Mom moved to Italy and married an Italian man. Last summer, she decided to organize a family gathering — she invited my sister and me to Italy, and everything seemed perfect. We cooked together, walked the streets of a small Italian town.

But on the last day, everything changed. During the farewell dinner, Mom did something I can’t forgive. Because of it, I even started to resent my own sister. And now… how am I supposed to keep a relationship with them?

I’ll tell you what happened in the first comment 

Since childhood, I’ve felt that love was not distributed equally in our family. Mom always had a favorite — Marie, my sister.

If we both misbehaved, only I got punished. If we argued, I was always the one to blame.

When it came time to apply to university, I worked hard and got in on a scholarship. Marie didn’t — and Mom paid for her tuition without hesitation.

I lived in a tiny dorm room with two roommates and ate mostly pasta. My sister lived in a cozy rented apartment with new furniture and weekly care packages from Mom.

After our father died, Mom went to Italy for work. She gave her apartment to Marie.

A few years later, she married an Italian man. I can’t deny he’s a good person — polite, caring, calm. It was strange to feel more warmth from him in one week than I ever got from my mom.

Then came Marie’s divorce. She moved back in with Mom with her two kids, and Mom started supporting her completely — housing, clothes, food, even vacations by the sea.

Last summer, Mom invited all of us to Italy. It felt like we were really bonding. I wanted to believe things were finally changing.

But during the farewell dinner, reality hit once again.

— Sweetheart, here, I know things are tough — Mom said and handed Marie an envelope.

Inside was €10,000. Her kids got €1,000 each. My son and I — nothing.

I stayed silent, but my eyes revealed my pain. Mom noticed and, as if she had rehearsed it, smiled and said:

— But you’re successful — you don’t need my help!

And it’s true, I don’t. And it’s not about the money. At that moment, I didn’t want euros — I wanted recognition, a bit of warmth, just a simple phrase: “You did great, I’m proud of you.”

But Mom always chose Marie. And even on that final evening — she made her choice once again.