When I returned home a year after my mother passed away, I found my suitcases left by the door and a stranger sitting in my living room, wearing my mother’s robe. She seemed completely unaware of whose house she was actually in, but her ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend smiled smugly and told me it was time for me to leave.
My suitcase trailed behind me as I pushed open the front door. The smell of something greasy mixed with cheap perfume filled the air. That was wrong. The apartment had always been cozy, clean, and familiar, all thanks to my mom.
Then I spotted two large suitcases neatly packed by the door. My bags. A chill ran through me. My ears throbbed in time with my heartbeat.
Had someone broken in? No, the door wasn’t forced open. It looked like someone had been living there. At that moment, I heard the TV playing.
I froze as I stepped into the living room.
A woman smirked while sitting on the couch with her legs crossed. She flicked through TV channels as if she owned the place, holding a wine glass in one hand and the remote in the other. The worst part?
She was wearing my mother’s robe.
The woman turned her gaze to me, scanning me up and down like I was a package delivered by mistake.
She laughed. “Oh.” “You’re back sooner than I expected.”
“Who are you?” My voice sounded sharper than I thought.
Completely at ease, she stretched out on the couch. “I’m Vanessa. Rick’s fiancé.”
Rick. My mother’s former partner. Honoring her final wish, I was supposed to let the man stay here.
I clenched my jaw. “Where is Rick?”
Vanessa sipped her wine, pleased with herself. “He’s out running errands. But he told me all about you.” She placed the glass on the coffee table — my mother’s table. “Look, sweetheart, after everything we talked about, Rick and I need some space. You understand, don’t you?”
I stared at her. Her words were too much for my mind to grasp. Did she really think she could claim this room?
“This is my home,” I said slowly.
Vanessa laughed. “Oh, honey. Come on, even though Rick was being nice letting you stay, you’re grown now. It’s time to move on.”
I tightened my jaw. “Rick doesn’t own this house.”
She waved dismissively. “Oh, that’ll be sorted soon enough. Actually, the lawyer will be here in about an hour to handle all the legal stuff.”
I forced my hands to stop shaking. Legal matters?
I took a deep breath. Vanessa watched me, waiting for me to break down, plead, or lash out so she could mock me. But I didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, I met her arrogant eyes and said, “Then I’ll wait.”
Vanessa’s smile faltered for a moment. Just a moment. Then she shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
With my arms crossed and heart pounding, I sank into the chair opposite her. She resumed flipping through channels with a sly smile, as if I were just an annoying interruption.
I remembered sitting quietly in a hospital room. Despite her weak voice, my mother squeezed my hand.
“This house is yours, sweetheart,” she said. “I’ve arranged everything. You won’t have to worry.”
I swallowed the tears. “Okay, Mom.”
Her eyes flicked toward the door with a sigh. I knew who she was thinking about — Rick.
“Just… don’t kick him out right away,” she whispered. “He needs time to settle.”
I wanted to tell her Rick had plenty of time already. He’d been “figuring things out” as long as I’d known him, was forty-two, and unemployed.
But my mom was dying. I couldn’t argue.
I nodded. “I won’t.”
She smiled softly, closed her eyes, and held my hand one last time before passing away a week later.
I made the mistake of honoring her last wish. Rick stayed.
At first, he said he’d be gone in a month. Then the month stretched to three. Three turned into six.
Rick? I struggled to keep it together through grief, work, and prepping for college. He acted like he owned the place.
At first, it was little things. Flipping through TV channels sitting in her chair like the king of the house. Beer cans left on counters. Giving orders about how I “should” use the space.
Then bigger things happened. One day, my mother’s photos were gone from the mantle. Another day, he invited people over without asking.
By the time I left for college prep class, I felt like a stranger in my own home. Still, I hoped he’d be gone when I came back.
Now, looking at Vanessa in my living room wearing my mother’s robe, I realized Rick never planned to leave.
He already thought I was the intruder.
Vanessa ignored me while I sat with crossed arms, eyes fixed on the TV.
About twenty minutes earlier, Rick returned looking smug and pleased, as if he’d already won. He kissed Vanessa’s cheek and slumped next to her, barely glancing my way.
“Guess she got the news,” he said, nodding toward me.
Vanessa chuckled. “Yes, and she’s taking it surprisingly well.”
Like it was just another lazy afternoon at home, Rick threw his arms behind his head. “Kid, don’t make this harder than it has to be. You had plenty of time. I thought you’d be responsible.”
The doorbell rang. I stood. “That must be the lawyer.”
Rick scowled. “What?”
The man entered after I opened the door. Older, carrying a leather briefcase, dressed sharp in a suit. He pulled out a thick stack of papers without looking at Rick.
“I’m Mr. Thompson, your mother’s lawyer.” He turned to me. “Legally, this house belongs to you. These documents prove it.”
Rick’s grin vanished. “What?” “What?”
Calm and steady, Mr. Thompson flipped through the papers. “Your mother’s wishes are clear. Her daughter alone is the rightful owner of this property and all assets.” Adjusting his glasses, he looked at Rick. “This house is not yours.”
Vanessa sat down, shouting, “That can’t be true! Rick told me—” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You said you owned this place.”
Rick went pale. “I—I thought—”
“You lied to me?” Vanessa screamed.
Rick faltered, but Vanessa grabbed her handbag and stood.
“Oh, no way.” She turned to me, no longer arrogant, just humiliated.
“I’m done with this,” she muttered, then stomped to the door.
Rick tried to stop her. “Wait, baby—”
The door slammed shut.
For the first time all night, Rick looked nervous. He faced me again. “Look, kid—”
I held up my hand. “Don’t call me kid.”
He rubbed his face and groaned. “Okay, listen. We can work something out.” He gestured around. “I’ve been here a year. That counts for something.”
Mr. Thompson adjusted his glasses. “Actually, it does. Without a lease, you’ve been living here illegally. The owner can press trespassing charges if you don’t leave voluntarily.”
Rick swallowed hard.
“Trespassing charges?” I repeated, tilting my head. “Is that really possible?”
Rick’s eyes widened. “Whoa, let’s not get crazy.”
A knock came at the door. This time, Mr. Thompson opened it. Two police officers stepped inside.
One addressed Rick, “Sir, you have 24 hours to vacate the premises.”
Rick glanced from the officers to me and ran a hand through his hair. “And where exactly am I supposed to go?”
I shrugged. “Not my problem.”
The officer stepped forward. “I suggest you start packing, sir.”
Rick stopped arguing.
That night, as I sat in my room, I heard drawers opening, boxes moving, and bags dragging across the floor. I expected to feel anger, relief, or triumph.
But I felt nothing.
Lying on my bed, I stared at the ceiling. It took an entire year to get here. For a whole year, I watched Rick take over my house and act like I didn’t belong.
Not anymore.
The house was quiet when I opened my eyes — I must have fallen asleep.
For the first time in a year, this house was truly mine.
I took it all in, sitting in the middle of the room. The silence wasn’t unsettling. It was peace.
I walked to the mantle. My mother’s photo was back in its rightful place. I had found it hidden beneath a pile of Rick’s useless stuff in a drawer. I touched the frame gently.
“Mom, I did it,” I whispered.
Kindness is sometimes mistaken for weakness. But standing up for myself? That’s how I took back control.