The awful, rainy days became my only escape.

I worried about homework and how to beat my little brother, while everything else was my parents' obligation. Or so I thought.

Sunny days used to mean we'd be going on a fun outing to explore and play, until the day suited men appeared at the door. Mom and Dad showed a side I didn't think possible and one that I didn't want to see again.

Even though my parents stopped answering, the suited men kept coming day after day. They would get tired and go away, but the uneasiness would stay for the rest of the day.

Mom and Dad argued over whose fault it was, while my little brother and I could only curl up in the corner and cry. I covered his ears, but no one covered mine.

The months passed. We weren't allowed to go outside anymore. The curtains were shut and more furniture would go missing. It didn't take long for it to be our toys' turn. My little brother hated to fight, so I fought for him, but I didn't expect my parents to fight back. I could see nothing more than fear and despair in their eyes.

They would disappear so often that I had to make breakfast and dinner while the suited men knocked on the door, which we could only ignore. Only on the rainy days were we at peace, so my little brother and I prayed for them to appear.

Years passed. I couldn't call my house a home anymore. It was empty. Only my brother kept me from running away. He wanted me to help, but how could a kid do that? It was already a miracle we were able to go to school, even though there were days when we couldn't wash our clothes or ourselves.

I took advantage of what I could, especially at school, where I skipped class to spend time in the computer laboratory. I had heard there were millions of jobs on a computer, so I taught myself how to use one.

There were hundreds of things to do, but how could a kid compete against experienced adults? I tried taking surveys, but they paid too little. I tried drawing, but I sucked at it. I tried programming, but I hated it. Although I needed money as soon as possible, I also knew I had to invest time to get it, of which I had little.

Then, I found it. A website where people requested others to make songs for their videos, games, events, or whatever. I had no idea how to make a song, so the research began.

I skipped the theory part and jumped straight into the software. Luckily, it was free, and it simulated any instrument flawlessly. I started by copying my favorite songs, then I made changes to make them my own.

I sent the songs to as many requests as possible. I couldn't believe my eyes when the terras in my account's wallet started to rise only a day later. My reputation also rose quickly, allowing me to ask for even more money. The problem came when I couldn't withdraw it.

I tried to open my own bank account, but all of them required my parents' signature, which was out of the question. I had begun to see their flaws as I became older, one of them being sucking at managing their money. I had to do it myself.

The solution was rather simple. I took advantage of them being distracted and asked them to sign a consent form so I could go to a school event, which they signed without reading a single word.

I had money now, but I didn't have a way to give it to my parents without them forcing me to give all of it to them. Nonetheless, I realized I didn't want to anyway. They had traumatized their children and ignored them for years; they deserved to struggle. The quality of my little brother's life and mine is what mattered.

I bought books and games for him, while I bought instruments for myself, the first one being a beautiful, dark-blue acoustic guitar with pinkish-red details. Before I realized it, I had become an instrument collector. Luckily, my parents never entered our bedroom.

Until one day, a letter addressed to my parents arrived soon after I had upgraded my junior bank account to a personal one. I was used to them yelling at us to come to the living room, so I didn't expect the situation to be different.

They had been fined for using a child's bank account to receive money for professional activities and evading taxes.

Slapping me was the first thing that crossed their minds, then they asked me to give them all of my money. I refused until I couldn't bear the pain anymore. I gave them the money and it felt like I was doing it out of pity.

However, I didn't expect what came next. They kicked me out of the house, despite them telling us that everything was going to be alright and that they cared about my little brother and me. Deep inside, I knew they were lying, but I refused to believe it.

They abandoned me to my own luck. I only had one day to pack my stuff. Luckily, a classmate let me stay at his place until university started, which made it easier to rent an apartment.

My parents wanted to sell my instruments when they found them, but I fought for them. I felt so bad for keeping them in my classmate's apartment. As soon as I got another job, I saved enough money to rent a unit to keep the instruments in, then I moved to my own apartment.

To top it all off, my parents sold all of my brother's books and games and, once they found out that I was still helping him with money, they kicked him out. Now, I had to take care of both of us.

I lost what little respect I had left for my parents. I locked them out of my mind and my heart.