My Money, My Rules
I'm gripping my bank card so tight my fingers turn white—this is the down payment I've scraped together over eight years of overtime and penny-pinching, enough to buy a fifty-plus-square-meter one-bedroom.
The central AC's cold air can't cool down the heat inside me.
I stared at the apartment model, imagining mornings waking up to sunlight and evenings watching the sunset on the balcony—a little world all my own.
The real estate agent handed me the contract, and just as I was about to sign, the glass door slammed open.
My parents and my younger sister's family of three burst in: Mom clutching a cloth bag, Dad with a tight frown, my sister holding her one-year-old son, and brother-in-law carrying fruit—instantly grabbing everyone's attention.
"Mindy, you went and bought a place behind our backs? Do you even care about the family?" Mother's voice rose, full of frustration.
I froze on the spot; I had clearly told them about buying the apartment.
Before I could explain, Father pointed at the floor plan and snapped, "What small place? Your younger sister's got sixty square meters, and the kid's about to start kindergarten — this place needs to go to her!"
My younger sister stepped closer, eyes fixed on the 120-square-meter model, smiling, "Sis, three bedrooms and two living rooms is way better, Mom and Dad have space too. Help me out this time, I swear I'll take care of you."
"This is money I've been saving for eight years." I gripped the bank card tightly, my voice shaking.
Those days of skipping parties and living on instant noodles—how could I just give up my money?
"Your money is the family's money!" Mom said, hands on her hips, "After raising you, isn't it only right to help your sister?"
The looks around me felt like needles; I was embarrassed and angry, tears stinging my eyes.
But I knew I couldn't give in—this was my only shot to break free from them.
"I don't agree." That was the first time I stood my ground with my family.
Dad trembled with anger, reaching to snatch the card away, "Today, you have to buy something for your sister, or don't call us your family!"
I stepped back, shielding my card: "It's my money, I get to decide."
My younger sister suddenly sank to the floor, crying: "Sis, I can barely even turn around in my tiny home—please have some pity on me and the kid."
Mom patted my sister and yelled at me: "Heartless! Don't come crying to us if anything happens to you!"
Our arguing quieted down the whole sales office.
I took a deep breath, grabbed my bag, and said, "I'm not buying this apartment—but I'm not buying one for her either."
As I left the sales office, the curses behind me felt like a spell that only faded when I'd gotten far away.
The sunlight was blinding, but inside I felt ice-cold.
The alarm went off three times before I finally got up.
I had a sleepless night over the house purchase; my head's all foggy.
Today's my birthday.
In past years, Mom would have a chocolate cake ready and cook a table full of my favorite dishes.
But what happened yesterday left me shaken.
Stepping out of my room, Mom was sitting on the sofa knitting a little sweater — clearly for my younger sister's child.
The TV was buzzing, but her face was blank.
"Mom, today I—" I got cut off before I could finish.
Mom looked up, eyes full of hope: "The house your sister likes has a discount, the down payment's 20,000 less, so just buy it for her. You earn more, you can save up and buy your own in a few years."
It felt like a bucket of cold water thrown at me; she didn't even remember my birthday.
I pushed down my disappointment and grabbed a glass of cold water in the kitchen, but it didn't wash away the hurt.
At lunch, while scrolling through social media, I saw my sister's post: her and our parents smiling inside their new house, mom with a gold necklace, dad holding a thermos.
The caption read, "Thanks to Mom, Dad, and my sister for their support."
My fingers trembled; that "support" was nothing but her fantasy.
I haven't even managed to buy my own place, so how could I help her?
In the afternoon, the class monitor called, saying the classmates wanted to celebrate my birthday.
Thinking about how quiet it was at home, I agreed.
That evening, I changed into a new dress, put on light makeup, and headed to KTV.
I opened the door, and under the colorful lights, the class monitor walked over holding a cream cake: "Happy birthday! Make a wish."
The candles were lit, and everyone started singing the birthday song.
Looking at each sincere face, tears welled up — only here did I feel truly cared for.
"Thank you all." I closed my eyes and wished: to break free from my original family and find happiness.
The party ended late at night; when I got home and opened the door, the house was pitch black.
Mom and Dad must have gone to celebrate my younger sister's new place; no one cared if I was home or not.
I switched on the light; the pale glow illuminated the empty room.
I sat on the sofa, despair washing over me like a tide — in this family, I've always been the outsider.
I spent the whole night sitting on the sofa and only went back to my room when dawn was breaking.
Lying in bed, I made up my mind: I had to get out of this house as soon as possible.
I was woken up early by birdsong, sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains.
I sat up, the despair from last night still heavy on me.
Stepping out of my room, I saw Mom sitting on the sofa, holding an old red brocade box.
She looked at me and suddenly smiled softly: "Mindy, it was my fault yesterday—I forgot your birthday. I'm sorry."
I froze—she had never been this gentle before.
Especially after I refused to buy a house for my younger sister, she had been yelling and acting harsh toward me.
"Mom, it's okay." I tried to avoid her and head to the kitchen.
"Wait." Mom handed me a brocade box. "This is an heirloom ring, a sapphire one, passed down from your grandma to me. Consider it a birthday gift, you have to accept it."
I was even more confused.
I remembered her saying when I was little that this was the most precious thing in the family, meant to be kept by the most successful person.
I thought it would go to my younger sister, but I never expected it would be given to me.
"It's too valuable, I can't accept it." I took a step back.
I knew she wouldn't do anything to lose out; if she's suddenly being nice to me, there's gotta be a reason.
"You're my daughter, what's mine is yours." Mother shoved the box into my hands. "If you don't accept it, you're basically saying it's no good and blaming me."
I had no choice but to take the brocade box.
When I opened it, the sapphire on the silver ring sparkled under the light, and the inside was engraved with the character "Lee."
I slipped it on, and the cold touch made me hesitate for a moment — maybe she really did realize she was wrong?
Lying in bed at night, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
The ring felt cold from time to time; sometimes I thought my mother truly cared about me, and other times something felt off.
Just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard low voices coming from the living room.
I quietly got up and pressed my ear against the door.
"Mom, did you really give her the ring? That's the most valuable thing in our family!" My younger sister's voice was full of resentment.
"What do you know?" Mother's voice sounded calculating, "If I don't give her the ring, would she be willing to buy you a house? That girl's getting bold. I let her think I care about her; when she takes out the money, I'll just get the ring back. Isn't that easy?"
"What if she doesn't agree?" Father's voice was full of worry; he's never been one to make decisions.
"Even if she doesn't agree, she has to!" Mother said firmly. "If she keeps the Ring and doesn't help you, she's being unfilial! When the neighbors start gossiping about her, she cares about her reputation and will definitely fear a bad name."
I stood behind the door, the ring in my hand suddenly burning like a hot iron.
Turns out all the gentleness was fake — she just wanted to use me.
Tears fell, dripping onto my clothes.
I took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and walked out.
"What are you guys talking about?" My voice trembled, and my whole body was shaking.
My parents and younger sister froze, looking awkward, their eyes darting away.
My younger sister even hid behind Mom.
"Mindy, why aren't you asleep yet? Did we wake you?" Mom forced a smile.
I took off the ring and set it on the table. The sharp sound broke the silence: "I know what you're thinking. I'm not falling for it again. From now on, your business is yours—I'm done getting involved, and don't even think about me."
After saying that, I turned and went back to my room, slamming the door shut.
I could hear curses and complaints from outside the door, but I didn't care anymore.
Lying in bed, tears silently streaming down, I felt strangely calm — I had no more expectations for this family.
I woke up at the break of dawn.
Birds were singing outside the window, everything bursting with life, but inside I felt calm.
Last night's events made me see my family's true colors for the first time.
Sitting at my computer, logging into online banking, staring at my account balance — eight years' savings meant for buying an apartment, now I had to rethink everything.
This family only drains me; I have to get out as soon as I can.
I opened my mobile banking app and found the card I use to send money home every month.
After I started working, I sent two thousand every month. They said if anyone got sick or there was some emergency, I'd send even more.
But now, I don't want to send money anymore. My money should be spent on myself.
I clicked "Report Lost Card," and when I saw the "Loss Report Successful" message, I didn't hesitate for a second.
Then I opened my contacts and blocked my parents and younger sister one by one, blocked them on W Chat too, and deleted all our chat histories.
After all that, I felt so much lighter, like I'd just dropped a huge weight off my shoulders.
After all these years, I finally feel at ease — like the chains that held me are coming undone.
I got up and packed my things — clothes, shoes, books, daily essentials — all packed into boxes.
This home, besides these things, holds nothing worth staying for.
I left the boxes by the door and took one last look at the place I'd lived in for over twenty years.
There are childhood memories here, laughter and tears, but now it's only cold and suffocating.
The next day, I dragged my boxes to the sales office I'd been to before.
The sales agent saw me and asked in surprise, "Miss Lee, are you here to sign the contract?"
I nodded, flashing a rare smile.
This time, I didn't hesitate at all.
After carefully reading the contract and making sure everything was fine, I signed my name and took out my bank card to pay the down payment.
Watching my balance drop, I didn't feel a sting—actually, I felt a sense of relief.
When I got the property certificate and saw my name on it, I couldn't help but smile, tears welling up — finally, I had my own place, no more bending to anyone's mood.
That night, I moved into my new home—a clean, neat little apartment, just over fifty square meters.
I bought a new sofa and bed; not much stuff, but it was full of life.
Lying on my new bed, staring at the chandelier on the ceiling, I felt completely calm inside.
This is truly my own place. From now on, I'm going to live for myself.
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