My Family Pretended To Forget Me Every Christmas. My Decision Made Them Furious…
I was 10 years old on the morning I realized I didn’t exist to my own family. Not in any way that mattered anyway. I woke up that day buzzing with excitement. Double digits felt monumental, like crossing some invisible threshold into real personhood. I bounded downstairs expecting pancakes or at least a card propped against the orange juice.
What I found instead was my mother and father standing in the kitchen, voices sharp with debate, completely absorbed in the critical question of what color jersey my brother Chase should wear for his upcoming soccer tournament. I stood there in my pajamas, waited for them to turn around, to smile, to remember. They never looked at me, not once.
I sat at the kitchen table alone, spooning cereal into my mouth, listening to them argue about the merits of navy blue versus royal blue while the clock ticked past breakfast, past lunch, into the long stretch of afternoon. They drove to three different sporting goods stores that day. I stayed home and watched TV, the kind of mindless cartoons that fill the silence when you’re trying not to think about the fact that nobody remembered you were born exactly 10 years ago.
It wasn’t until almost 9 at night when I was already in my pajamas for the second time that day that my mother suddenly gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Oh my god, it’s Louis’s birthday. My father glanced up from his laptop, barely breaking his concentration. We’ll get you something nice next week, sweetie. Promise. They never did.
My name is Louise, and that birthday was just one moment in a lifetime of being forgotten. But it’s the one that crystallized everything. The one where I finally understood that in my family’s story, I was never meant to be a main character. I was background noise, an afterthought, the person who existed in the margins while everyone else lived in bold, bright print.
I grew up in Cherry Hills Village, one of those affluent Denver suburbs where houses competed for grandeur and perfectly trimmed lawns were a mark of social standing. Our house had six bedrooms, more space than any family actually needed. There was me, Chase, and our parents, Douglas and Diane. Dad worked as a financial director at some Fortune 500 tech company, the kind of job where quarterly earnings were discussed over dinner like they were sports scores.
Mom had been a TV presenter back in her younger days. But by the time I came along, she’d transitioned into philanthropy and fundraising events, the kind of charity work that looked good in society pages. Chase was the golden child from the moment I was old enough to understand what that meant. Everything he touched turned to praise.
Every achievement, no matter how small, deserved a parade. The walls of our house told his story in trophies and framed certificates, soccer awards, debate team honors, academic excellence ribbons. All of it displayed like we lived in a museum dedicated to his greatness. My awards shoved in a cardboard box in the attic, gathering dust alongside forgotten Christmas decorations and old tax documents.
When I was 12, I won first place in the school science fair. I’d spent 3 months working on a water filtration project, staying up late, researching, building prototypes, testing, and retesting until my hands were raw. The day I won, I came home clutching that blue ribbon like it was made of gold, my heart pounding with pride and excitement.
My mother glanced at it for maybe 3 seconds. “That’s nice, honey,” she said, her eyes already drifting back to the party planning binder spread across the kitchen counter. She was organizing Chase’s graduation party. “He was still 2 years away from graduating, but apparently that required extensive advanced planning.
” Meanwhile, that same year, Chase made the varsity baseball team as a freshman. My parents threw a party. Not a small gathering, a full-blown event with a rented tent, hired caterers, and half the neighborhood invited. I watched from the sidelines as everyone congratulated him as my father gave a speech about how proud he was. As my mother beamed like Chase had just won a Nobel Prize, I stood there holding my blue ribbon and nobody noticed.
But birthdays and school achievements weren’t even the worst of it. Christmas became its own special brand of torture. The first time they left me behind, I was 14. I woke up Christmas morning to the sound of suitcases being loaded into the car. I stumbled downstairs, still rubbing sleep from my eyes to find Chase already in the front seat wearing brand new clothes I’d never seen before.
Where are you going? I asked, my voice small. Las Vegas, my mother said, not even having the decency to look guilty. Chase has been working so hard. He deserves a real vacation. What about me? My father sighed like I was being unreasonable. Your grandmother will be here in an hour. You’ll have a nice, quiet Christmas with her.
They left just like that. I spent Christmas with Grandma Margaret, who was the only person in my entire family who ever seemed to notice I existed. She made cookies from scratch and we watched old black and white movies and she never once mentioned Chase’s name. I loved her fiercely for that.
The next year, I was stupid enough to hope things might be different. I was 15 and still believed that maybe somehow my parents would wake up and remember they had two children. Christmas morning came. I walked downstairs to find Chase surrounded by an avalanche of presents. A laptop. Not just any laptop, but the newest model that everyone at school was obsessed with.
The kind that probably cost $2,000. A leather jacket, an expensive watch, concert tickets. The pile seemed endless. Then my mother handed me an envelope. Inside was a card. Just a card. It had a generic snowman printed on the front and a pre-written Merry Christmas message inside. No money, no gift card, nothing. Just a card. I stared at it, then looked at the mountain of boxes surrounding Chase, at the torn wrapping paper littering the floor like evidence of abundance.
This isn’t fair, I said, my voice cracking. Chase gets all this expensive stuff, and I get a card. My father’s expression went cold. Chase is in college. These things are important for him. Don’t be petty, Louise. It’s not attractive to track the cost of other people’s gifts. I went back to my room and cried into my pillow until my throat was raw.
When grandma called later that day, I told her everything. She was quiet for a long moment, then said simply, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” I believed her because she was the only one who ever was. It became a pattern. Every Christmas, Chase received incredible gifts. a car when he turned 21, trips to Europe with his girlfriend, designer clothes, the latest electronics, and every Christmas I got a card.
Sometimes they’d write little messages inside about how I needed to work harder or be more grateful for what I had. One year, the card just said, “Try not to envy your brother. It’s not his fault he’s successful.” I stopped caring after a while, or at least I told myself I did. When I turned 18, I got accepted to the University of Colorado at Boulder.
I packed everything I owned into two suitcases and a few boxes, moved into the dorms, and barely looked back. I called home maybe once a month, usually when mom texted asking why I never checked in. The conversations were always identical. She’d spend 20 minutes talking about Chase’s internships, his grades, his new apartment, his girlfriend.
Then she remembered to ask how school was going. Before I could answer with more than a sentence, she’d remember something else about Chase, and we’d be right back to the Chase show. I stopped expecting anything different. But here’s the thing about being forgotten. Even when you know it’s happening, even when you’ve accepted it as your reality, some stupid part of you still hopes, still wants to be included, still misses the idea of family, even if the reality has always been devastating.
The first year I was at Boulder, I called my mother in early December. “I was thinking I’d come home for Christmas,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. “I don’t have any exams after the 15th, so I could stay for a week or so.” There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Actually, Louise, it might be better if you stayed at school this year.
Maybe celebrate with your friends from the dorm. Chase’s fiance’s family is coming and it’ll be a full house. You understand, don’t you? There are six bedrooms, I said quietly. It’s just better this way. You’d feel out of place anyway. I didn’t argue. What was the point? I drove to Denver anyway that Christmas, but I stayed with grandma.
I didn’t even drive past my parents’ house. Later, I saw photos on my mother’s Facebook. Everyone gathered around the Christmas tree, wine glasses raised, faces glowing with happiness. The caption read, “Our whole beloved family together for the holidays.” I wasn’t in a single photo. After that, I stopped asking to come home and they stopped inviting me.
Not that they’d really invited me in the first place. I graduated with honors 3 years later. Nobody from my family came to the ceremony. I got a job at Elevation Marketing Group right there in Denver and threw myself into work with the kind of intensity that comes from having nothing else to pour yourself into. I worked late nights, took on extra projects, said yes to everything.
3 years after that, I got recruited by Cornerstone Creative Solutions, one of the best marketing companies in the country. Real work, real projects, real money. But my family didn’t know any of it because they never asked. I stayed in touch through a family group chat where my mother would post photos of Chase and his wife Paige at charity gallas, wine tastings, vacation destinations.
Chase had gotten married a few years back. I wasn’t invited to the wedding. Mom said it was a small ceremony, just close family. I saw the photos later. There were at least 150 people there. The chat was always the same rhythm. Mom posting about Chase’s latest achievement. Dad chiming in with a fusive pride.
Chase being falsely modest. I’d scroll through and say nothing. What was there to say? Meanwhile, I was actually doing well. At Cornerstone Creative Solutions, I’d worked my way up from junior strategist to leading major campaigns. Nobody handed me anything. I put in 70our weeks. I pitched ideas that scared me.
I took on projects other people didn’t want to touch. And it paid off. When I was 31, I landed the biggest project of my career. A major sports company wanted to rebrand for the youth market and they gave me complete creative control. I spent 6 months building a team, researching trends, testing campaigns with focus groups.
When we launched, the results were staggering. Sales jumped 37% in the first quarter. The CEO called me into his office and told me I’d done something special. Two weeks later, I got a bonus, $90,000. I stared at the number in my bank account for 10 solid minutes, refreshing the page to make sure it was real. I’d never seen that much money at once in my entire life.
My first thought was to tell someone, to celebrate. But who? My work friends would be happy for me, sure, but this felt like something you should share with family. Then I remembered the group chat from a few days earlier where my father had messaged, “Why haven’t you achieved anything significant in your career yet?” “You’re 31, Louise.
” Chase was a senior analyst by your age. I’d wanted to type back that I’d been promoted three times, that I was leading campaigns for national brands, that my salary was well into six figures. But what was the point? They didn’t care. They never cared. So, I didn’t tell them about the bonus. I just let it sit there while I decided what to do with it.
November rolled around and the family chat started buzzing with Thanksgiving plans. Then came the big announcement. Chase had been promoted to senior manager at his investment bank. My father’s message was embarrassing to read. This is the proudest moment of my life. My son, a senior manager at 35. I always knew you’d do great things, Chase.
A few days later, my mother sent a message directly to me in the group chat. Louise, could you buy Chase a nice watch for his promotion? Something in the $1,500 range. Have it couriered to our house by Thanksgiving. Thanks, sweetie. I read it three times. She didn’t ask if I could afford it. Didn’t say please. Just assumed I’d do it. Buy an expensive gift for the brother who’d never bought me anything.
for parents who’d never celebrated a single one of my achievements. I closed the chat and didn’t respond. That night, I sat on my couch with a bottle of wine and started scrolling through real estate listings. I’m not sure what I was looking for. Maybe just a distraction. Maybe a fantasy to occupy my mind. Then I saw it.
A house in the mountains of Colorado. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a massive deck overlooking pine trees and valleys that seem to stretch into forever. The photos made it look like something out of a dream. All that light, all that space, all that silence. The price was $360,000. I could afford the down payment with my bonus.
the mortgage would be manageable with my salary. And the more I looked at it, the more I wanted it. Not as an investment, not as a rental property. I wanted it for me, a place that was completely mine, where nobody could tell me I didn’t deserve to be there. I found the listing agents number and called. Her name was Rachel, and within an hour, we were on a video call, and she was giving me a virtual tour.
The house was even better than the photos. It had this massive stone fireplace, floor toseeiling windows that flooded everything with natural light, and a kitchen that looked out onto mountains. I want to buy it, I said. Rachel laughed. Don’t you want to think about it first? Maybe come see it in person. No, I want it.
How fast can we move? She walked me through the process. I signed the purchase offer that night and transferred the deposit the next morning. It was crazy and impulsive and I didn’t care. For the first time in my life, I was doing something massive without asking for permission or approval from anyone. 3 weeks before Christmas, I signed the final documents and got the keys.
I drove up to the house alone, unlocked the door, and just stood there in the empty living room. The afternoon light was pouring through those huge windows, making patterns on the hardwood floor. This was mine. Over the next three weeks, I threw myself into making the house feel like home. I painted the kitchen cabinets a soft gray, replaced outdated light fixtures, spent entire weekends building furniture from flat pack boxes.
I bought a couch, a dining table, beds for the guest rooms, rugs, curtains, everything. I worked on it every evening after my regular job and all day on weekends. My muscles sore but my heart full. By December 21st, the house was done. It looked incredible, warm and inviting and completely mine. I took photos and posted them on Instagram.
The caption was simple. I deserved my own house. Best Christmas gift I could ask for. An hour later, my phone started exploding. Messages from mom, dad, and Chase, all asking the same thing. What is this? Whose house is that? Where did you get the money? I read through them with a smile and didn’t respond to a single one. Another hour passed.
Then mom sent another message. Family dinner. December 23rd, 700 p.m. This is not optional. I thought about ignoring that, too, but honestly, I was curious. I wanted to see their faces when I told them the truth. December 23rd came and I drove to my parents’ house. I rang the doorbell and dad answered.
He didn’t say hello or ask how I was doing. He just looked at me with this stern expression and said, “Living room.” Now, Mom and Chase were already sitting there. Chase had his arms crossed like he was about to deliver a verdict. Mom looked like she’d been crying, which was her favorite manipulation tactic. I sat down in the chair across from them and waited.
“Whose house is that?” Dad asked immediately. I smiled. “Mine.” I bought it with the $90,000 bonus I got from work. The room went silent. My mother’s mouth actually fell open. “That’s impossible,” she said. “You can’t earn that much. You’re just a manager.” Actually, I said calmly, “If any of you had bothered to ask about my life in the past decade, you’d know I work for Cornerstone Creative Solutions, one of the most successful marketing companies in the country. I lead major campaigns.
I’ve been promoted multiple times. My salary is significantly above the national average. The bonus was for a rebranding project that increased client sales by 37% in one quarter. My father looked like I’d slapped him. Chase just stared. “You should have consulted us before making such a large purchase,” Chase said finally.
“You can’t just spend money like that without family input.” I actually laughed. I couldn’t help it. What’s funny? Chase snapped. You thinking I need your permission to spend my own money? This is serious, Chase said. We’re family. We make big decisions together. Oh, like you included me in your wedding or any of your decisions ever.
My mother jumped in. This attitude is exactly why we’re having this conversation. You’ve become selfish, Louise. That house is too big for one person. We should celebrate Christmas there this year. All of us together. No, I’m not inviting you to my house. Chase leaned forward. Paige is pregnant. She’s been dreaming about a house like that.
It would be perfect for us, especially with the baby coming. You should let us stay there. I felt like I’d been punched. You want to live in my house? Just until after the baby’s born,” Chase said like he was being reasonable. “Maybe 6 months or so. You have three bedrooms. You don’t need all that space.” My mother nodded eagerly.
“It makes sense, Louise. You’re alone and they’re starting a family. It’s what family does. They help each other. Help each other.” I stood up. When have any of you ever helped me? We raised you, Dad said. We gave you everything. You gave Chase everything. You gave me cards and told me to stop being jealous.
That’s not fair, Mom said. We treated both of you well. You forgot my 10th birthday because you were buying Chase soccer jerseys. You took him to Las Vegas for Christmas and left me with grandma. You gave him cars and trips to Europe, and you gave me cards telling me not to envy him.
You didn’t invite me to Thanksgiving or Christmas for 13 years. Don’t you dare tell me you treated us the same. The room went quiet. Then my father stood up, his voice going cold. If you want to restore your relationship with this family, you’ll host Christmas at your new house. And you’ll let your brother and his pregnant wife stay there rentree for as long as they need.
I looked at each of them. Mom with her fake tears. Dad with his entitled expression. Chase sitting there like he deserved everything I’d worked for. You didn’t invite me to Thanksgiving this year, I said quietly. You didn’t invite me to Christmas. You haven’t invited me to anything in over a decade. And now you want to use my house.
This is about family. Mom said, “No, I’m done. I don’t need your approval anymore. I’m not hosting Christmas for you. I’m not giving Chase my house. I’m not coming to your celebrations. I’m done with all of it. I turned and walked toward the door. Louise. Dad shouted. You walk out that door and you’re choosing to cut ties with this family.
I stopped and looked back at them. You cut ties with me years ago. You just never noticed because you were too busy worshiping Chase. I left. They were all yelling behind me, but I didn’t stop. I got in my car and drove back to my apartment in the city, my hands shaking on the steering wheel, my heart pounding, but something inside me felt lighter than it had in years.
My phone started ringing immediately. Mom, Dad, Chase, all of them calling over and over. I ignored every call. The messages started flooding in. Dad saying I was being unreasonable. Mom saying I was breaking her heart. Chase saying I owed it to him to share what I had because that’s what siblings do.
I blocked all their numbers and deleted the family chat. That night, I called my friends and invited them to my mountain house for Christmas. Then I called my cousins on my mom’s side, the ones I actually liked. Within an hour, I had 15 people confirmed. Real people who actually cared about me. Christmas came and it was perfect.
We cooked together, played board games by the fireplace, sat on the deck watching snowfall on the pine trees, and laughed until our sides hurt. I posted photos on Instagram, genuine smiling photos of people who wanted to be there. My mother commented, “Nice to see you’ve forgotten your real family. So proud of your career that you’ve abandoned the people who raised you.
” I laughed and didn’t respond. There was nothing to say to that kind of nonsense. New Year’s Eve came and I had plans. I drove to Grandma’s house and picked her up. She was 83 and still sharp as ever. She grabbed her coat and didn’t ask any questions until we were on the highway. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“My mountain house.” “I want to show you.” She smiled. I saw the photos online. “Looked beautiful. The drive took about 2 hours. When we got there, Grandma walked through every room slowly, touching the furniture, looking out the windows at the snow-covered trees. When she finished the tour, she sat down on the couch and patted the seat next to her. “Your parents called me,” she said.
“They said you cut off all contact with them. They wanted me to talk some sense into you. I didn’t say anything. I told them they’d been ignoring you for 30 years and they should leave you alone.” Grandma squeezed my hand. I also told them not to bother me with their nonsense again. I hugged her. She was the only one who’d ever really seen me.
We spent New Year’s Eve together, just the two of us. We made dinner, watched the ball drop on TV, and she told me stories about when she was young. It was the best New Year’s I’d ever had. January came and I settled back into work. My apartment in the city was convenient for the office, but I drove up to the mountain house every weekend.
It became my escape, my place to breathe. Then 3 weeks into January, my assistant knocked on my office door looking nervous. Your parents are here, she said. They’re asking to see you. My stomach dropped. Tell them I’m in a meeting. I did. They said they’ll wait. I could have had security escort them out, but that would cause a scene.
Better to just get it over with. Fine, tell them I’ll meet them at the coffee shop across the street in 10 minutes. I grabbed my coat and walked over. Mom and dad were already sitting at a corner table when I arrived. I sat down and didn’t order anything. This has gone on long enough, Dad said. We all overreacted.
It’s time to move past this and reconcile. move past it,” I repeated. “Yes,” Mom said. “We’re family. Families fight and then they make up. That’s how it works.” I stared at her. “You think this is just a fight? What else would it be?” Dad asked. “You ignored me my entire life. You forgot my birthdays. You gave Chase everything and gave me cards.
You didn’t invite me to Christmas for 13 years. And the only reason you’re here now is because you want something from me. Mom looked uncomfortable. I saw photos of that house. It’s very large for someone who lives alone. There it was. And your brother and Paige really need more space now with the baby coming. Dad added, “You should let them move in just for a little while. I couldn’t believe it.
Even after everything, they were still asking for this. You came to my workplace to ask me to give Chase my house. Not give, Mom said quickly. Just let them stay there. You’re barely using it anyway. You have your apartment in the city. That house is mine. I bought it with money I earned. Chase has a good job and a pregnant wife.
He can buy his own house. He’s saving for the baby. Dad said medical expenses, furniture, all of that adds up. You could help him out the way you helped me out by forgetting I existed. Stop being dramatic. Dad said, “We’re here trying to mend this relationship and you’re throwing it back in our faces.” I stood up.
I don’t want a relationship with you. Any of you? You had 31 years to be parents to me and you chose not to. Now you want back in because I have something you want. The answer is no. Louise, mom started. If you contact me again, if you come to my work again, if you show up at my apartment or my house, I will file for a restraining order. I’m not kidding.
Leave me alone. I walked out before they could respond. My hands were shaking, but I felt lighter somehow, like I’d finally said everything I needed to say. They didn’t contact me again after that. I heard through Grandma that Chase and Paige had their baby in March. A girl. I didn’t send a gift. I didn’t call.
I felt nothing about it. Now it’s been almost a year since that Christmas when everything changed. I still work at Cornerstone Creative Solutions and I’m doing better than ever. Got another promotion in June. My apartment in the city is comfortable and my mountain house is my sanctuary. I go up there most weekends, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends.
I’ve hosted dinner parties, game nights, even a small wedding for one of my cousins. My parents and Chase occasionally post things on social media, family photos where they all look perfect. Captions about being blessed. I’m never in any of them. I don’t care. I have my own life now. One where I’m not constantly waiting for approval that will never come.
Grandma comes up to visit once a month. We cook together and she tells me how proud she is of me. That’s the only approval I need. Sometimes people ask if I miss my family. The honest answer is no. You can’t miss something you never really had. What I have now is better. Peace, freedom, and a life that’s completely my own.
