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. Edit: Holy crap, this just blew huge overnight. Thank you for all of the recognition and support.
I will try to answer queries in the comments. 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
