I'm 14 male when ask this happens, I'm from Alabama and this is something I needed others options about. I'm not good with grammar so I put this through chat gpt to fix the grammar but it's a real story. None of these are real names.

Characters:

Steve (7, stepbrother)

Emily (31, stepmom)

Dad (39, my biological dad)

Mom (32, my biological mom)

Pawpaw (61, dad’s dad)

Me (15 now, male – main character)

Some backstory: Over the years, my younger brothers and I have fought, but because I’m older than all of them, I usually get in trouble. I’m not saying I’ve always been perfect—there have been times I was mean. One example: I pushed my brother into the pool once. I admit I’ve messed up in the past, but I need to know—did I really deserve this?

The day started like any other. I woke up with a runny nose and a cough—nothing serious. No yelling, no stress. Just a chill day. We went to Piggly Wiggly, grabbed some chicken wings, and I cooked them for the few of us at the house.

Everything was fine… until around 5:30 PM.

Now, I don’t play Xbox much, but that day I saw Steve (my sibling) playing GTA 5, which is one of my favorite games. We have a rule when we play: if you die or fail a mission, you pass the controller. Simple.

Dabo dies, so I tell him it’s my turn. He doesn’t like that and runs off with the controller. I chase him and tackle him onto his bed—nothing serious, we’re both laughing and just wrestling around like brothers do. At one point, he tucks the controller under his stomach and won’t let go. Still laughing, I yank it out from under him.

Once I had it, he walked off to the kitchen, and I replugged the controller and kept playing. This whole thing lasted maybe two minutes.

Then, a couple minutes later, my stepmom Emily calls me into the kitchen. I set the controller down, shout “Yes, ma’am,” and walk in.

She’s standing over steve near the pantry, and my dad’s sitting on the counter. First thing I notice: steve has a red mark—like 6 or 7 inches wide—under his arm where the controller had been. It looked dramatic, but honestly, it would've faded in 30 minutes.

As soon as I walk in, Emily starts going off on me. Says I bully all my siblings and that my dad just lets it happen. Then she really loses it and yells something I’ll never forget:

“YOU ARE A FING BULLY!”*

That was it. My last straw. I raised my hand—not to hit her, but to stop her from getting closer to me—and I shouted:

“You do not get to call me a bully IN MY OWN HOUSE!”

She starts screaming that I tried to hit her (I didn’t), and then turns on my dad for “letting it happen.” It turns into a full-blown shouting match. After a few minutes, they tell me to go to my room.

I sit on my bed, tearing up. A few minutes later, my dad comes in and starts recording me on his phone, which felt really weird. But he also says he knows I wasn’t trying to hit her.

Then he drops a bomb.

He says I have to move out. Start packing. I’m going to live with my Pawpaw (his dad). I ask why I can’t just go live with my mom and my other siblings, and he flat-out says he’ll never allow that.

After some arguing, he leaves. I sit there for a second, then I do something kind of rash.

I call my mom. I tell her what happened and ask her to meet me at the church down the road from my dad’s house.

I throw on a shirt, grab my backpack and phone, and open the window. It’s about a seven-foot drop, but I didn’t care—I needed to get out. I drop my bag, lower myself as much as I can, and jump. I forgot my shoes in the rush, but I didn’t care.

I start running barefoot toward the church. On the way, my dad texts me: “Where are you?”

Then Pawpaw calls. He says he’s almost there and wants to know where I am. I tell him I love him, but I’m not moving in with him.

Right as I say that, I see his car turning down the road.

I make it to the church—it’s about a mile from the house—and he pulls up. He’s actually kind and comforting when I tell him everything. Then he drives back to my dad’s house to get some of my stuff.

Not long after, my mom shows up and I sit with her while we wait. Then my dad comes to the church—not to check on me, but to take my phone, since it originally belonged to my stepmom.

After that, my mom and I drive back to my dad’s house to pick up more of my things. He writes up a quick agreement saying I can live with my mom until the end of 9th grade.

I’m 15 now, and I still think about that day a lot. I know I’ve made mistakes with my siblings, but I never meant to hurt anyone. I was just playing and laughing with my brother.

So… do you think I deserved to be treated like that?