I always dreamed of being in my brothers shoes, but everything soon changed.
My mother fell pregnant with me at eighteen. My father left the moment he heard the newshe wanted no part of family life, only endless revelry and friends. My grandparents were furious. In a small town near Manchester, having a child out of wedlock was a disgrace, and my grandfather threw her out, shouting, “I wont have such an irresponsible girl under my roof!” I can scarcely imagine what she enduredso young, alone, with a baby in her arms. Yet she persevered: she enrolled in an open university, found work, and poured herself into it. We were given a room in a shelter, and so our life together began. I grew up faster than other childrenI did the shopping, the cleaning, reheated meals. Playtime? There was none. From an early age, I was her rock, her only man.
I never complainedI took pride in it. Then Victor came into our lives. I liked him well enoughhe brought chocolates, made Mum smile, looked after her. She glowed in his presence, and one day she told me, “Victor and I are getting married. Well move into a proper house.” I was overjoyedI longed for a real father and hoped Victor might be one. At first, all was wonderful. I had my own space, could rest, listen to music, read books. Victor helped Mum, and her eyes sparkled with happiness.
Then she announced she was expecting. Soon after, Victor said to me, “Youll have to move to the box room. Thatll be the babys nursery.” I didnt understandthe house was large, why me? The next day, my things were piled into a cramped corner where only a bed would fit. It was unfair, but I bore it in silenceI was used to enduring.
When my little brother Oliver was born, the nightmare began. His cries kept me awake; I stumbled through the days like a ghost. My school marks plummeted, teachers scolded me, and Mum snapped, “You must set an example for your brother! Stop shaming us, you lazy boy!” As Oliver grew, new duties fell to metaking him to the park, pushing his pram. Other children mocked me, and I burned with embarrassment, but I held my tongue. The best of everythingtoys, clotheswent to Oliver. If I asked for anything, Victor would say curtly, “No money.” I took my brother to nursery, fetched him, cooked, cleanedI lived waiting for the day hed grow up so I could be free.
Oliver started school, and Mum ordered me to help with his studies. He was spoiled, wilfulhe barely tried, and when I corrected him, hed whine to Mum. She always took his side: “Youre the elderbe patient!” He was shuffled from school to school but failed everywhere. In the end, he was sent to a private academy where poor marks were overlookedfor a fee. I trained as a mechanic, not by choice but to escape that house.
Then came night classes and workI laboured day and night, saving for my own place. I married, found peace. And Oliver? Victor bought him a flat, but he still lives with our parents, rents it out, and squanders the money. He wont work, just lounges about watching telly. One New Years Eve, we gathered at my parents. His latest girlfriend, Lucy, was there. I overheard them in the kitchen.
“Youre lucky with your husband,” she said to my wife, Emily. “George is so hardworking, responsible. Why isnt Oliver like that? I ask him to settle down, start a family, but he clings to his mother. The rent money does us no good.”
“Yes, George is wonderful,” Emily smiled. “Forget Oliverhe doesnt deserve you. Hed make a poor husband.”
I stood frozen. Olivers girlfriends came and wentMum chased them off, deeming none worthy of her “golden boy.” And he? He never resisted, content to laze in his cocoon. And then I understood: I no longer envied him. All Id once longed forto be in his placewas empty. Fate gave me trials, but also rewards. I have a family, a loving wife, a daughter, a home I built myself. I am proud. For the first time, Im glad Im not Oliver. My life is my victoryhard-won, and true.
