I (40F) still can’t believe this happened.
Two years ago, lightning struck our house and burned it to the ground. The insurance dragged their feet for nearly a year, covering just one month of hotel. With nowhere else to go, we moved in with my sister-in-law.
At first, she sounded generous: “One spare room and my office, just \$100 a week. Buy your own food.”
By week three, her tone changed. “ONLY ONE ROOM NOW. The smallest. Rent is \$250 a week.”
So, five of us crammed into a glorified closet, sleeping on the floor, living out of trash bags. Almost \$1,000 a month—for misery. Meanwhile, she claimed my kids on her food stamps.
The rest of the house was basically forbidden.
- “NO KIDS ON THE COUCH.”
- “WASH DISHES OUTSIDE WITH THE HOSE.”
- “SHOWERS UNDER 3 MINUTES.”
Her bills? Only land tax (\$450/year), electric, and heating oil—though she barely filled the tank. The money she got from us went to a new flat-screen and casino trips.
Those eight months were the worst of my life.
Fast forward. Three months ago, my grandmother fell and decided to move into assisted living. She transferred her farmhouse deed to me. A five-bedroom farmhouse. Safe. Spacious. Ours.
Then last month, karma came knocking. SIL lost her house because she hadn’t paid her land tax in years. Suddenly she was calling me, her voice all sweet:
“Sooo… me and my stepdaughter need a place to stay. You’ve got plenty of space.”
I said, “Fine. Here are the conditions.”
Silence on her end. Then I laid them out:
- “One small room. \$250 a week.”
- “Only your room—rest of the house is off-limits.”
- “No using the couch.”
- “Dishes washed outside with the hose.”
- “Showers under 3 minutes.”
I paused, letting her choke on the déjà vu. Then I added, “And don’t forget—you’ll need to buy your own food.”
The line went dead.
She hasn’t called back since.