Stepmom Demanded I Pay $800 Rent. So I Evicted Her, Her Two Freeloader Kids…
Step-mom demanded I pay $800 rent, so I evicted her, her two freeloader kids, and took back the $1,200,000 house my grandparents secretly left me. Also, to those who claim this is bogus, I wish it were, lol.
And yes, I have proof, but I will not disclose it due to legal concerns. Edit two. In case you’re wondering, I’m 22, female. My father is 46, male. My stepmother Tracy is 43, female. My stepbro Brandon is 25, male. And my stepsister Sierra is 21. Yes, they are not their true names for obvious reasons. Okay, buckle up because this is going to be a lengthy one.
Seriously, get some popcorn or something because there’s a lot to unpack here. I’ve been holding this for weeks and just need to get it off my chest. Some background information is required first and trust me, it will be useful later. I lost my mother to breast cancer when I was 8.
It sucked obviously, but we made it through. However, my father was absolutely wrecked and he was scarcely able to function for the first year. By the way, my mother’s parents are amazing saints and stepped up big time. They practically moved in with us to assist care for me while my father dealt with his loss and attempted to keep his business functioning.
Quick remark regarding the house situation because it will be very significant later. My grandparents were rather well off. Not very rich, but comfortable enough to purchase this massive four-bedroom home in one of Boston’s nicer districts. The plan was that we’d all live together so they could properly raise me. To be honest, that worked really well for a while.
But then my father met Tracy, not her real name, but it fits her perfectly, lol. At a business conference in Chicago approximately 2 years after my mother died, he was there to grow his consultancy business or whatever, and she was working as an event coordinator. According to him, they simply clicked. Tracy must have seen an opportunity with a sad widowerower who ran his own business because she practically traveled across the nation to be with him after only knowing him for about 3 months.
And to their astonishment, they married after 6 months of meeting. Talk about red flags. Here’s where the fun begins. Tracy brought her two children with her. Brandon, now 25, was 11 years old and already a spoiled brat. Sierra, 21F, now was 7 years old and wasn’t too horrible at first, but Tracy gradually transformed her into a mini clone of herself.
My grandparents tried to be kind about it, but I overheard them late at night discussing how they didn’t trust Tracy. They assumed she was only pursuing dad’s money. Plot twist, they were correct. But they kept quiet for dad’s sake since he appeared joyful for the first time since mom’s death. The first few years were tough. Tracy began small with her BS comments about how the house was adorned.
Old-fashioned it wasn’t. How the kitchen needed upgrading. it didn’t. And how my grandparents were set in their ways. But then she became braver. She began moving furniture without permission. Threw out some of mom’s old decorations, claiming they were accumulating dust, and gradually took over the home. My grandparents were too nice to say anything, and my father was too lovelind to notice. Then the tasks began.
At first, it was natural that everyone should help around the house, right? except everyone became just me. Brandon was overly preoccupied with athletics. He struggled at basketball, but Tracy had dad pay for individual coaching regardless. Sierra was too young despite being only one year younger than me. By the time I was 12, I was doing the majority of the cooking and cleaning.
Tracy would literally inspect the baseboards with her finger to see whether I had dusted correctly. Meanwhile, Brandon’s room smelled like a mix of axe body spray and old pizza, and Sierra’s floor was continuously covered in clothes she was intending to put away. Here’s the truly essential part, which I didn’t know until recently.
Grandma died in 2019 from heart difficulties, and grandpa died just 3 months later because he couldn’t live without her. They registered the residence in my name, like legally. It is my all mine. They must have sensed this drama coming from a mile away and wished to protect me, but I had no idea about it. Nobody told me.
Dad was aware, but I suppose he didn’t believe it was necessary to mention. Spoiler, it was quite crucial. Tracy evidently didn’t know either, or she would have sought to get her name on the deed somehow. So, for the past few years, I’ve effectively been living like a servant in my own home, cooking, cleaning, and washing everyone’s laundry. Yes.
including Brandon’s stinky gym clothes, while Tracy sat on her ass watching Real Housewives and whining about how I loaded the dishwasher incorrectly. Brandon graduated from college 2 years ago, barely. To be honest, I am very sure dad paid someone off and hasn’t worked since. He claims he’s trying to be a content creator.
However, his Tik Tok has only 200 followers and is mostly just him executing terrible dance moves badly. Sierra is in her third year of college, ostensibly studying business, but actually just partying and uploading pretty Instagram photos of her Starbucks cups. Dad pays for everything. Her apartment near university, which she seldom uses because she is often at home.
Her car, which she has crashed twice, and her credit cards, which she maxes up every month. And there I was, working part-time at Starbucks, taking online classes, doing all the housekeeping, and trying to save money because Tracy kept implying that I needed to start contributing to the household. The day everything went down began like any other bad day in my house.
I just completed an 8-hour shift at Starbucks. Some Tracy, lowercase K, hey, yelled at me over almond milk. But that’s another tale, and I was tired. But of course, I had to return home and cook supper, lest Brandon get up from his gaming chair or Sierra put down her phone. I’m in the kitchen making this spaghetti recipe I discovered on Tik Tok NGL.
And Tracy walks in dressed in one of her apparently beautiful dresses. I’m pretty sure it came from Ross, but whatever. She has this look on her face that you recognize, like when a teacher notices you passing notes in class. Yes, the one. She takes a seat at the kitchen island and keeps a close eye on me while I prepare.
I’m already on edge since she constantly finds something to complain about in my food. Last week there was an excess of garlic which is practically impossible. The previous week it was excessively hot. Then she lays the bombshell on me. We need to have a serious discussion about your living situation. I’m like what living situation? I have been here longer than you lady.
But she continues, “Your father and I have been chatting, and we believe it is time you started paying rent. After all, you’re working now, so it’s not fair for you to live here for free while we cover all of your bills.” Y’all, y’all. This woman’s boldness. I’m genuinely standing there, wooden spoon in hand, sauce probably burning, trying to digest this BS.
Meanwhile, I can hear Brandon upstairs yelling about his KD ratio and KOD while Sierra’s Tik Tok sounds are coming from the living room. So, I ask her, trying not to raise my voice because I’m petty but not foolish. What about Brandon and Sierra? Are they also paying rent? She does this thing where she dabs her mouth with a handkerchief even though she hasn’t eaten anything, which she learned from Real Housewives ISTG.
Then she strikes me with, “Well, that is different. They are my children and they are still establishing themselves in life. Brandon is pursuing his content creation job and Sierra is concentrating on her education. I almost laughed aloud. Brandon’s content creation profession consists of lip-syncing to popular songs and playing Fortnite on Twitch for a total of three viewers.
One of which is most likely his mother and the other an alt account. And Sierra’s studies. The girl hasn’t opened a textbook since freshman year orientation. But here’s when it gets good. Tracy begins to set out her realistic rent requirements. $800 per month in this economy plus utilities with the expectation that I continue to assist out around the house.
I’m standing there stirring the pasta sauce when something inside me snaps. You know that scene in movies where everything goes silent and clear? It was like that. All the years of being treated like Cinderella. All the snarky remarks. All the extra duties. All the times I had to wash Brandon’s crusty gym socks or pick up Sierra’s artificial lashes from the bathroom floor. It all hit me at once.
So I turn off the burner. Safety first. He he set down the spoon and stare Tracy dead in her overbotoxed expression. Let me get this straight. I say, my voice unusually calm. Brandon, who hasn’t earned a single dollar since graduation and spends his days yelling at 12-year-olds on Xbox, doesn’t have to pay rent.
Sierra, who maxes out her credit cards buying Sheen Halls and has never touched a vacuum in her life, doesn’t have to pay rent, but I do. Tracy’s face twitches strangely, which is most likely due to Botox interfering with her facial muscles. She starts talking about how I’m more established, how family helps family, and other nonsense.
she undoubtedly saw in a Facebook mom group. That was when I decided to detonate my own bomb. But first, I summoned everyone to the dining room. I told Tracy I wanted to talk about this because her family used deceptive tactics against her. Haha. Brandon complained about leaving his game while Sierra behaved as if getting off the couch was physical torment.
But gradually, everyone was seated at the table. I didn’t mind that the pasta was chilly by this point. I’d already lost my appetite. Tracy begins explaining her plan to everyone, treating all officials as if she were the CEO. Brandon is smirking, most likely thinking about how he can spend his allowance on more V-Bucks now that I will be paying the bills.
Sierra is capturing everything for her personal tale. The girl enjoys drama as long as it doesn’t include her. And that is when I did it. That’s when I spoke the words that altered everything. I’m not paying rent because this house belongs to me. The hush that followed. OMG, I wish I had recorded it, folks. I wish I had a photo of their faces.
It was as if I had just spoken in an alien language. Brandon really stopped in the middle of his meal, his fork hanging there and spaghetti falling back into his plate. Gross. Sierra’s jaw really dropped, and it was the first genuine look I had seen on her face since she found filters. But Tracy, oh man, Tracy’s reaction was priceless.
You know the loading wheel that appears when your computer freezes? That was her face. Her brain seemed to be unable to grasp what I had just spoken. Then they all began laughing like full-fledged hysterical laughter. Good one. Brandon snorts, pasta sauce dripping down his chin. Did you acquire that through Tik Tok or something? Sierra has already pulled out her phone, undoubtedly thinking this would be wonderful content for her relatable family moments series, which has about 50 followers tops.
Tracy is also attempting to laugh, but I can tell that panic is setting in. She has that face she gets when her credit card is refused at Nordstrom Rack, which happens more frequently than you may imagine. What are you talking about? She attempts to be dismissive, but her voice shakes.
This house is mine and your father’s. This is where things start to get good. I simply recline back in my chair, attempting to exude that calm villain spirit, you know. Also say, “Why don’t you call and ask Dad?” Tracy’s fake nails began pounding on her iPhone screen so quickly that I thought she might fracture it.
I kind of hoped she would since guess who’d have to go get it fixed. GH. She puts it on speaker like she always does. She enjoys an audience when she believes she is about to win an argument. The phone rings several times before dad answers. He sounds fatigued, possibly because he was working while his stepson was developing his brand or something.
Tracy’s voice is pleasant and phony when she says Mark as if she’s trying to gain an upgrade at a hotel. Lucy is telling some interesting stories about the house. She says it belongs to her. That’s not true, right? What about the stillness that followed? Deafening. You could literally hear my father clearing his throat when he was uncomfortable.
He does it frequently around Tracy. Then finally, well, actually, my in-laws put the house in Lucy’s name before they passed away. Boom. Tracy’s face changed colors more than my previous mood ring. First with Claire’s red, then white, and finally this strange greenish tint I’d never seen on a human before. What do you mean they put it in her name? She practically screams now.
When were you going to tell me this? I didn’t think it was that important. My father adds softly. To be honest, this is a typical dad move. Not important. Tracy is standing up now, her chair scraping against the floor. You didn’t think it was important to tell me that your teenage daughter owns our house? She hangs up on him mid-sentence.
The phone hit the table so hard that I believed the screen would fracture again. I hoped it would. Brandon is not laughing anymore. He becomes pale when he realizes that the game area he told me to leave was actually mine. Sierra is still recording, but her expression has changed to that of a deer in the headlights.
I can almost feel the Tik Tok drafts getting destroyed in her mind. Tracy is breathing as if she had just run a marathon in her false lubboutans. She’s trying to remain calm, but I can see her hands shaking. Well, she continues, trying to sound cool, but failing miserably. This has clearly been a misunderstanding. Of course, you don’t have to pay rent, Lucy.
Let’s just forget this conversation happened. But here’s something I didn’t want to forget. I was done forgetting all the nonsense they had put me through over the years. Done being the family doormat. I’m tired of them living rentree in my house and treating me like a personal maid. So, I simply smiled and said, “Oh, we’re definitely not forgetting this conversation.
In fact,” I paused for dramatic effect. “What can I say? I’ve learned from the best. I think it’s time we had a serious discussion about your living situation.” Tracy’s terrified expression. Better than any Christmas present I have ever received. But wait, it gets even better. Because while they’re all sitting there processing their new reality, I can hear Tracy’s phone vibrating with texts from my father.
She is ignoring it, but I know exactly what is going on. He’s undoubtedly panicking and texting her about all the legal paperwork my grandparents left, which proves everything I’ve just said. Okay, so after the nuclear dinner scene, I went to bed feeling really good about myself. Have you ever felt empowered to confront a high school bully? That’s how I felt after multiplying it by 1,000.
What about Tracy? Oh, no. She was not done. Definitely not. So, the next morning, as I’m about to go downstairs for breakfast, I hear Tracy’s voice coming from the kitchen. She’s on the phone with my father on speaker because, of course. And guess what she is doing? Y’all, y’all. This woman is literally attempting to persuade my father to let me move out of my own house.
Here’s the conversation I overheard, which I captured on my phone. Because at this point, I trust these folks as far as I can throw them. Tracy, Mark, you have to do something about this problem. Your daughter is causing problems. Dad, sounding exhausted. What do you want me to do, Tracy? How about the outofstate institutions she applied to? You could persuade her to attend one of them.
Tell her that it will benefit her independence. I swear to God what Schutzbah this woman has. She’s actually out here trying to ship me off to another state so she can continue to live in my house rentree. But wait, it gets better. Dad said, “I don’t know, Tracy.” Tracy in that sugary honey voice she adopts when manipulating others. Think about it, Mark.
She’s young. She needs to experience life away from home. And honestly, pause. I’m worried about her mental health. All this anger she’s carrying around, it’s not healthy. Excuse me. The only thing harming my mental health is living with the bad stepmother from every Disney film combined. But here’s the part that really grabbed me.
He said, “Maybe you’re right. I’ll talk to her about moving out for college. It might be better for everyone.” I literally had to bite my fist to stop shouting. My own father, whom I’ve lived with my entire life, who I cared for after mom died, and who I cooked and cleaned for, has just agreed to try to push me out of my own home.
So, I did what any reasonable person would do. I proceeded into the kitchen as if I had not heard anything. Tracy almost dropped her phone when she saw me. She was still in her silk robe, probably phony like everything else about her, holding her world’s best mom coffee mug, which Brandon and Sierra bought for her at the dollar store for Mother’s Day.
And she behaves like it’s fine china. “Good morning, sweetie,” she says as if she isn’t trying to get rid of me. “I made coffee.” First and foremost, she did not prepare coffee. Instead, she loaded a K Cup into the curig I purchased with my Starbucks money. Second, honey. Since when? Brandon stumbles in looking like a zombie, presumably up all night streaming to his three viewers, and Sierra follows shortly after, already fully camera ready.
It takes her 2 hours every morning. I kid you not. We’re all sitting there having breakfast, which I made. Tracy doesn’t know how to cook anything that doesn’t come from a microwave. And the tension is so strong you could cut it with a knife. Brandon shovels cereal into his mouth while scrolling through Tik Tok. Sierra takes pictures of her untouched avocado toast for Instagram, and Tracy pretends to read emails on her phone, but I can tell she’s actually looking up how to evict someone who owns your house.
“Tracy, you’re not very subtle with the phone angle.” That’s when I started to have fun. “Hey, Tracy,” I replied casually. “I was thinking about what you said yesterday about rent.” She perks up like a mircat, undoubtedly expecting me to back down. I suppose you’re correct. People should pay rent to live here. The relief on her expression lasted only about 2 seconds before I dropped the bomb.
So, I have been conducting some calculations. Based on the market pricing in our area, I believe $1,200 per person is reasonable. That is $3,600 for you, Brandon, and Sierra. Of course, that excludes utilities. Oh, there will be a security deposit. Chaos. Total chaos. Brandon genuinely choked on his frosted flakes while Sierra’s avocado toast went face down on her new white crop top. Karma is real, people.
And Tracy. Tracy appeared to be about to pass out. You can’t be serious, she sputters. We are family. Oh, I am dead serious. And since you raised a family, I take out my phone, which has a tape of her morning conversation with dad queued up. Let’s speak about your little plot to ship me off to college.
Brandon and Sierra are looking between us like they’re watching a tennis match, and the color in her cheeks drained so quickly that I thought she’d pass out. So, after I aired the recording of Tracy’s phone call, things got crazy. Like Jerry Springer crazy. Tracy rushes up from her chair so quickly that she knocks over her treasured world’s best mom cup, which fortunately did not break.
She’s doing this weird thing with her face, trying to seem angry, but her Botox is fighting back and it’s actually kind of funny. You’ve recorded me? She screeches. That’s illegal. I simply smile and add. Actually, we live in a one party consent state. I checked. Also, my house and my regulations. Brandon is just sitting there with his mouth open, milk trickling down his chin.
I suppose this guy never learned how to eat correctly. Sierra is hurriedly texting someone, most likely her Tik Tok group chat, where she pretends to be wealthy and unconcerned. Tracy begins pacing around the kitchen. Her knockoff Gucci slides making that annoying flip-flop sound on the tile floor that I cleaned yesterday. And she’s muttering something about calling her lawyer cousin.
You know, the one who specializes in real estate law but only handles DUI cases in some strip mall office. Then she takes a different approach. Her voice becomes quiet and concerned as if she’s attempting to secure a refund without a receipt. Lucy, I understand you’re upset, but what about this behavior? Yeah, it’s unhealthy.
Your father and I are only trying to help you. Perhaps some time away would be beneficial for you. There’s this beautiful college in Michigan. I cut her off right then. Tracy, let me make something very clear. I’m not going anywhere. This is my house. The deed is in my name, and if anyone’s going to be leaving, it won’t be me.
That was when she lost it completely. You ungrateful little. I won’t mention what she called me, but it wasn’t very world’s best mom for her. She begins to rant about how she raised me as if I were her own by making me their maid. How she gave up everything to be a good stepmother by shopping at TJ Maxx rather than Nordstrom.
And how I’m ripping this family apart. What family? Meanwhile, Brandon and Sierra are experiencing their own meltdowns. Brandon, please. This is Bulls. I’m not paying rent. I’m about to blow up on Twitch. Narrator: He wasn’t going to blow up on Twitch. Sierra is screaming, “Daddy won’t let you do this. He loves us more than this stupid house.
” Spoiler alert, he does not. I just sit there sipping my coffee, which I made because Tracy still doesn’t know how to use the French press, and watching them plummet. It’s as if every ounce of entitlement and privilege they’ve been hoarding is simply bursting forth. Tracy then takes out her trump card.
She grabs her phone and calls my father again, undoubtedly expecting him to rush home and solve everything like he always does. But plot twist, I’ve been messaging Dad all morning. Send him the recording. I explained everything. For the first time in his life, Dad is truly supporting me. Kind of in his own ineffective way.
When he responds, he returns to speaker mode. Tracy is screaming, “Mark, you need to come home right now. Your daughter is out of control. Dad, surprisingly firm, Tracy, we need to respect that it’s her house. Maybe we should start looking for a new place. What about the stillness that followed? OMG.
Brandon’s brain cells could be heard struggling to digest this betrayal. All three of them. Tracy’s face undergoes a fantastic journey of shock, rage, disbelief, and finally fear. Real terror. because it has now dawned on her that she is about to lose everything. The comfortable life, the free ride. She has been on a power trip for many years.
This is when she makes her worst mistake. She turns towards me, gets right in my face, and says, “Listen here, you little bae. I don’t care whose name is on the deed. This is my house. I’ve lived here for 12 years, and no spoiled brat is going to kick me out. I will make your life hell.” Perfect. Just perfect.
Because guess what? I’ve also been taping this entire chat. Not only that, but I had already spoken with a lawyer. Thanks to r/legal advice for the recommendations. It turns out that threatening the legal owner of your residence is not a good idea. Who knew? Okay, remember how I discussed speaking with a lawyer? Best decision ever.
Turns out my grandparents did more than simply transfer the house in my name. They also set up the entire legal process. trust, estate. I’m not sure what legal terminology is, but it basically prevents anyone from contesting it. My lawyer actually laughed when she saw Tracy’s legal threats in the text I showed her. But let me back up a little.
The day following Tracy’s minor breakdown, I went nuclear. I served them all with legitimate eviction notices, including official court paperwork. Tracy’s facial expression when she was served, priceless. She attempted to refuse to take the documents, but apparently that is not how it works. Thank you, Reddit.
Brandon’s reaction was precisely as expected. He flung his gaming chair down the stairs, breaking it. Elmo karma. Sierra had a complete Instagram live tantrum. Congratulations on gaining almost 200 followers. What about Tracy? Oh man, Tracy became completely insane. First, she attempted to contact every single lawyer in town.
But here’s the thing with small town lawyers. Everyone knows each other. And after the first couple told her she had no case, word spread. Even her DUI cousin refused to touch it. Then she took the social media way. Posted a lengthy dramatic Facebook status on how her ungrateful stepdaughter was attempting to make her family homeless, but that backfired when one of my mother’s old friends mentioned Tracy’s treatment of me throughout the years, accompanied by receipts.
Side note, a shout out to my mother’s friend, Elise, who has been saving screenshots of Tracy’s BS for years. The hero we did not realize we needed. What is the best part? Tracy’s expensive country club friends began to distance themselves. It turns out that they dislike associating with those who are about to become homeless.
Funny how that works. Meanwhile, Brandon and Sierra are experiencing their own crisis. Brandon finally recognized that being a content producer isn’t a career when you have 247 followers and your main content is about Fortnite. He tried looking for actual jobs, but professional gamer unofficial does not sound good on a resume.
Sierra’s sorority friends found out about everything since she shared it on her private story, which has roughly 200 followers. They’re now everyone chatting about how her luxury bags were most likely fakes and that her father isn’t genuinely wealthy. She’s having a complete identity crisis. But the real drama began when Tracy attempted her final desperate move.
She waited until I was at work before attempting to rearrange some things in the house. By reorganizing, I mean she attempted to take some of my mother’s old jewels which my grandparents had left for me. Unfortunately for her, I had previously installed surveillance cameras following the eviction notice. Thanks again, Reddit, for the advice.
I caught her on film trying to put my mother’s antique necklaces into her trashy Michael Kors purse. I called the cops. I filed a report. I showed them the footage. Tracy tried to explain to the police officer that she was only moving jewelry that didn’t belong to her. Her phony tears didn’t work this time, most likely because her mascara wasn’t even running.
Waterproof makeup completely undermines the dramatic impact. The officer and elderly woman took one look at the scene and was not having it, especially when Tracy tried to play the but family card. Attempting to steal from the legal owner of this house isn’t a family matter. I haven’t filed charges yet because having something on file for the eviction case is better.
My lawyer was delighted. Speaking of the eviction, remember how Tracy used to talk about her investment accounts and how she was independently wealthy before dating my father? It turns out that was all BS. She has nowhere to go and is in complete panic. She tried calling my father’s sister for assistance, but my aunt, who never liked Tracy, simply forwarded her a link to apartment ads in the shady section of town.
I felt awful for a moment until I remembered Tracy inadvertently donating my mother’s Christmas ornaments to Goodwill. The best worst part. My father finally grew a spine kind of. He told Tracy that if she does not go gently, he will not accompany her. It turns out that even he was tired of her toxic BS after 12 years.
I will notify you when they leave. Final update. So after the entire jewelry theft attempt, Tracy realized she was in trouble. Tracy, on the other hand, felt compelled to make the most spectacular exit imaginable. The day before the final eviction deadline, she attempts one last power play, calls this a family meeting, lmao, what family, and walks in wearing her phony Chanel suit with the evident wrong pattern, which she claims is vintage.
She has a full speech planned about how she’s choosing to leave because she can’t take the negativity or whatever. Tracy begins this monologue by explaining how she is taking the high road. When did getting legally evicted become an honorable act. Then she drops what she believes is her trump card. Your father and I have decided to move to Florida.
We just bought a beautiful house in Tampa, much nicer than this old place. First and foremost, they did not make any purchases. I honestly saw her GoFundMe for Family and Crisis Needs Housing, which received exactly $43 in donations. The majority came from her multi-level marketing group. Second, my father wasn’t even present for this news. He was in a hotel.
It turns out that witnessing your wife try to steal your deceased wife’s valuables is quite depressing. Who knew? But here’s when it gets good. While Tracy is doing her faux elegant exit speech, the movers I hired arrive. specifically in the midst of her. This house was beneath me anyway diet tribe.
There are these gigantic dudes coming in with crates and dollies. Tracy’s face does that odd frozen thing again. Botox with wrath equals comedic gold. She began shouting about how she wasn’t prepared and needed more time to organize her items. The head mover guy shouts out to Mike, “You’re a real one.” Looks at her and says, “Ma’am, we have strict instructions.
Everything gets packed and moved to your storage unit today. If you want your stuff, you’ll need to take it up with the court. Y’all, she lost it. Full nuclear meltdown. Started snatching random items, claiming they were family heirlooms, including my mother’s ceramic bowl, which she had wanted to throw away last year.
Sierra’s upset because her Tik Tok backdrop has been wrecked. Brandon is having a panic attack because he cannot disconnect his gaming equipment quickly enough. But this is the finest part. Tracy used to brag about her designer items. vintage bags and expensive clothing. The movers begin packing it and half the labels practically come off.
While all of this is going on, I’m sitting on my couch having coffee at home and watching them scramble. I posted a couple updates to my private tail and suddenly all these individuals from high school are sliding into my direct messages like, “OMG, I always knew she was fake.” Final inventory of items they attempted to steal on their way out.
Three of my mother’s necklaces captured on camera. My grandmother’s china set also on camera. The nice coffee maker. I purchased it with my Starbucks money. Every single towel in the house. A strange flex, but okay. The garage door opener. Really? But you know what? They can keep the towels. I’ve already purchased new extremely excellent ones that Tracy would have complained were too expensive while spending $500 on her false designer items.
What about the actual eviction? Chef’s kiss. They had to complete the walkthrough with the sheriff’s deputy, which was a typical process, but more fulfilling. Tracy tried to claim that I damaged her belongings during the relocation. The deputy simply pointed at my security cameras and asked if she wanted to file a fake report. She shut up quickly.
So, where are they now? Tracy and my father are staying in her sister’s two-bedroom apartment in the next town over. Apparently, it’s not working well, as her sister wrote on Facebook about ungrateful house guests who don’t do dishes. Brandon had to sell his gaming equipment to put down a deposit on a room in a shady house share.
He’s currently working at GameStop, which could be beneficial to him. Sierra moved in with her sorority sisters, but it only lasted a week until they became tired of her sobbing. Now, she commutes 2 hours to college from her mother’s sister’s house. Her most recent Tik Tok is about being humbled, but she’s still being rationed in the comments.
As for me, the house is so quiet now, like strangely peaceful. There will be no more odors of imitation luxury perfume everywhere. No more passive aggressive notes about properly loading the dishwasher. No more 3:00 a.m. screaming from Brandon’s gaming sessions. I converted his previous room into my home office, which is already furnished with genuine designer items because I can afford it now that I am not paying for their groceries.
Sierra’s room is becoming my ideal closet. Tracy’s meditation room, where she spent the day watching Real Housewives, is now my yoga studio. Dad calls occasionally. He’s living with Tracy for now, but really, he seems exhausted. I believe he has finally realized what everyone else knew 12 years ago.
He married a gold digger who isn’t even skilled at gold digging. Was I overly harsh? Maybe. Do I regret it? Nope. They screwed around. They discovered it. It turns out that Karma doesn’t care about your faux Gucci slides. Final update. My mom’s best friend, Elise, is currently renting one of the spare rooms.
So, I’m not alone in this large house. She’s teaching me all of mom’s old recipes and helping me replace things Tracy threw away over the years. Sometimes excellent things emerge from horrible situations.
