“My Brother Hasn’t Spoken to Me in Years, and Now He Wants to Move In. I Just Don’t Know What to Do”

When I was 16, my world turned upside down. My father, who had been my rock and my guide, passed away suddenly from a heart attack. It was a devastating blow for our family. My older brother, Jeffrey, was 24 at the time and had already moved out of the house to start his own life. Before my father passed, he made Jeffrey promise to look after me. “Take care of Serenity,” he said with a weak smile, his eyes filled with concern.

For a while, Jeffrey did his best. He would call me every week, check in on how I was doing, and even visit occasionally. But as time went on, those calls became less frequent, and the visits stopped altogether. By the time I graduated high school, it felt like I had lost not just one family member, but two.

I tried reaching out to Jeffrey multiple times over the years. I left voicemails, sent texts, and even wrote letters. But all I got in return was silence. It was as if he had vanished from my life completely. I moved on as best as I could, went to college, and eventually found a job in a different city. I built a life for myself, but the absence of my brother always lingered in the back of my mind.

Then, out of the blue, I received a message from Jeffrey. It was short and to the point: “Hey Serenity, it’s Jeffrey. I need a place to stay for a while. Can I move in with you?” My heart raced as I read those words. After all these years of silence, he suddenly wanted to be a part of my life again? I didn’t know what to think or how to feel.

I called him immediately, and for the first time in years, we spoke. His voice was different—older, more tired. He explained that he had fallen on hard times. He had lost his job, his apartment, and was struggling to make ends meet. He needed a place to stay while he got back on his feet.

Part of me wanted to help him. After all, he was my brother, and family is supposed to stick together through thick and thin. But another part of me was angry and hurt. Where had he been all these years when I needed him? Why should I open my home to someone who had abandoned me?

I told him I needed time to think about it. Over the next few days, I wrestled with my emotions. I talked to friends and even sought advice from a therapist. Everyone had different opinions—some said I should help him because he’s family, while others warned me to protect myself from potential heartache.

In the end, I decided to let Jeffrey move in with me temporarily. But things didn’t go as smoothly as I had hoped. The initial excitement of reconnecting with my brother quickly faded as old wounds resurfaced. We argued frequently about our past and the choices he had made. It became clear that we were two very different people who had grown apart over the years.

Jeffrey struggled to find a job and spent most of his days moping around the apartment. The tension between us grew unbearable. One night, after a particularly heated argument, he packed his bags and left without saying a word.

I haven’t heard from him since.

Looking back, I realize that some wounds are too deep to heal completely. While I wanted to believe that we could rebuild our relationship, the reality was much more complicated. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is let go and move forward with your life.