Those were the words my father spoke to me, his face impassive, a beer in his hand. For years, I’d swallowed my rage, bound by a promise to my absent mother to take care of them. But in that moment, hearing my life cut short and served up on a platter, something inside me finally snapped.

I laughed. A loud, hysterical laugh that echoed in the quiet dining room. Then I looked him straight in the eye and said, “No. I’ll take 100 percent and leave. And you two can pay your own bills. It’s that simple.”

My name is Esteban. I’m twenty-seven years old, and this is the story of how I stopped being a money-making machine and started being one.

I grew up in a house with thin walls, where my father’s laughter with his friends and my sister’s late-night phone calls were the soundtrack to my exhaustion. My mother, a nurse, left for a better-paying job in Europe when I was fifteen. She promised it was temporary. “Take care of your father and your sister,” she told me before leaving. “You’re the man of the house now.”

Like a fool, I took those words as law.

Years passed. His visits became rare. At eighteen, with no money for college, I started working in a packaging factory. Eight hours a day sealing boxes for minimum wage. Every payday, I gave my entire check to my father. It was for the house, he said. Rent, food, bills.

But there was one thing that never felt right. My younger sister, Claudia, twenty-three, didn’t contribute a single cent. She worked part-time in a clothing store, but her money went toward designer clothes, club admissions, and nights out with friends. I’d come home smelling of sweat and factory dust, and she’d come in smelling of perfume and freedom.

“Oh, Esteban, don’t be a pain,” he’d say, rolling his eyes if I asked him to wash a single dish. “That’s what you’re here for.”

My father, Gustavo, was a different story. After my mother started sending money, he quit his job as a mechanic and never looked for another. He became an expert at spending my salary. I would come home to find him in the yard, surrounded by empty beer bottles, laughing with his friends.

“Dad, I can’t cover everything,” he would plead.

He just gave me a mocking smile. “Esteban, you’re young and strong. I’ve done my part. Now it’s time for me to enjoy life. And your sister? She’s my princess. I’m not going to ask her to work herself to death like you do.”

I swallowed my anger, year after year, bound by that promise to my mother.

But things started to change. I got good at my job. Within five years, I moved from the factory floor to the office, rising from inventory manager to operations manager. My salary was seven times what I started with. It was more money than I’d ever dreamed of, but I never told them. I knew if they found out, they’d squeeze me for every last drop. So I kept giving them the same amount as always and secretly funneled the rest into a savings account that no one knew about.

My life at home remained the same. I slept in a small room with a squeaky bed. Claudia had the biggest room with a new TV, which, of course, I had paid for. My father continued his drunken nights. “Esteban, get me another one from the fridge,” he’d order without even looking at me. And like an idiot, I would obey.

The day everything changed began with a mistake. It was a Friday, and I had left my printed paycheck on my desk in plain sight.

I came home to find Claudia in my room, waving the paper in her hand, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and pure greed.

“Is this what they pay you?” she shouted. “Stephen, you’re earning a fortune and giving us crumbs! How dare you!”

I tried to remain calm. “Claudia, that money is mine. I pay for everything in this house. You two don’t contribute anything. What more do you want?”

She laughed as if my words were absurd. “Yours? This is a family, Esteban. What you earn is for everyone. I’m going to tell Dad.”

That night, my father called me into the dining room. He sat in his usual chair, his face red with rage. Claudia stood beside him, arms crossed, a triumphant smile on her face.

“What’s this about you making so much money?” my father demanded, waving the slip in the air. “Do you think you can fool me?”

“Dad, that’s my money. I’ve been paying the bills for this house since I was eighteen. Claudia doesn’t contribute anything. You spend my salary on beer. Don’t you think I deserve to keep some for myself?”

He let out a cruel laugh. “Deserve it? Let me explain how this works, Esteban. Your sister wants to study at the most prestigious university in the country. That costs money. And I have my expenses. So, from now on, 80 percent of your salary will go to Claudia. The other 20 percent is for me. It’s that simple.”

I stared at him, unable to believe his audacity. Eighty percent for her, twenty percent for him. And for me? Nothing. The rage I’d bottled up for years erupted in my throat, but instead of a scream, it came out as laughter. Hysterical. Uncontrollable.

“What are you laughing at?” my father asked, annoyed.

“I’m laughing because I’m fed up,” I said, wiping a tear from my eye. “Fed up with supporting two parasites who claim to be my family. Fed up with your drunken nights, Dad. Fed up with your parties, Claudia. So, you know what? I’m leaving. I’m leaving with 100 percent of my salary, and you two can pay your own bills. It’s that simple.”

His face went from rage to disbelief. “You don’t make the decisions, Esteban! You have an obligation to this family!”

“No,” I said, with a calm that felt forged in fire. “That’s over.”

I went to my room and started packing. He followed me, yelling, trying to block the door. But I wasn’t the boy who bowed his head anymore. I pushed him away and left that house without looking back.

Three months later, my phone rang. It was Claudia. Her voice, usually dripping with arrogance, trembled with desperation.

“Esteban, please, you have to help us,” she pleaded. “We’re going to be evicted. We don’t have the money to pay the rent. Dad and I… we don’t know what to do.”

A dry, bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Evict? What does that have to do with me? I don’t live there anymore.”

“No, wait!” she cried, on the verge of tears. “We have nothing! My salary isn’t enough! Please, Esteban, you’re our only hope!”

“Is your salary not enough?” I said, my voice cold. “That’s funny, Claudia. When you were spending it on parties, you never seemed to worry about the rent. Now, suddenly, I’m your savior?”

Before she could answer, my father snatched the phone away. “Esteban, listen to me!” he shouted, but the authority in his voice was thin, laced with panic. “Do you think you can wash your hands of us? We gave you a roof over your head, food, a family!”

“Let’s get something straight, Dad,” I said, spitting out the words. “For years, I paid for that roof. I paid for the food. I paid for your damn beers. And what did I get in return? Your mockery. Your contempt. You call me selfish? No. You’re the selfish one, living off my salary while getting drunk. Claudia is the selfish one, laughing in my face while I worked myself to death.”

“Don’t make me say it, Esteban,” she interrupted, her voice weak. “You have money. A lot of money. You could save us. Your sister wants a future!”

“A future? The one you wanted me to pay for with my entire salary?” I laughed again, louder this time. “You told me it was that simple. Well, now I’m telling you: get a job, pay your bills, survive. It’s that simple.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Claudia returned to the phone, sobbing. “Please, Esteban… we’re your family.”

“Family?” I said, the word burning in my throat. “A family doesn’t use you. A family doesn’t laugh at you while they bleed you dry. You’re not my family. You’re parasites. And parasites, sooner or later, have to learn to survive on their own.”

I hung up the phone and, for the first time in years, felt the weight on my chest finally lift.

A few weeks later, my mother called, her voice full of reproach. “I’m disappointed in you, Esteban. How could you abandon your family?”

I told her everything. The drinking, the mockery, the years of humiliation. She didn’t want to listen.

“They’re your family,” he insisted. “You should be there for them.”

“Not anymore, Mom,” I said, my heart heavy but determined. “I’m done. If you want to help them, do it.”

I cut the last tie.

A year has passed. I discovered that Gustavo now drives a taxi, working long shifts in the hot sun. Claudia had to give up her entire salary to pay the bills for a smaller place. No more parties, no more designer clothes. Just the reality they never wanted to face.

As for me, I’m now a regional manager. Freedom tastes like coffee on the balcony of my own apartment, a space filled with books and photos of my travels. Rage has turned to peace. I face its consequences, and finally, irrevocably, I am free.