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.”
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.
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
