I honored my dad’s memory by keeping the house he left me. When my family moved in uninvited, I thought it was temporary. They took over and treated me like their personal maid. I endured it until they tried to push me out of my own home. I made just one phone call that changed everything.
The old grandfather clock in the hallway chimed as I ran my fingers across Dad’s framed photo. A whole year had passed since we buried him, but the ache still felt like it happened yesterday.
“Dad,” I whispered, “I miss you so much.”
Mom walked in, glancing at me with that look — half pity and half resentment. It had become her signature expression since the will reading.
“Katie, stop moping around. He’s gone, and crying won’t bring him back!”
I flinched at her coldness. After Dad died of cancer last year, the lawyer revealed that my father left me 90 percent of everything, including our century-old family home. Mom and my brother Tyler each got $10,000. The memory of Mom’s face contorting with rage at the lawyer’s office still haunted me.
“I’m not moping… just remembering.”
She snorted and walked toward the kitchen. “Well, remember while dusting those shelves. You’re 20 and still don’t know how to keep a place clean. This house is a mess.”
I bit my tongue. For a whole year, I’d let Mom act like she still owned the place. It was easier than fighting… until everything changed one rainy May afternoon.
I heard the front door slam open and the unmistakable sound of multiple suitcases rolling across the hardwood floors my father had lovingly restored years ago.
“Hello? Anyone home?” my brother Tyler’s voice boomed through the house.
When I stepped into the entryway, I froze. Tyler stood there with his wife, Gwen, and at least eight massive suitcases.
“What’s all this?” I asked, my stomach already knotting.
Tyler grinned, setting down a duffel bag. “Surprise! Our lease ended, and we thought — why waste money on rent when there’s plenty of space here?”
“You’re… moving in? Did you talk to Mom about this? She didn’t tell me anything…”
“Of course they did,” Mom said, appearing behind me. “I told them it was a wonderful idea.”
I turned to face her. “This isn’t your house to offer.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop 10 degrees.
“What did you just say to me?”
“I said this isn’t your house, Mom. You should have asked me first.”
Tyler laughed while Gwen smirked beside him. “Come on, Katie. Don’t be ridiculous. This is the family home. We’re family.”
“You should be grateful for the company,” Gwen added, already heading for the stairs. “Which guest room can we take?”
I stood there, shocked into silence, as they marched past me with their belongings.
“We’ll take the blue room,” Mom called after them. “It has the best morning light.”
As they thundered upstairs, Mom patted my shoulder condescendingly. “Don’t make a fuss, Katie. It’ll be nice having everyone together.”
I watched her follow them up, feeling like I’d somehow become a guest in my own home.
“But it’s my house,” I whispered to no one.
***
Two months of hell followed. Dishes piled up, laundry sat in the washer until it reeked of mildew, and food vanished from the fridge. No rent, no help with bills, and not even a “thank you.”
I was washing the breakfast dishes again one morning when Tyler and Gwen came into the kitchen, practically glowing.
“Katie,” he announced, his arm around Gwen’s waist, “we have amazing news.”
Gwen beamed, holding a pregnancy test kit. “We’re pregnant!”
“Oh,” I said, genuinely surprised. “Congratulations!”
“And,” Gwen added, that smirk I’d grown to hate spreading across her face, “I guess that means we won’t be moving out anytime soon.”
My hands tightened around the dish I was washing. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you both about that. I think it’s time you found your own place. I didn’t agree to—”
Tyler cut me off with a laugh. “Not happening, sis. You wouldn’t throw out your pregnant sister-in-law, would you? That’s harsh.”
“This is my house. Dad left it to me.”
“It’s the family home,” Mom interrupted, walking into the kitchen. “And they’re starting a family. What’s wrong with you? Show some compassion, girl!”
Three pairs of eyes stared at me like I was the unreasonable one.
“Fine,” I said finally, setting down the plate before I broke it. “But things need to change around here.”
Tyler just snorted and opened the fridge. “Whatever you say, princess.”
As they walked out laughing, Mom lingered.
“You need to be more accommodating,” she said. “Gwen’s pregnant. She needs special care now.”
I turned back to the sink full of their dirty dishes. “Right. Special care.”
Little did I know that “special care” would become my nightmare.
“Katie! Katie, wake up!”
I jolted awake at 5:10 a.m. to Mom shaking my shoulder.
“What?” I mumbled, disoriented. “Is there a fire?”
“Gwen needs a McMuffin. McDonald’s opens at six.”
I blinked in confusion. “So…?”
“Go get her one.”
“What??”
“Look, I have my book club at eight. Tyler has an early meeting. You need to go.”
“But I have class at nine—”
“She’s pregnant with your niece or nephew!” Mom snapped. “Get up. Now.”
That’s how I found myself shivering outside a McDonald’s before dawn, waiting for them to open their doors so I could buy a McMuffin for my sister-in-law’s craving.
When I finally got home, Gwen took one bite, frowned, and pushed it away.
“It’s cold now. I don’t want it anymore.”
I stood there, sleep-deprived and late for my study group, watching her walk away.
Mom glared at me. “You should have driven faster.”
That was just the beginning. Somehow, Gwen’s pregnancy meant I became the designated errand runner, chef, and punching bag. Any protest was met with, “She’s pregnant!” as if those two words justified everything.
***
A few weeks later, my birthday came and went with barely an acknowledgement. My friend Zoe dropped off homemade cupcakes — my favorite chocolate one with cream cheese frosting.
“Save me one,” I told Mom as I headed to my part-time job. “I’ll have it when I get back.”
Eight hours later, I returned to find all six cupcakes gone.
“Where are my cupcakes?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
Gwen walked by, patting her slightly rounded belly. “Oh, those were amazing. I couldn’t help myself.” She gave that smug little smile. “Blame the baby!”
I looked at Mom, who just shrugged. “She’s eating for two!”
That night, I bought a mini-fridge for my bedroom. The next day, I found Mom had used her spare key to let Gwen in anyway.
“Family doesn’t lock each other out,” Mom scolded when I confronted her.
“Family doesn’t steal from each other either,” I shot back.
Tyler overheard and cornered me later. “Stop being so selfish. It’s just food.”
But it wasn’t just food. It was about respect… something I clearly wasn’t going to get in my own home.
***
The breaking point came on a Thursday. I’d been up since dawn, rushing to finish a project for my business class before heading to my part-time job at the consultancy firm. I had no time for breakfast or to pack lunch.
My stomach growled painfully all day. By the time I got home at seven, I was light-headed with hunger.
I threw together a quick mushroom pasta with cream sauce — my dad’s recipe. The savory aroma filled the kitchen as
