I’m Kayla, and I’m 20 years old. My dad walked out when I was born, and my mom wasn’t really around either. They separated shortly after I came into the world, and neither of them tried very hard to be part of my life. Both eventually moved on and built their own families, so I rarely see them now.
I grew up with my grandfather—my mom’s father. He always told me that my parents had chosen not to keep me, that they didn’t want the responsibility of raising a child. My grandparents formally adopted me, though my grandmother passed away when I was very little, leaving Grandpa as my only family.
Grandpa was everything to me. When he passed away, he left me his house and his savings. Almost immediately after that, my phone was flooded with angry messages from my step-siblings, all insisting that I share what I had inherited. I didn’t reply to any of them—until my mom reached out. She didn’t ask for money; instead, she told me the truth about why my grandparents had stepped in.
It turns out it wasn’t that my parents didn’t want me. Grandpa had meddled and steered the situation. At the time, my parents were living a carefree, very hippy-ish lifestyle with almost no money, and he persuaded them that it would be better for me to stay with him until they became more stable. They agreed, though reluctantly. About a year later, my mom became desperate to have me back. And this is where her story really shook me.
My mom said she had begged for me, that she had wanted to come back into my life, but Grandpa refused. He even went to court to make his custody permanent. He had the money, the influence, and a convincing narrative that painted my parents as unreliable. The judge sided with him.
That was the moment I realized my childhood had been shaped by someone else’s version of the truth. For the first time, I started questioning everything I’d ever been told about my parents—and about myself.
Now my mom and her family insist that Grandpa tricked everyone and that I’m supposed to “fix things” by handing over everything he left me. I feel completely torn. For as long as I can remember, I believed Grandpa was the most loving, dependable person I had; the one I could always count on. And now I’m discovering that so much of what I believed wasn’t true.
I genuinely don’t know who to believe anymore. If my parents truly wanted me, why didn’t they reach out during all these years? Why is my mom only revealing this now? And why should I be expected to give up my inheritance because of it? What if she’s just trying to seem like the caring parent she never was, when in reality, she couldn’t care less about me?
I feel completely trapped and at a loss.
