My Mom’s Ex Tried To Kick Me Out After She Passed — But I Was One Step Ahead

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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