After eight years of being excluded, I bought a beachfront resort, then booked it full. Told my mom, “Just like your house, mine’s out of room.”
My name is Amelia, and I’m a freelance graphic designer. Olivia, my sister, is 35 and married to Mike.
They have four children, Jack, 12, Ava, 10, James, 8, and Arya, 6. Evelyn, our 62-year-old mother, has always played favorites. Guess who was not a favorite?
For the past eight years, our family has had the custom of spending two weeks each summer at Mom’s Beach Cottage in North Carolina. It’s a nices-ized home with four bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a lovely view of the beach. There’s plenty of space for a typical family gathering.
Right? Wrong. Every year, without fail, Mom would call me in March with the following speech.
“Amelia, honey, I’m so sorry, but there’s just not enough room at the beach house this year. Olivia’s family is so big now, and you know how the kids need their space. Maybe next year we can work something out.”
Meanwhile, Olivia would receive royal treatment.
Mom would spend weeks preparing for their arrival, equipping the house with all of their favorite delicacies, purchasing new beach toys for the kids, and essentially spreading out the red carpet. Olivia’s family would pack into that house like they owned it, scattering their belongings over and acting as if they were the only ones who mattered. What is the worst part?
Every summer, my two children, Alex, nine, and Mia, seven, would ask me why they couldn’t go to Grandma’s beach cottage like their cousins. What was I supposed to tell them? That Grandma didn’t consider us important enough.
It wasn’t just about vacation space. This was about 8 years of witnessing Mom go above and beyond for Olivia while treating me as an afterthought. Olivia married her college lover, Mike, shortly after graduation, gave birth to four children in six years, and somehow became Mom’s golden child.
Mike worked in sales and earned a good living, but nothing exceptional. Nonetheless, they were consistently portrayed as the successful ones. Me?
I started my graphic design firm from scratch four years ago following my divorce. I work my buttocks off, often working 12-hour days to increase my customer base and keep food on the table for my children. But because I work from home and don’t have a regular 9-to-five job, Mom always assumed I was unemployed.
“Amelia still figuring things out,” she’d tell relatives during family gatherings. Olivia enjoyed her stable life with Mike and the children. She would make tiny remarks anytime we were together.
“Must be nice to have such a flexible schedule,” she’d say, flashing a phony, charming smile. I couldn’t handle not knowing where my next paycheck was coming from. The beach house incident was just the most evident evidence of partiality.
Every year, I’d see Olivia post dozens of Instagram photographs from their fantastic family vacation at my mother’s beach house. The kids making sand castles, Mike grilling on the deck, Olivia relaxing in the hammock with a drink. Meanwhile, my children and I would spend the two weeks at home, sometimes going to the neighborhood pool or watching movies.
Last summer was the breaking point. I had just secured my largest client yet, a software business that asked me to overhaul their whole brand identity. It was a six-f figureure contract that would set us up well for the year.
I was eager to announce the news during Mom’s birthday party in June. “That’s wonderful, dear,” Mom exclaimed when I told her about the deal. “Maybe now you can think about getting a more stable job.”
Olivia laughed.
“Come on, Mom. Amelia likes playing around on her computer. It’s not like she’s ready for a real career.”
I kept my mouth shut like I always do.
However, later that evening, while Mom was giving her yearly, “Sorry, not enough room” speech about the beach house, Olivia decided to twist the knife. “You know, Amelia,” she remarked in a voice that everyone heard. “Maybe if you had a real job, you could afford your own vacation.
The rest of us shouldn’t have to sacrifice our family time because you can’t get your life together.”
Mom gave a nod. “Olivia has a point. Honey, Mike works so hard and those kids deserve their vacation.
Maybe when you’re more established.”
I smiled and nodded like I did for the previous seven years. “Of course, I understand. I hope you all have a good time.”
But within, I was done.
Absolutely finished. That tech startup deal was only the beginning. Word spread about my work, and I soon had more clients than I could handle.
I boosted my fees, became more choosy about clients, and began to establish something larger than a freelance firm. By October, I had a stable enough income to recruit two people. By December, I’d secured three additional significant corporate clients.
By February, I was looking for office space and thinking about expanding into digital marketing services. The money was coming in, but I hadn’t told anyone in my family. I continued to drive my old Honda, live in the same modest house, and dress the same way I always did.
As far as they knew, I was still fooling around with my computer. In March, right around the time Mom would call with her not enough room lecture, I made an offer on a tiny resort property approximately 2 hours from the beach house. It wasn’t huge, only 12 rooms, a restaurant, and a magnificent stretch of private beach, but it was ideal for my needs.
The previous owners had driven it to the ground and were desperate to sell. I purchased it for a fraction of its value and immediately engaged a management business to handle day-to-day operations while I worked on renovations. By May, the resort had been transformed.
I had spent about $200,000 on enhancements, including new furnishings, entirely refurbished rooms, a stunning infinity pool overlooking the beach, and a children’s play area that would make Disney jealous. The restaurant served five-star cuisine, and the entire setting looked like something out of a luxury travel magazine. I named it Seaside Haven Resort, and it was simply stunning.
Most importantly, it was mine. All mine. It soft opened in June with a few paying customers to iron out any issues.
Everything went smoothly. The reviews were fantastic and bookings for the summer were already coming in fast. Meanwhile, Olivia was sharing her typical pre-ation stuff on social media.
Photographs of the kids shopping for beach attire, Mike loading the car, and eager notes about their annual family tradition at Grandma’s place. Mom called me in late June, delivering her anticipated spiel. “Amelia, honey, I’m so sorry, but—”
“I know, Mom.
Not enough room.”
“No worries at all. Alex and Mia and I have other plans this year anyway.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, dear. Where are you going?”
“Just a little place I found.
Nothing fancy.”
In the first week of July, I drove to Seaside Haven with my children. I had reserved us the greatest suite in the hotel, a two-bedroom beachfront room with a private balcony and direct beach access. Alex and Mia could not believe it.
“Mom, this place is incredible,” Mia exclaimed as she ran around the suite. “Are we really staying here for two whole weeks?”
“We sure are, baby girl.”
We spent our days on the private beach, eating delicious food at the restaurant, swimming in the infinity pool, and participating in all of the activities I had planned, including horseback riding, deep sea fishing, and kayaking. We’d never been able to afford this vacation before.
And having my children enjoy it was well worth the money I invested. But the best was yet to come. In August, I began making telephone calls.
First, I contacted my uncle Benjamin and aunt Carol, Mom’s brother and sister-in-law. They’d always been kind to me and my kids. And they had three children about Alex and Mia’s age.
“Hey, Uncle Benjamin. I wanted to invite you guys to spend Labor Day weekend at this resort. I know.
All expenses paid. Food, activities, everything. I just want to treat the family to something special.”
“Amelia, that’s incredibly generous, but we couldn’t possibly.”
“I insist.
I’ve had a really good year business-wise, and I want to share it with the people who matter to me.”
I then contacted my cousin David, Mom’s nephew, and his wife Jennifer. They had two teenagers who never got to have fun since money was tight. “Dave, how would you guys like to spend a long weekend at a five-star resort?
My treat. I know money’s been tight since Jennifer got laid off, and I thought the family could use a break.”
I contacted my father’s sister, Aunt Nancy, and her husband. I contacted my second cousins, the Martinez family, who had always
