“You’re a pathetic 40-year-old leech! Get out!” she shouted.
I burst out laughing. “Try to make me,” I said.
She called the police, but when they saw my deed, she had to leave.
Well, let’s go.
I was sitting in my kitchen, sipping my morning coffee and reviewing some design mock-ups on my laptop when the doorbell rang. It was barely 9:00 a.m. on a Tuesday, and I wasn’t expecting anyone. When I opened the door, I found my sister-in-law Sarah standing there with red, puffy eyes and mascara streaks down her cheeks. She walked past me without a word and collapsed onto my couch. That’s when I knew something serious had happened.
Sarah was usually so put together, always perfectly dressed with her blonde hair styled just right. But today, she looked like she’d been through hell.
“It’s Mark,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I found him with another woman. I’m filing for divorce.”
My stomach dropped. Mark was my younger brother, and while we’d had our differences over the years, I never thought he’d cheat on Sarah. They’d been married for 12 years and had two beautiful kids together. Emma, who was 10, and Jake, who was eight. Sarah had always been like a real sister to me. When she and Mark got married, I was genuinely happy because I liked her so much. She was smart, funny, and completely devoted to her family. Over the years, we’d become close friends. I’d babysit Emma and Jake whenever they needed it, and Sarah and I would have coffee dates and shopping trips together.
The divorce proceedings dragged on for months. I supported Sarah through the whole mess, and when the court date finally arrived, I went with her for moral support. That’s where I first saw her—Mark’s new girlfriend. She looked exactly like Sarah had described, young, maybe 25, with long, dark hair and way too much confidence for someone who’d broken up a family. What struck me most was how arrogant she acted. While Sarah sat quietly with her lawyer, this girl kept whispering loudly to Mark and rolling her eyes whenever Sarah’s lawyer spoke. She acted like the whole thing was beneath her, like she was doing everyone a favor just by showing up.
The judge ruled in Sarah’s favor on almost everything. Mark had to give her the house, pay child support for both kids, and cover their health insurance. I watched his face fall as each decision was announced. His girlfriend looked pissed off too, probably realizing that Mark wasn’t as financially secure as she’d thought.
After the hearing, Mark tried to corner me in the courthouse parking lot.
“Rachel, I need you to understand something,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “I’m in love. Really in love. I hope you can see that and understand.”
I looked at him standing there in his wrinkled suit, looking desperate and pathetic.
“Mark, I don’t condemn you for what you did, but I don’t understand it either. You had a good life.”
He nodded like that was enough and walked away with his girlfriend, who was already complaining loudly about something on her phone.
After the divorce was finalized, I found myself spending more time with Sarah and the kids. We’d have dinner together on weekends. I’d help with homework, and sometimes we’d just sit and talk while Emma and Jake played in the backyard. It felt natural, like we were becoming our own little family unit.
Two months passed quietly. I was getting used to our new routine when Mark showed up at my door on a Saturday morning, looking nervous and fidgety.
“Rachel, I need to have a serious conversation with you,” he said.
I made us coffee, and we sat at my kitchen table. He kept fidgeting with his cup, not making eye contact.
“I got married,” he said suddenly.
“Last week. It was just a small ceremony at the courthouse.”
I nearly choked on my coffee. “Married? You didn’t tell anyone?”
“We didn’t invite anyone, not even Mom and Dad. Jessica wanted it to be private.”
“Jessica,” I repeated. So that was her name. “Congratulations, I guess.”
Mark looked miserable.
“That’s the thing, Rachel. Jessica isn’t happy. She hates that we’re living in this tiny rental apartment. She says it’s beneath her.”
I shrugged. “That sounds like your problem to figure out.”
“Actually, I was hoping you could help us out,” he leaned forward, his voice getting pleading. “Could we stay here for a while? Just until I save up enough money to buy us a proper place. Maybe six months tops.”
I stared at him. “You want to move in here with her?”
“Please, Rachel. I’m desperate. Jessica is making my life hell over this apartment situation. If we could just stay here temporarily, I could put all my money towards saving for a down payment.”
The idea made my skin crawl. I disliked his girlfriend from the moment I saw her in court, and the thought of having her in my house made me want to scream. Plus, it would mean Sarah couldn’t come over anymore, and I wasn’t willing to give up my relationship with her and the kids.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mark.”
His face fell. “Please, just think about it. I’ll call you later.”
After he left, I tried to get back to work, but I couldn’t concentrate. An hour later, my phone rang. It was my mother.
“Rachel, honey, Mark told us about his situation,” she said in that tone she always used when she was about to ask me for a favor. “Your father and I think it would be wonderful if you could help them out.”
“Mom, you don’t understand.”
“We do understand, sweetheart. This is a chance for you to help your brother strengthen his new marriage. Jessica is a lovely girl, and she just needs time to adjust. Having a stable home environment would really help them both.”
My father got on the phone.
“Rachel, family helps family. Mark made some mistakes, but he’s trying to do better now. This is your chance to be the bigger person.”
They kept talking, tag-teaming me with guilt and family obligation speeches. I found myself getting worn down by their persistence.
“Fine,” I finally said. “But only for a few months.”
“Oh, thank you, honey,” my mother gushed.
After I hung up, I sat in my kitchen feeling like I just made a huge mistake. But it was too late now. I called Mark back and told him they could move in.
A week later, I was sitting in my living room working on a logo design when I heard a truck rumbling up my driveway. Through the window, I watched as Mark jumped out of the passenger seat of a moving truck, followed by Jessica. She was wearing designer jeans and high heels, completely inappropriate for moving day, but that seemed to be her style.
The truck was huge, way bigger than I’d expected for two people moving from a small apartment. As the movers started unloading boxes and furniture, I realized most of it had to be Jessica’s stuff. There were at least 20 boxes labeled “Jessica’s clothes” and “Jessica’s shoes,” plus a massive vanity table, a treadmill, and what looked like enough beauty products to stock a salon.
I opened the front door as they approached. Mark looked nervous and sweaty, while Jessica walked behind him like she was inspecting a hotel room.
“Hey, Rachel,” Mark said, giving me an awkward hug. “Thanks again for this.”
Jessica walked right past me without even acknowledging my existence. She just swept into my house like she owned the place, her heels clicking on my hardwood floors.
“Jessica,” Mark called after her. “This is my sister Rachel.”
She turned around and gave me a look like I was something stuck to her shoe.
“Hi,” she said flatly, then immediately went back to examining my living room.
I watched in amazement as she walked through my house, opening doors and peering into rooms like she was shopping for real estate. She went upstairs without asking, and I could hear her heels clicking around up there.
Jessica came back downstairs a few minutes later with a satisfied look on her face.
“I like the master bedroom,” she announced. “The one with the walk-in closet? That’s where we’ll sleep.”
I laughed, thinking she was joking.
“That’s actually my room. I’m not planning to move out of it.”
Jessica shrugged like my response was irrelevant.
“Well, I want that room. It’s the biggest and it has the best closet space.”
I stared at her, waiting for Mark to say something, but he just stood there looking uncomfortable.
“Those are your problems to figure out,” I said, using the same words I’d used with Mark earlier. “I’m going to make some coffee.”
I walked into the kitchen, needing a moment to process what had just happened. Behind me, I could hear Mark and Jessica whispering furiously in the living room.
A few minutes later, I heard Jessica’s heels stomping up the stairs. When I came back out with my coffee, Mark was directing the movers to take boxes to one of the smaller bedrooms upstairs.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Fine,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “Jessica just needs time to settle in.”
The movers finished unloading around dinner time. I ordered pizza, figuring it would be an easy first meal together. When it arrived, I called upstairs for Mark and Jessica to come eat.
Jessica came down wearing different clothes. Apparently, she’d already unpacked her entire wardrobe and sat at my dining table like she was doing me a favor.
“So,” I said, trying to make conversation. “Mark tells me you two had a courthouse wedding. That must have been nice and intimate.”
Jessica’s face darkened. “It was horrible. I wanted a real wedding with flowers and a dress and guests. Instead, I got 15 minutes in some ugly government building.”
Mark looked mortified. “Jessica, we talked about this. We wanted to keep it simple.”
“You wanted to keep it simple?” she snapped. “I wanted a real wedding.”
I could see this was a sore subject, so I tried to change the topic.
“Well, what do you do for work, Jessica?”
“I don’t work right now,” she said, picking at her pizza like it was contaminated. “I’m focusing on other things.”
“What kind of other things?”
She waved her hand vaguely. “Just stuff. Mark makes enough money for both of us.”
I glanced at Mark, who was staring at his plate. Given that he was paying child support and had just lost his house in the divorce, I doubted he was making enough money for Jessica’s expensive tastes.
After dinner, I was about to bring up house rules when Mark suddenly grabbed my arm.
“Rachel, can I talk to you in the kitchen for a second?” he said, pulling me away from the table before I could answer.
“Listen,” he whispered urgently. “I forgot to mention something important. Jessica thinks this house belongs to me. She thinks I’m just letting you live here out of the goodness of my heart.”
I stared at him. “Are you out of your mind?”
“It’s temporary,” he said quickly. “She doesn’t need to know the truth. In a few months, we’ll have our own place and it won’t matter.”
“Mark, this is insane. You can’t lie to your wife about something this big.”
“Please,” he begged, grabbing both my hands. “Just play along. Don’t cause any trouble with Jessica. She’s pregnant. Rachel, two months along. The stress isn’t good for her.”
I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Pregnant. That explained a lot. The quick marriage, the desperate need for a stable living situation, Jessica’s attitude.
I looked through the kitchen doorway at Jessica, who was now sprawled on my couch scrolling through her phone. She was going to have a baby and she thought she was living in her husband’s house with his spinster sister as some kind of charity case.
“Rachel, please,” Mark whispered. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’m desperate here. Just don’t contradict her if she says anything about the house being mine. In a few months, I’ll have enough saved up and we’ll be out of your hair.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw them both out right then and there. But Mark looked so pathetic. And despite everything, he was still my little brother.
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “But this better not last long.”
“Thank you,” he said, hugging me. “You’re the best sister ever.”
I spent the rest of the evening in my room, trying to work, but mostly just staring at the ceiling and wondering what I’d gotten myself into. From downstairs, I could hear Jessica complaining about the cable channels and the water pressure in the shower.
Living with Mark and Jessica quickly became a nightmare. I work as a graphic designer from home, so I’m used to having my space and my routine. But Jessica completely destroyed any sense of normalcy in my house. Mark left for work every morning at 7:30, and that’s when my real day would begin. Jessica would sleep until at least 10, sometimes 11:00, and then wander downstairs in silk pajamas like she was staying at some fancy hotel. She never said good morning or asked how I slept. She’d just raid my kitchen, make herself breakfast, and leave the mess for me to clean up.
Her daily routine was infuriating. After eating whatever I’d bought and prepared, she’d park herself on my couch and watch trashy reality TV for hours. The volume was always too loud, and she’d talk back to the screen like the people could hear her. When she got bored with television, she’d either go shopping or visit her friends. She never asked if I needed anything from the store. Never offered to help with groceries or cleaning. She just treated my house like her personal hotel with free room service.
I found myself spending more money on groceries and utilities, but Mark never offered to pay for anything. When I mentioned it to him, he just said they were tight on money right now and promised to help out soon.
Two months into this arrangement, Jessica’s pregnancy was becoming more obvious, and her mood was getting worse. Her belly was starting to show, and she’d become incredibly demanding about everything.
One morning, I was getting ready for a client meeting and put on my favorite perfume, a light floral scent I’d been wearing for years. Jessica came downstairs, took one whiff, and immediately started gagging.
“That smell is disgusting,” she said, covering her nose with her hand. “I can’t be around that terrible fragrance. It makes me sick.”
“It’s just perfume,” I said.
“I don’t care what it is. You can’t wear it anymore. The smell is bad for the baby. You’ll have to find something else.”
From that day on, Jessica would complain every time I wore any fragrance. She also started banning me from cooking certain foods, claiming the smells made her sick.
“No more garlic,” she announced one evening. “And no onions. They’re too strong.”
“Those are basic cooking ingredients,” I protested.
“Not anymore. I can’t handle the smell.”
I found myself cooking bland, boring meals just to avoid her complaints. My grocery bills kept getting higher while my quality of life kept getting lower.
The breaking point came on a Wednesday afternoon. I was working in my room when I heard the doorbell ring. I looked out my window and saw Sarah’s car in the driveway. She’d brought Emma and Jake for what had become a regular Wednesday visit. I got out their coloring books and crayons, turned on the TV to a kid-friendly channel, and settled them in the living room.
“I’ll be upstairs working, but call if you need anything.” Jessica had been complaining about feeling sick all morning and was in her room with the door closed. I figured she was napping, so the kids would be fine downstairs for a couple of hours.
I worked for about an hour, listening to Emma and Jake playing and occasionally laughing at something on TV. They were being perfectly normal kids, not too loud, just having fun. Then I heard Jessica screaming.
I ran downstairs to find her standing in the living room, her face red with anger. She’d scattered the kids’ coloring books across the floor, and Emma was crying while Jake stood frozen by the couch.
“What happened?” I asked.
Jessica pointed at the children like they were wild animals. “These little brats have been running around and screaming for hours. They’re disturbing my rest.”
“They weren’t running around or screaming,” I said calmly. “They were just coloring and watching TV.”
“They’re as stupid as their mother,” Jessica spat. “No brains in their heads. They need to leave right now because I can’t sleep with all this noise, and I need my rest in my condition.”
Emma started crying harder and Jake looked scared. I felt my temper rising, but I tried to stay calm.
“You’re being unreasonable,” I said. “They’re just kids being kids.”
Jessica’s eyes flashed with anger. “Don’t tell me I’m being unreasonable. This is my house, too, and I have rights. I’m going to talk to my husband about this.”
She stormed upstairs, slamming her bedroom door so hard it shook the walls.
I knelt down and hugged both kids, trying to comfort them.
“It’s okay,” I told them. “She’s just not feeling well.”
I made them snacks and let them finish their coloring, but the mood was ruined. When Sarah came to pick them up an hour later, I pulled her aside and told her what happened.
“She called my kids stupid,” I said, my voice trembling with anger.
Sarah’s face went pale with rage. “I should go up there right now and tell her exactly what I think of her.”
“Please don’t. Just take the kids home. I’ll handle this.”
Sarah left, but I could tell she was furious. That evening, when Mark came home, Jessica immediately ran to him with her version of the story.
“Your sister deliberately brought those children here to disturb me,” she told him. “She knows I need my rest, but she let them run wild through the house.”
Mark looked at me with disappointment.
“Rachel, you know Jessica needs to rest. Why would you bring the kids over when she’s not feeling well?”
“They weren’t doing anything wrong,” I said. “They were quietly coloring.”
“That’s not what Jessica says.”
I wanted to scream that Jessica was lying, but I remembered my promise to play along with her delusions. Instead, I took Mark aside.
“When are you two moving out?” I asked.
Mark looked surprised by the directness of my question.
“Soon. I just need a couple more months to save up.”
“Well, make it sooner,” I said. “Because I don’t want Jessica and a baby living here after she gives birth.”
Mark nodded quickly. “Two months, I promise. Just two more months.”
That night, I lay in bed wondering how much more of this I could take.
A week after the incident with Emma and Jake, Mark left for a business trip to Chicago. He’d be gone for 5 days, which meant I’d be alone in the house with Jessica.
Saturday morning, I was in my kitchen making coffee when the doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole and saw two people I didn’t recognize, a middle-aged couple, probably in their mid-50s, standing on my porch with suitcases.
I opened the door cautiously.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Hi there,” the woman said with a bright smile. “We’re Jessica’s parents, Linda and Bob. She invited us to stay here until the baby’s born.”
My blood ran cold.
“Excuse me?”
Before I could say anything else, Jessica appeared behind me, squeezing past me to greet her parents.
“Mom, Dad, you made it,” she said, hugging them. “Come in. Come in. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”
I stood in my own doorway, speechless, as Jessica’s parents walked into my house with their luggage.
“Jessica,” I said, finding my voice. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
But she was already leading her parents upstairs, chattering about how they’d love the guest room and how her mother would stay even longer after the baby was born to help with child care.
I followed them upstairs, my heart pounding.
“Jessica, we need to discuss this.”
She turned to me with that same dismissive look she always gave me.
“What’s to discuss?” she said. “My parents are here to help with the pregnancy and the baby. Mom’s going to stay for at least 3 months after I give birth.”
That’s when I lost it completely.
“I’m sorry,” I told Linda and Bob, “but you need to leave now.”
They looked shocked and confused, gathering their suitcases while Jessica started screaming at me.
“You can’t throw my parents out. This isn’t your house.”
I walked them to the door and closed it firmly behind them. Through the window, I could see them standing on my porch, looking bewildered.
Jessica completely lost her mind. She started waving her arms and yelling at the top of her lungs.
“You’re living in someone else’s house!” she screamed. “This house belongs to my husband. You’re just a pathetic, lonely 40-year-old leech who has nothing better to do than mooch off your brother.”
I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. After months of biting my tongue and playing along with Mark’s lies, Jessica’s tantrum struck me as absolutely ridiculous.
“Get out of my house,” Jessica continued screaming. “This is my house now. Get out.”
I looked at her, still laughing.
“Try to make me.”
Jessica grabbed her phone and ran outside. Through the window, I watched her talking frantically to her parents, all three of them gesturing wildly. Then they got in their car and drove away.
I spent the rest of Saturday enjoying the quiet. For the first time in months, I could work without interruption, cook what I wanted to eat, and watch my own TV shows. It was blissful.
Sunday morning, the doorbell rang again. This time, it was two police officers with Jessica standing triumphantly behind them.
“Ma’am,” one of the officers said, “We received a complaint about a squatter refusing to leave this property.”
I smiled politely at the officers.
“Did she provide any documentation proving she owns this house?”
“No, ma’am. She didn’t have any paperwork with her.”
I went inside and came back with my deed and property tax records.
“Here’s proof that I own this house.”
The officers examined the documents carefully, then turned to Jessica with annoyed expressions.
“Ma’am, you should have verified ownership before filing a complaint. This woman clearly owns the property.”
They apologized to me and left, leaving Jessica standing on my porch looking stunned.
“Now that you know the truth,” I said, “get out of my house.”
Jessica immediately started crying.
“I didn’t know. My husband lied to me. You have to understand. I’m 6 months pregnant and I have nowhere else to go.”
“You have parents,” I said coldly. “Go live with them.”
“But they live in a tiny apartment. And I’m having a baby in 3 months.”
“That’s not my problem.”
She ran upstairs and 15 minutes later, my phone rang. It was Mark calling from Chicago.
“What the hell did you do?” he yelled. “Jessica called me crying, saying you called the police on her.”
“I didn’t call the police,” I said calmly. “She called them on me. Apparently, she tried to have me evicted from my own house.”
“Your wife knows the truth now, and she needs to leave. She’s pregnant. She can’t just go anywhere. She can go to her parents’ house or you can come home and figure it out together. But she’s leaving tomorrow.”
“You can’t just throw out a pregnant woman.”
“Watch me,” I said, and hung up.
I knocked on Jessica’s door and told her she had until the next morning to pack her things and leave.
The next day, Mark came bursting through my front door, having caught the first flight home. Jessica ran to him, and they both started yelling at me about my heartless behavior and their rights to stay in the house.
“You have no rights here,” I said. “This is my house and I want you both out.”
“You can’t do this to us,” Mark said.
“Watch me call the police again,” I replied.
That shut them up. They spent the rest of the day packing their things while I ignored phone calls from my parents, who had obviously heard Mark’s version of events.
By evening, they were loading their stuff into Mark’s car. Neither of them said goodbye to me. They just left, and I watched them drive away with enormous relief.
Over the next few weeks, I learned through mutual friends that Mark and Jessica had moved in with her parents. Jessica gave birth to a son 3 months later, and I was genuinely happy for them. But I felt no guilt about my decision. My parents chose Mark’s side and stopped speaking to me entirely. They thought I was cruel for throwing out a pregnant woman, and nothing I said could change their minds.
But Sarah and I became closer than ever. She and the kids started coming over regularly again, and my house felt like home again. Emma and Jake now spend every other weekend with me, and we’ve developed our own little traditions. Mark and I don’t speak anymore, but I hear he’s doing okay. That’s enough for me.
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