled up to my house—a clean-lined, modern property tucked away on a secluded lot—their faces went blank.
“This is your place?” my dad asked, skepticism all over his face.
“Yeah,” I said, pushing open the front gate. They followed, and I watched as their eyes scanned the well-done lawn, the custom landscaping, and the sparkling pool in the back.
Inside, they took it all in: the polished hardwood floors, the expansive windows, the designer furniture. I could see their minds whirring, making sense of it. Finally, my mom cleared her throat, breaking the silence…..Read More Click below………………………
