It had been a year since my mother’s death when I came home to find my own luggage stacked neatly by the door — and a stranger lounging in the living room, wrapped in my mother’s robe as if it belonged to her.
She looked me up and down with a smug grin. “It’s time for you to move out,” she said coolly. She had no clue whose house she was really standing in.
Dragging my suitcase behind me, I stepped inside. The air was thick with greasy food and cheap perfume, nothing like the fresh, comforting scent my mother had always kept in our home. She had been meticulous — the house had once been a place of love and care.
Now? It felt invaded.
My eyes went straight to the suitcases. My suitcases. Packed up neatly, as though someone had carefully orchestrated my eviction.
My chest tightened.
From the living room, the TV droned on. And there she was — sitting on the couch like royalty, wine glass in hand, legs crossed with complete entitlement. But what struck me hardest wasn’t her attitude.
She was wearing my mom’s robe.
Her smirk deepened. “Back earlier than we thought.”
My voice came out sharp. “Who are you?”
She didn’t blink. “Tasha. Colin’s fiancée.”
Colin. My mom’s ex-boyfriend. The man she loved once but never married. The same man I had reluctantly allowed to stay in the house after her passing — only because she had begged me to.
“Where is Colin?” I demanded.
“Running errands,” she said casually, swirling her glass. “But he told me about you. And honestly, honey, it’s time you moved on. This space is ours now.”
My stomach churned.
“This is my house,” I said flatly.
She laughed lightly. “Oh, sweetie. Colin was kind to let you stay here, but you’re grown. Time to go live your life.”
I glared. “Colin doesn’t own this house.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “We’ve got a lawyer coming to explain everything soon.”
My hands shook, but I held myself steady. I refused to break in front of her. “Fine. I’ll wait.”
Her smirk slipped.
I sat down across from her, arms folded, heart pounding, and remembered the day in the hospital. My mother had been so weak, her hand squeezing mine. “This house is yours, Mia,” she whispered. “I made sure of it. You’ll be okay.”
Tears had blurred my vision when I promised her I’d be fine. And then, even in her final moments, she thought of Colin. “Don’t throw him out right away,” she said. “Give him some time. He’s not perfect, but he once loved me.”
I hadn’t wanted to argue with a dying woman. So I let him stay.
Weeks became months. By the time I left for my college prep program, he was still there — lazy, unemployed, and freeloading. Slowly, he erased her memory. Her pictures disappeared. Her favorite mug vanished. He filled the house with strangers, loud parties, and beer cans. My grief twisted into fury.
And now his girlfriend thought she could evict me?
Twenty minutes later, Colin walked in, grinning. He leaned down to kiss Tasha like this was his kingdom.
“Looks like she knows what’s happening,” he said smugly.
Tasha giggled. “She’s taking it really well.”
Colin looked at me with mock sympathy. “You’ve had more than enough time, Mia. I figured you’d be reasonable.”
Then the doorbell rang.
I stood. “That’ll be the lawyer.”
Colin frowned. “What?”
I opened the door to find a sharply dressed man holding a briefcase. “Good afternoon. I’m Mr. Edwards, your mother’s attorney.” He nodded politely at me before turning to Colin. “And you must be… the guest.”
He placed documents on the table. “Per your mother’s will, this house and all assets belong solely to her daughter, Mia. You have no legal rights here.”
Colin’s smugness evaporated. “Wait, what?”
Mr. Edwards stayed calm. “You’ve been staying here without any legal agreement. That’s trespassing.”
Tasha’s face twisted in shock. “You told me this house was yours!”
Colin stammered, “I—I thought—”
“You lied to me?” she snapped. Snatching her purse, she glared at me with humiliation before storming out.
“Babe, wait—” Colin chased after her. The door slammed in his face.
He turned back, sheepish. “Look, kid—”
I cut him off. “Don’t call me that.”
He raised his hands. “Okay, fine. But maybe we can work something out. I’ve been here for a year—”
“That’s called squatting,” Mr. Edwards interrupted. “You have 24 hours to vacate before we press charges.”
A knock sounded again. Two uniformed officers stepped inside.
“Mr. Colin Banks?” one asked. “You’ve been served notice. You’re required to leave the property within 24 hours.”
Colin’s voice cracked. “But where am I supposed to go?”
I shrugged coldly. “Not my problem.”
The officer added, “Start packing. Now.”
That night, I sat in my room listening to the sound of drawers opening, boxes shuffling, footsteps moving hurriedly.
I thought I’d feel triumphant. But instead, I felt… calm.
By morning, silence. For the first time in over a year, the house was still.
I found my mother’s photo frame shoved in a box under Colin’s junk. I placed it back on the mantle, my fingers brushing the glass.
“I did it, Mom,” I whispered.
Some people mistake kindness for weakness. But setting boundaries? That was how I finally took my life back.
And for the first time since she died, the house felt like home again.