I always wanted to be in my brother’s place — but everything changed.

My mother got pregnant with me when she was eighteen. As soon as she found out, my father left us. He didn’t want a family — just parties and friends. My mother’s parents, my grandparents, were furious. In the small village near Salamanca, having a child without a husband was seen as a disgrace. My grandfather kicked her out of the house, shouting, “I don’t want to see such a reckless daughter again!” I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for her — so young and alone, holding a baby in her arms. But she pulled through: she enrolled in distance education, found a job, though it left her physically and mentally exhausted. She was given a room in a shelter, and that’s where our life began. I had to grow up faster than other kids — I did the shopping, cleaned, and heated up meals. Playtime? There was no time. From an early age, I was her support, her only man.

I never complained — I was proud of that. But soon, Víctor came into our lives. I liked him: he brought sweets, took us out for nice things, and cared for my mother. She blossomed by his side, and one day she said, “Víctor and I are getting married. We’re moving into a big house.” I felt happy. I dreamed of having a real father and hoped Víctor would be that person. At first, everything felt like a fairy tale. I had my own space, could rest, listen to music, read books. Víctor helped my mom, and her eyes sparkled with joy.

But then she announced she was pregnant. And soon after, Víctor said, “You’ll have to move into the storage room, Ignacio. That’ll be the baby’s room.” I didn’t understand — the house had plenty of rooms. Why me? The next day, my things were already moved to a tiny space where barely a bed fit. It felt unfair, but I stayed quiet. I had learned to endure.

When my brother Miguelito was born, the nightmare began. His cries kept me awake, and I went to school like a zombie. My grades dropped, my teachers scolded me, and my mom yelled, “You need to be a role model for your brother! Stop embarrassing us, you lazy boy!” Miguelito grew, and I was given new responsibilities: I had to take him out for walks, push his stroller around the neighborhood. Other kids laughed at me, and I blushed with shame, but I kept quiet. Everything nice — the toys, the clothes — was bought for Miguelito. If I asked for anything, Víctor would say coldly, “There’s no money.” I dropped Miguelito off at daycare, picked him up, fed him, cleaned the house… living with the hope that one day, he’d grow up and leave me alone.

When Miguelito started school, my mother ordered me to help him with homework. He was spoiled, demanding, a terrible student, and every time I tried to help, he would run to my mom and complain. She always defended him and I was the one who got scolded: “You’re the older one — be more patient!” They moved him from school to school, but he failed at all of them. Eventually, they enrolled him in a private school where, thanks to money, they overlooked his poor performance. As for me, I enrolled in a vocational training center to become a mechanic — not because I wanted to, but to get away from home.

Later on, I studied remotely, worked day and night, saved up, and finally got my own place. I got married and found peace. And Miguelito? Víctor gave him an apartment, but even then, he still lived with our parents. He rented the apartment and spent the money on nonsense. He didn’t want to work — he spent his days in front of the television.

One New Year’s Day, we all gathered at my parents’ house. Miguelito showed up with his new girlfriend, Elena. By chance, I overheard a conversation in the kitchen.

“You’re lucky you married the good brother,” she told my wife, Marta. “Ignacio is so hardworking, so responsible. Why can’t Miguelito be like him? I ask him to move in with me, to start a family, but he won’t leave his mother’s side. He’s got rental income — but what’s the point?”

“Yes, Ignacio is a good man,” Marta smiled. “Forget Miguelito. He doesn’t deserve you. He’ll never be a good husband.”

I stood frozen. Miguelito was always changing girlfriends, but none of them ever stayed long. My mom drove them all away — she said none were good enough for her “golden boy.” And he never resisted. He lived inside his laziness like a cocoon.

And that’s when I realized: I no longer envied him. Everything I once wanted — to be like him — was nothing but an empty illusion. Life had tested me, but it had also rewarded me. Today I have a family, a loving wife, a daughter, a home I built with my own hands. I’m proud of myself.

And for the first time in my life, I’m glad I’m not Miguelito.
My life is my victory — fought for, deserved, and real.