Long time reader/lurker, first time poster. For context, I’m going to include some backstory. I (28F) have two older brothers, Alex (30M) and Anthony (36M) (fake names for privacy). I’ve always been close with Alex, but not so much with Anthony. We had a big age gap growing up, and our household was chaotic, but I still love him.

Our dad (who isn’t Anthony’s biological father, but raised him from a young age) was a very angry and volatile man. He never laid a hand on me that I remember, but he treated my brothers—especially Anthony—very harshly. There was a lot of yelling, threats, and tension in our home. I’ve always been into horror movies, and as a kid, my nightmares would often replace movie villains with my dad, which probably says a lot about how unsafe I felt.

I was absolutely terrified of him growing up. Our mother eventually divorced him after a particularly bad incident involving Anthony, who was about 13 or 14 at the time. If you ask Anthony about it now, he sadly insists he “deserved it,” which has always broken my heart to hear.

Although my dad never hurt me physically, Anthony sometimes took out his own trauma on Alex and me. I remember some scary moments when I was a kid where Anthony lashed out in ways that crossed a line. I hated him for a long time because of it, but as I got older, I realized he was just a hurt kid with no outlet for his anger. I forgave him, but we’ve never been very close.

At the time, Alex and I shared a bedroom with bunk beds. Eventually, my mom decided I needed my own space, and I got my own room. I was excited at first, but soon I missed Alex a lot. Meanwhile, Alex and Anthony started sharing a room and bonding really deeply, which they still do to this day. I’ve sometimes felt jealous and hurt by that bond — like I was being left out — but I always tried to shrug it off as them having more in common.

Sometimes I wonder if Anthony also has ADHD and tends to forget I exist, because I have ADHD too and I know I’ve accidentally done that to people.

Later, Alex moved in with our dad while I stayed with my mom. Anthony was older and already out of the house. I would visit my dad’s mainly to see Alex, but I never felt comfortable around my dad. Even though he had mellowed a bit with age, he still had a nasty temper and often said unsettling things.

Growing up, I realized he held really hateful views — racist, sexist, homophobic — and he wasn’t shy about expressing them. He told me as a little girl that there were jobs “women couldn’t do,” and that I shouldn’t even try certain things (like when I said I wanted to work construction after helping my great-grandfather mix concrete when I was ten). He also made comments about people’s identities and relationships that made me feel very uncomfortable and ashamed growing up.

He used slurs casually and often, including the “n-word,” and made it clear he didn’t see anything wrong with it, despite me repeatedly telling him how upsetting it was.

When I was 11, I was playing softball and was really good. One time, he promised to come watch me play, but he didn’t show up. I later found out he had been in a motorcycle accident while racing a friend — while he had lied about to me and said he was “on the way” to my game. I was wracked with guilt over it for years before my mom told me the truth.

That was the pattern: lies, manipulation, and broken promises.

I often felt completely unwanted by him. At one point, after enduring my mom’s harsh treatment at home, I asked to live with him instead. He refused, saying he “didn’t know how to raise a girl.” Then, not long after, he moved in a girlfriend and her three daughters. That stung.

He never remembered my birthday, even though I repeatedly told him how much that hurt me. He would remember his girlfriend’s birthday, but not mine — even asking me to help bake cakes for other people while forgetting about me entirely.

I don’t think he even knows my middle name.

As a kid, he never called, never texted, and when I visited, it was usually because my mom hounded him about it. He didn’t come to my games, my choir performances, my plays — it always felt like I was invisible to him.

Later, when I was pregnant, I found myself in a tough situation with a broken-down car. He had promised when I was younger that he would match whatever savings I had for a car. When I called him for help, desperate, he refused — and suggested I “share” a car with my brothers, even though we lived in different states.

That was my breaking point. I called him out on everything — the years of neglect, the broken promises, the manipulation — and I blocked him.

I ended up saving the money myself and bought a car without any help.

Fast forward: after my child was born, he suddenly showed up. No apology, no acknowledgment of anything — just trying to play the role of “dad” in front of others. It was awkward and felt very fake. I think Anthony was the one who brought him around at the time.

Shortly before giving birth, I had needed major repairs on my car and opened a credit card through the mechanic to cover it. My dad promised to pay it off as a way of “making things right,” and I foolishly believed him.

Instead, he made one payment and then ignored it for months without telling me. My once perfect credit score plummeted. When my boyfriend and I tried to move into a better place for our new family, we were denied because of the damage.

It took nearly eight years to fix my credit.

This never had to happen either, as I had mentioned I was going to pay it off with my tax return, but he went out of his way to tell me he would take care of it and to use that money on my new baby instead.

When I found out what he had done, I was devastated and furious. I paid the debt off myself and cut him off again for almost four years.

Fast forward again: at Anthony’s wedding, he tried to mend our relationship. Naively, I let him back into my life.

For a while, it was actually good. He helped me fix my car, taught me small repairs, and for the first time, I felt like I actually had a dad.

Then COVID hit. I lost my income as a contract cleaner almost overnight. My dad offered to let me and my child move in with him in another state. Since both my brothers were also living in that state, I agreed.

At first, things were okay. But over time, all the old issues started bubbling up. The same toxic, hateful comments about race, gender, and politics resurfaced. Despite me asking him over and over to stop using certain slurs, he refused. He would corner me into exhausting “debates” about political and social issues, which felt more like personal attacks.

One day, he asked me to stop using the word “goddamnit” around his religious girlfriend, which I respected and agreed to do. When I asked him to show me the same respect by not using slurs around me, he refused and justified his behavior instead.

At one point, he made a disgusting comment implying that women were responsible for bad things happening to them if they dressed a certain way. It made my stomach turn, and I began avoiding him entirely.

I started working all day doing gig jobs — delivering food, walking dogs, anything to stay busy and out of the house. I would sneak back in late at night just to avoid another confrontation.

Despite all my efforts to avoid conflict, he deliberately cornered me one day in the kitchen over a disagreement about my cats. He suggested having them declawed (which is a cruel and painful procedure), and when I refused, things escalated from there — and not in a safe or calm way.

After that, I knew I couldn’t stay there anymore.

He hurt me really badly. I won’t go into details, but I have permanent nerve damage in my shoulder.

My dad threatened me and told me to “get my stuff and get out of his house.” I didn’t really know anyone else besides my brothers, who lived together with Anthony’s wife, and there was no room in their small apartment. I quite literally had nowhere to go, and he knew that. He was threatening to make me and my child homeless.

Anyway, I ran to get Alex who was upstairs, and he intervened. He kept my dad away from me, and for the rest of the time I was there, I locked myself in my room and avoided my dad at all costs. I would wake up super early and leave before he did, and wouldn’t come back until late in the evenings when he was already asleep.

There were a few times he tried to lock me out, so I started leaving different windows unlocked just to make sure me and my child could get back in.

I saved up money and eventually moved out after getting a steady cleaning job. Once I left, I went completely no-contact with him. I also spoke out on social media, including sharing a photo of my injuries. I was severely bruised for an entire month, and to this day, I still deal with the lasting effects in my shoulder.

I never wanted to see this man again, and my family knew this. They all saw the bruises. They all knew what he did to me. They were fully aware of the type of person he had always been.

It hasn’t been easy. I had to cut off people I cared about and even stopped going to family holiday gatherings to avoid seeing him.

I have major PTSD from the incident and from him in general. My heart races, I feel sick when I see a car that looks like his, and I still have nightmares. I don’t feel safe most of the time.

I got a therapist for a short while after, but could only afford a few sessions.

This all happened about three years ago, and now, finally, the fear of him doesn’t haunt my every waking moment.

Anthony and his wife had a baby last year. I adore my niece; she’s the sweetest, funniest little girl. Today was her first birthday party, and I was so excited. I even offered to bake her a cake for free — I’m now a successful caterer specializing in baked goods. (Not to brag, but my cakes are both beautiful and delicious!) They had already ordered one from a bakery, which I was a little bitter about, but I let it go.

I showed up with gifts — one from me, and one my child proudly bought with their own money.

The second I walked through the door, my mom pulled me aside and said, “Your dad is here.”

I felt my stomach drop. I immediately started shaking. I dropped the presents, said “bye,” and turned to leave. My mom begged me to stay — begged me to at least see my niece. I agreed, but only outside. She brought my niece to the garage, where I quickly wished her a happy birthday, but my heart wasn’t in it. I was barely holding myself together.

My mom started talking about how she didn’t recognize him at first, like it was casual small talk. It made me furious. I didn’t want to hear anything about him.

I snapped. I told her I was too upset to talk, and I stormed off, driving out of there in a panic.

I had back-to-back panic attacks. I was crying, laughing, screaming, and punching the car seat in frustration. I felt so betrayed. Nobody warned me — not Anthony, not Alex, not my mom.

They all knew my history with him. My mom had always been supportive of my decision to stay away from him. Anthony never really acknowledged it. Alex sometimes would say our dad was wrong, but would also shift blame onto me, implying that if I had just been more respectful, it wouldn’t have happened.

That always angered me. Nothing — nothing — justifies violence. Especially given the damage I still live with every day.

When I reminded Alex of that, he stopped arguing. But ever since, I could tell he expected me to just “get over it.”

Still, I thought we had an understanding. So when no one warned me — not even when I arrived 20 minutes after the start time — I felt completely betrayed.

Anthony, I was less surprised by, but still deeply hurt.

I knew both of my brothers still spoke to him occasionally, but he’s never been at family events. Why this one? And why no warning?

Here’s where I might have messed up: while having a meltdown in my car, I texted my mom, and my anger definitely spilled over onto her. This was the text conversation:

Me:

Honestly Anthony can go f*** himself and I’m never going over there again. I don’t care what anyone says. I feel completely betrayed. No one warned me, and I can’t believe this. That man is a literal monster. If you had texted me at any point, you KNOW I would not have come. I love [niece’s name] and I hope she has an amazing birthday, but I am having a full blown panic attack right now. I don’t know how I can ever look Anthony in the face again.

Mom:

I don’t know why you’re mad at me. I literally realized he was there 5 minutes before you arrived. We were late because of church. The second I saw him, I ran inside to tell you. Do you honestly think I knew? I don’t even like him. Ffs.

When I found out she didn’t know either, I felt bad. But the fact that all she took away from my text was that I was “mad at her” upset me too. It wasn’t even really about her, but she tends to make everything about herself.

Since then, I turned my phone on “do not disturb” and haven’t answered any texts or calls.

I’m thinking about going no-contact with Anthony — maybe Alex too. I just feel so hurt and betrayed.

I’ll probably try to make up with my mom eventually, but I don’t know what to do. This all happened just a few hours ago, and I’m still reeling.

I’m planning to save up for another therapy session, but in the meantime… AITA?