Off The Record
My Mom’s Ex Tried To Kick Me Out After She Passed — But I Was One Step Ahead
A year after my mother passed away, I returned home to find my suitcases at the door and a stranger sitting in my living room wearing my mother’s robe. Her ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend sneered and told me it was time for me to leave, but she had no idea whose house she was in.
I opened the front door and my bag rolled in behind me. The house was filled with the smell of cheap, greasy perfume. That was wrong. Because of my mom, the flat was always comfortable, tidy, and familiar.
Then I saw two large pieces of baggage neatly packed near the door. My luggage. I became icy. My heartbeat throbbed in my ears.
Did someone break in? No. The door wasn’t forced. It looked as if it had been inhabited. That’s when I heard the TV.
When I walked into the living room, I froze.
A woman sitting with her legs crossed on the couch grinned. With the remote in one hand and a champagne drink in the other, she flipped through the channels as though she owned the house. But the worst part?
She was wearing my mother’s robe.
With her eyes darting up and down me like I was an unedered delivery, the woman turned to face me.
“Oh,” she said, laughing. “You returned sooner than I anticipated.”
“Who are you?” I was taken aback by how sharp my voice sounded.
She lay splayed on the couch, totally at ease. Vanessa is my name. Rick’s fiancé.
Rick. The ex-partner of my mother. I would let the man stay here in respect of her last request.
I clenched my jaw. “Where is Rick?”
As she sipped her wine, Vanessa appeared content with herself. I see he’s out running errands. But he filled me in on everything about you. My mother’s coffee table was where she set her glass. Look, my dear, Rick and I really need this room to ourselves right now after our chats. Don’t you understand?
I looked at her. Her words were too hard for my mind to comprehend. Did she need this space?
“This is my house,” I said slowly.
Vanessa actually laughed. “Oh, my dear. I know Rick was being nice by letting you remain here, but come on. You’ve grown into a lady. Now is the time to proceed.”
I clenched my jaw. “This house is not owned by Rick.”
She waved a hand dismissively at it. “Oh, all of that legal stuff will be resolved in due time. In fact, the lawyer will arrive in approximately an hour to review everything.”
My hands were shaking, and I had to control them. Legal issues?
I inhaled deeply. Vanessa watched me, waiting for me to cry, plead, or lose my temper so she could tease me. She didn’t get it from me. Instead, I answered, “Then I’ll wait,” while gazing into her haughty eyes.
Vanessa’s smile faltered briefly. Just a second. Then she shrugged. “Adjust yourself.”
I sank into the chair across from her, arms folded, heart pounding. She smiled mischievously and went back to watching TV as though I had interrupted.
I remembered waiting in a hospital room while sitting quietly. My mother’s voice was weak, yet she held my hand.
“This house is yours, sweetheart,” she whispers. “I made everything happen. You won’t have to worry about it.”
I held back my tears. “All right, Mom.”
She sighed, her gaze flitting to the door. I knew the person she was thinking about. Rick.
“Just… don’t throw him out right away,” she remarked. “He needs time to get his bearings.”
I wanted to tell her that Rick had years to make amends. He was forty-two, unemployed, and had been “figuring things out” for as long as I had known him.
But my mother was dying. There was nothing I could do to counter her.
I nodded. “I refuse to.”
She smiled, closed her eyes, and put her hand back in mine. A week later, she disappeared.
I made the mistake of granting her last wish. Rick remained.
At first, he said that he would need a month to heal. Then a month turned into three. Three turned became six.
Rick? I was grieving, working, and figuring out college while trying to maintain my composure. He posed as the proprietor.
It began with little things. He was sitting in her chair, flipping through TV stations like he was the boss of the home. Cans of beer were left on the countertop. voicing thoughts about how I “should” utilise his personal space.
Then came the bigger ones. One day, I saw that my mother’s pictures were gone from the mantle. On another day, he started inviting people over without asking.
By the time I left for my college preparatory course, I felt isolated in my own home. But maybe he would be gone by the time I got back, I thought.
As I glanced at Vanessa, who was sitting in my living room wearing my mother’s robe, I realised something. Rick was not going anywhere.
I was the visitor, he thought now.
As I sat there with my arms folded and my eyes glued to the TV, Vanessa pretended that I didn’t exist.
Rick had returned about twenty minutes earlier, feeling satisfied and cocky, as though he had already won. He gave Vanessa a quick peck on the cheek before settling into the couch beside her and barely glancing at me.
He looked at me and said, “Well, guess she got the news.”
Vanessa laughed. “Yes, and she’s handling it really well.”
Rick flung his arms over his head as though this were just another lazy afternoon at home. “Kid, don’t make this harder than it has to be. You had time. I thought you would be in charge of this.”
The doorbell rang. I stood up. “That will be the attorney.”
Rick frowned. “What?”
I walked by him and opened the door, and the man came in. He was older, dressed a sharp suit, and carried a leather briefcase. He hardly glanced at Rick as he pulled out a massive stack of papers.
He identified himself as “Mr. Thompson.” “I was the lawyer for your mother.” He turned to face me. “You are the legal owner of this house. That is confirmed by these documents.
Rick’s smile vanished. “What?” “What?”
Mr. Thompson flipped over the papers calmly and thoughtfully. It’s pretty clear what your mother wants. This land and all other property belong to her daughter alone. He adjusted his spectacles and looked at Rick. “This house is not legally yours.”
Vanessa sat down. “That’s not possible,” she screamed, “Rick told me—” She turned to him and her eyes narrowed. “You claimed to be the owner of this place.”
Rick’s expression had turned pale. “I—I mean, I believed—”
“You misled me?” Vanessa cried out.
She had already reached for her purse when Rick stumbled.
She snarled and sprang to her feet, saying, “Oh, hell no.” “You don’t even own the damn house, and you pulled me into this mess?” Her eyes were no longer arrogant as she spun around on me. Just plain humiliation.
“I am so out of here,” she muttered before clomping to the door.
Rick hurried to get to her. “Wait, baby—”
The door slammed.
For the first time in the evening, Rick looked nervous. He turned back to me. “Observe, child—”
I held out my hand. “Stop referring to me as a kid.”
He groaned and rubbed his face. “All right, listen up. We can work something out.” He gestured around. “I’ve been living here for a year. It must have some value.”
They adjusted Mr. Thompson’s glasses. Indeed, it does. You have been occupying this property unlawfully without a lease. If you don’t leave of your own free will, the owner may prosecute you with trespassing.
Rick swallowed.
“Pressing charges?” I repeated, tilting my head. “Is that a possibility?”
Rick’s eyes widened. “Whoa, we must not lose our minds.”
There was a knock on the door. This time, I didn’t even have to move since Mr. Thompson did it. There were two uniformed policemen inside when he unlocked it.
“Sir.” One of them called Rick that. “You have a full day to vacate the premises.”
Rick combed his hair and looked from the police to me. “Where do you suppose I’ll go?”
I shrugged. “It’s not my problem.”
The officer took a step forward. “I advise you to begin packing, sir.”
Rick ceased his argument.
That night, I sat in my room listening to the sounds of drawers opening, boxes shifting, and bags being pulled across the floor. I anticipated feeling angry, relieved, or triumphant.
I was emotionless.
I lay on my bed and looked at the ceiling. It had taken a year to get here. I watched Rick take over my home and behave as like I didn’t belong for a full year.
Not any more.
I suppose I must have fallen asleep because the house was silent when I woke up.
For the first time in a year, the house was mine.
I sat in the centre of the room, taking it all in. There was no eerie quiet. There was silence.
I went over to the mantle. My mother’s picture was back where it belonged. I had found it in a drawer, buried beneath several of Rick’s useless possessions. I ran my fingers over the frame.
I whispered to myself, “I did it, Mom.”
Being kind can occasionally be mistaken for weakness. But standing up for myself? That’s how I got my power back.
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