My father left me his house because he knew I’d cherish it. My mother and my brother, Tyler, each received $10,000, which left them bitter. For a year, I let Mom stay and treat the place like hers just to keep the peace. But one rainy May afternoon, Tyler and his wife, Gwen, marched into my entryway with eight suitcases. They didn’t ask; they just declared they were moving in to “save on rent.” Mom encouraged them, telling me I should be “grateful for the company.”
Life became a nightmare. Dishes piled up, food vanished, and I was treated like a maid in my own home. When Gwen announced she was pregnant, the entitlement reached a fever pitch. I became their personal errand runner and chef. One morning, Mom woke me up at 5:10 AM just to get Gwen a McDonald’s McMuffin. When I brought it home, Gwen took one bite and pushed it away because it was “cold.”
They stole my birthday cupcakes. They broke into my room when I tried to use a mini-fridge to protect my food. Every time I protested, they screamed, “She’s pregnant!” as if it were a license to be cruel.
The final straw came after a 14-hour day of classes and work. I hadn’t eaten all day and finally made myself a bowl of mushroom pasta using my dad’s recipe. I stepped away for ten minutes to answer an urgent email, and when I returned, Gwen was finishing the last of it.
When I yelled at her, Tyler and Mom rushed in, calling me “selfish” and “heartless.” Tyler even mocked me, saying Gwen needed “proper nutrition” more than I did.
I realized then that they would never respect me as the owner of the house. I made one phone call to my Uncle Bob, a successful real estate developer who had always wanted to buy the property.
I sold the house to him for $2 million.
The next morning, I handed them their legal eviction notices. The shock on their faces was priceless. Mom screamed that I was a “monster,” and Tyler tried to threaten me, but the house was no longer mine to give—it was Uncle Bob’s, and he had a professional security team ready to escort them out.
I packed my bags and stayed with a friend until they were gone. I blocked their numbers and ignored their social media rants calling me “heartless.” With my $2 million, I bought a cozy cottage in a quiet neighborhood. Standing on my new porch, I received one final text from Mom: “You’ve made us homeless. I hope you’re happy, you selfish monster.”
I deleted the text and blocked her for good. My dad would have been proud of me—not for selling the house, but for finally standing up for myself.
