My Mom, Brother, and SIL Made My Life Hell After Moving Into My House—I Endured Them for Months Until I Finally Put Them in Their Place
A year after my dad died, I was still clinging to the home he left me—our century-old family house. In his will, I received almost everything. My mom and my brother Tyler each got $10,000, and Mom never forgave me for it.
Then one rainy afternoon, Tyler showed up with his wife Gwen and a mountain of suitcases. Their lease had ended, and Mom had already told them they could move in—without asking me. I tried to stay calm, telling myself it was temporary.
It wasn’t.
Within weeks, they treated me like a live-in maid. They didn’t pay rent or help with bills, but they ate my food, trashed the house, and demanded errands “because Gwen’s pregnant.” I got dragged out of bed to buy her breakfast cravings, my birthday cupcakes disappeared, and even my mini-fridge wasn’t safe—Mom used a spare key to let Gwen in.
The breaking point came when I finally cooked dinner after a long day… and Gwen ate it while I stepped away for ten minutes. When I snapped, Tyler and Mom told me to “get out” of my house.
So I made one call: my Uncle Bob—Dad’s brother. He’d once offered to buy the house.
The next morning, I sold it to him. When I announced it, their faces dropped.
“You have 48 hours,” I said. “Pack and leave. Locks change Saturday.”
They screamed “family.” I shrugged.
Family doesn’t treat you like a servant.
Two weeks later, I moved into a small cottage, blocked their numbers, and finally felt peace.
Because family isn’t blood—it’s respect.
