My husband, Mark, and I pulled up to the venue where my sister Lily’s wedding was about to take place. The envelope with $10,000 was tucked safely in Mark’s jacket pocket—our wedding gift to Lily. On top of that, we’d already covered about a third of the wedding expenses. It was a lot of money, but Mark’s investment banking job and my position as a marketing director meant we could afford it. Plus, Lily was my only sister.
As we walked in, I spotted my parents immediately. Mom was fussing with Dad’s tie while he pretended to be annoyed, but I could see the smile playing at his lips. They looked radiant; that was the only word for it. Mom’s face was practically glowing with happiness, and Dad looked ten years younger. Something twisted in my gut. I couldn’t remember them looking this happy at my wedding five years ago. They’d been pleasant enough, sure, but not like this. Not bursting with pride and joy. I quickly pushed the thought away. This wasn’t the time to drag up old feelings.
The ceremony went perfectly. Lily looked stunning in her dress, and her fiancé, now husband, Jake, couldn’t take his eyes off her. I sat between my parents and Mark, trying to focus on the happiness of the day rather than the nagging feeling that my parents’ reactions were somehow different than they had been at my wedding.
After the ceremony came the reception. We ate, drank, danced, and then it was time for the speeches. First the best man, then the maid of honor, and finally, my parents stood up together.
Mom tapped her glass gently. “We want to thank everyone for coming today to celebrate our beloved daughter’s wedding.” There was something about the way she emphasized “beloved” that made me shift uncomfortably in my seat. Mark must have noticed because he placed his hand over mine.
Dad continued, “Watching Lily grow into the beautiful woman she is today has been the greatest joy of our lives. She’s always been special, always brought so much light into our home.”
I smiled and nodded, wondering if I was just being oversensitive. Of course, they loved Lily. They loved both of us.
Then, Mom reached into her purse and pulled out some papers. “Jake, Lily, your father and I wanted to give you something to start your new life together. Something special.” She held up the papers for everyone to see. “We’re giving you our family home as a wedding present!”
The room erupted in gasps, followed by thunderous applause. I froze. Beside me, Mark went rigid. I stared at my parents, then at Lily, waiting for someone to laugh and say it was a joke. But it wasn’t. My parents were beaming proudly, and Lily—Lily didn’t look surprised at all. She was crying happy tears, hugging Jake, who was staring at my parents with his mouth hanging open.
The house. My parents’ house. The house with the mortgage I’d been paying for the last five years because my parents couldn’t afford it anymore after Dad’s hours got cut and Mom’s arthritis made it hard for her to work full-time. I managed to plaster a smile on my face, but inside, I was screaming. Not once. Not once had they mentioned giving the house to Lily. They hadn’t even asked me, and I was the one paying for it.
“Tessa, you okay?” Mark whispered.
“Fine,” I said through my teeth, still smiling as Lily and Jake made their way to the front to hug my parents. An hour later, I couldn’t take it anymore. I found Mark by the bar.
“Can we… can we leave?” I asked quietly. He took one look at my face and nodded. “I’ll get our coats.”
We made our excuses—Mark had an early meeting, we were so sorry, such a beautiful wedding, congratulations again—and left before anyone could protest too much. The second we got in the car, I burst into tears.
“I can’t believe they did that,” I sobbed as Mark started the engine. “I’ve been paying that mortgage for five years, and they didn’t even tell me they were planning this.”
“I know,” Mark said grimly. “It’s unbelievable.”
“And Lily knew! Did you see her face? She wasn’t surprised at all!” I wiped at my eyes angrily. “This isn’t about the money. I don’t care about the money. But they could have talked to me first.”
As we drove home, memories kept flooding back, all the times my parents had shown clear favoritism toward Lily. “Remember when I graduated college and they gave me a card with $50, but when Lily graduated two years later, they bought her a car?”
“That wasn’t right,” Mark agreed.
“Or my 21st birthday dinner that they skipped because Lily had a volleyball game? A game, not even a championship or anything important.” The more I talked, the more examples I remembered. Each time Lily got what she wanted while I got overlooked or forgotten. How my parents attended all of Lily’s events but found excuses to miss mine. How they bragged about Lily’s accomplishments but barely mentioned mine.
By the time we got home, I was exhausted from crying and talking. “Where are your parents going to live now?” Mark asked as we got ready for bed. “If they’re giving the house to Lily and Jake?”
I shrugged, pulling on my pajamas. “I have no idea. That’s not my problem anymore.” I turned off the light and rolled over, trying to ignore the ache in my chest.
For the next three weeks, I went to work, came home, and tried not to think about the wedding or the house or any of it. Then, one evening, my phone rang. It was my mother. Against my better judgment, I answered.
“Tessa, honey,” Mom said as if nothing had happened. “We’re having a family dinner this weekend. Your sister and Jake are back from their honeymoon, and we’d love for you and Mark to join us.”
I wanted to say no. I wanted to hang up. But some part of me, probably the stupid, hopeful part, wondered if maybe they’d apologize. Maybe they’d explain. “Fine,” I said flatly. “We’ll be there.”
Saturday arrived too quickly. When we pulled up, I noticed Lily’s car in the driveway along with my parents’ old sedan. We walked up to the front door, and I hesitated before ringing the bell. It felt weird not using my key, but this wasn’t my parents’ house anymore. It was Lily and Jake’s. Mom answered, all smiles.
“Tessa! Mark! Come in, come in!” she hugged me like nothing had happened, like she hadn’t given away the house I’d been paying for without even talking to me about it. I hugged her back stiffly.
Dad was in the living room with Jake, watching a game. He stood up when we entered, giving Mark a firm handshake and me a quick hug. Dinner was awkward. The first ten minutes were filled with Lily and Jake describing their honeymoon in Hawaii in excruciating detail. I picked at my food and nodded occasionally while Mark asked appropriate questions to keep the conversation going.
Finally, when Lily paused to take a breath, Mom cleared her throat. “So, we wanted to talk to you about something, Tessa,” she said. “Well, as you know, we’ve given the house to Lily and Jake as their wedding present.”
“Yes, I noticed,” I said flatly.
Mom continued as if she hadn’t heard the edge in my voice. “The thing is, they’re a young couple starting their life together. They need their own space.” I remained silent, waiting for her to get to the point.
Dad shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “What your mother is trying to say,” he said, “is that we can’t live here with them. They need privacy.”
“I see,” I said, still not sure where this was going. “So where are you planning to live?”
Mom and Dad exchanged another look. I noticed Lily suddenly became very interested in her mashed potatoes.
“Well,” Mom said slowly, “we’ve been thinking about it, and we’ve decided we’re going to move to your vacation home. It’s the perfect size for us, and it’s in a nice, quiet area.”
I set down my fork and knife carefully. The “vacation home” they were referring to was a small cottage I bought with my own money before I even met Mark. I’d saved for years to afford it. It was my special place.
“Let me get this straight,” I said, keeping my voice level. “You gave your house—the house I’ve been paying the mortgage on for five years—to Lily, and now you think you’re going to move into my vacation home without even asking me first?”
“Tessa,” Dad said with a frown. “Be reasonable. Where else are we supposed to go?”
“That’s not my problem,” I said. “You had a house. You gave it away without consulting me, even though I’ve been paying for it. And now you expect me to just hand over my vacation home to you?”
“It’s not like you use it that much,” Lily chimed in.
I turned to her, unable to hide my anger now. “Are you serious right now? It’s my property. I bought it with my money. I get to decide who uses it and when.”
Mom’s face had gone pale. “You can’t mean… you’re not saying no, are you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” I replied. “No. You are not moving into my vacation home. Not now, not ever.”
The table fell silent. Then Mom’s face crumpled. “How can you do this to us?” she cried. “After everything we’ve done for you! We’re your parents!”
“Yes, and as my parents, you might have thought to discuss this with me before giving away a house I was paying for and deciding to take over my property.”
Lily slammed her hand on the table. “God, you’re so cruel and greedy! You’ve always been jealous of me because Mom and Dad love me more! You’ve always been envious of our relationship!”
I stared at her, stunned by her outburst. Then I turned to her, suddenly calm. “If Mom and Dad love you so much, and you love them so much, then why don’t you let them live here with you? This is a four-bedroom house. Plenty of room.”
Lily’s mouth snapped shut. She looked away, suddenly finding her plate fascinating again. “That’s… that’s not the point,” she mumbled.
“And I need my vacation home,” I countered. “Sounds like we both have needs.” My parents started talking over each other, telling me how wrong I was, how disappointing, how selfish. I stopped listening. I stood up and picked up my purse. “Mark, I think we’re done here.”
The next day, my phone exploded with messages and calls from my parents and Lily. I ignored them all. Two weeks passed in blissful silence. Then, I was at my desk when my phone buzzed with an alert from the security system at my vacation home: Motion detected. Front door opened. I quickly checked the app. Someone had used a key to unlock the door. My phone rang almost immediately.
“Miss Wilson? This is Safeguard Security. We’ve detected entry at your property on Pine Ridge Road. Is this authorized?”
“No,” I said firmly. “I’m not there, and no one has permission to be there. Please send the police immediately.”
An hour later, an officer called. “Miss Wilson, this is Officer Rhea. We’re at your property. We have two individuals here who claim to be your parents. They have keys.”
“Yes, they are my parents,” I said, my suspicions confirmed. “But they absolutely do not have permission to be in my house.”
“I’ll come up there,” I decided. “My husband and I can drive up now.”
When we arrived, a police cruiser was in the driveway. My parents were sitting on the front porch steps, looking miserable, surrounded by suitcases and boxes.
“Tessa, thank God you’re here!” my father said, standing up. “Tell these officers there’s been a misunderstanding.”
I ignored him and approached the officers. “Thank you for coming so quickly. These are indeed my parents, but they do not have permission to be here.”
One of the officers nodded. “Ma’am, do you want to press charges for trespassing?”
My mother gasped. “Tessa, you wouldn’t!”
I turned to look at her. “You broke into my house after I specifically told you no. What did you think would happen?”
“We didn’t break in!” my father protested. “We used the key you gave us!”
“This is all your fault!” my mother suddenly shouted, standing up. “If you had just let us stay here like we planned, none of this would have happened!”
I stared at her, shocked. “My fault? You gave away a house I was paying for, then tried to take over my property, and somehow this is my fault?”
I turned back to the officers. “I’d like a word in private, please.” We stepped away. “I don’t want to press charges,” I said quietly. “But I can’t have them staying here.”
The officer nodded. “We can take them to the station for a few hours, give them a stern warning about trespassing. Sometimes a few hours in a holding cell can be a good reality check.”
“Yes, please do that,” I said.
The police took my parents away. I arranged for their belongings to be taken to a storage unit, paid for one month, and texted the details to my sister. Then I had a locksmith change all the locks.
A week later, I opened Facebook to find a long, dramatic post from my mother. It began, “Today I learned what it means to be abandoned by your own child,” and went on to paint me as a heartless criminal, conveniently leaving out every important detail.
Something inside me snapped. I started typing my own post.
“I’ve stayed silent about family matters until now, but since my mother has chosen to make our private issues public, I feel I need to share my side of the story. Here are the facts that were conveniently left out of my mother’s post:
- For the past five years, I have been paying the mortgage on my parents’ house.
- At my sister’s wedding, which I also helped pay for, my parents gave that house to my sister as a gift without consulting me.
- They then informed me they planned to move into my vacation home, again, without asking.
- When I refused, they used a spare key to enter my property anyway, which is why the police were called. I did not have them arrested. I had them removed for trespassing.
- I then paid for a storage unit for their belongings.
If my parents need a place to stay, perhaps they should ask my sister, who now owns a four-bedroom house thanks to them—and me.”
I hit post. The response was immediate and overwhelming. Cousins, aunts, uncles, and even my parents’ friends commented, but this time, they were supportive of me.
Two days later, my cousin Jessica called. “Hey, I wanted to check on you,” she said. “Your parents tried to go back to their house—I mean, Lily’s house now—but she wouldn’t let them in.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Yeah. Apparently, she told them it’s her house now and there’s no room for them. They’re staying in some crappy apartment now, and your mom had to go back to working full-time to afford the rent.”
I didn’t know how to feel. Part of me thought it was karma. But another part still felt a pang of sympathy.
Over the next few weeks, my parents tried to contact me, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. One night, Mark asked, “Do you think you’ll ever forgive them?”
“Maybe someday,” I said. “Not for their sake, but for mine. And Lily… that’s more complicated. She knew what they were planning.”
“At least you know where you stand now,” Mark said, pulling me close. “No more illusions.”
He was right. As painful as this had been, it had torn away the pretense. I now knew that trying to win my parents’ approval was a losing game, and strangely, that knowledge was freeing.
The next morning, I saw another call from my mother. This time, I let it go to voicemail.
“Tessa…” Her voice was different now—smaller, less demanding. “I… we made a mistake. A big one. I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. But please… call us back. We need to talk.”
I deleted the message without calling back. Maybe someday I’d be ready to hear their apology. Maybe someday I’d be ready to have them back in my life, on new terms, with clear boundaries. But not today. Today, I was still learning how to put myself first, something I should have done a long time ago.