Tracy almost dropped her phone when she saw me.
She was still in her silk robe, probably phony like everything else about her, holding her world’s best mom coffee mug, which Brandon and Sierra bought for her at the dollar store for Mother’s Day.
And she behaves like it’s fine china.
“Good morning, sweetie,” she says as if she isn’t trying to get rid of me. “I made coffee.”
First and foremost, she did not prepare coffee.
Instead, she loaded a K Cup into the curig I purchased with my Starbucks money.
Second, honey.
Since when?
Brandon stumbles in looking like a zombie, presumably up all night streaming to his three viewers, and Sierra follows shortly after, already fully camera ready.
It takes her 2 hours every morning.
I kid you not.
We’re all sitting there having breakfast, which I made.
Tracy doesn’t know how to cook anything that doesn’t come from a microwave.
And the tension is so strong you could cut it with a knife.
Brandon shovels cereal into his mouth while scrolling through Tik Tok.
Sierra takes pictures of her untouched avocado toast for Instagram.
And Tracy pretends to read emails on her phone, but I can tell she’s actually looking up how to evict someone who owns your house.
“Tracy, you’re not very subtle with the phone angle.”
That’s when I started to have fun.
“Hey, Tracy,” I replied casually. “I was thinking about what you said yesterday about rent.”
She perks up like a mircat, undoubtedly expecting me to back down.
“I suppose you’re correct. People should pay rent to live here.”
The relief on her expression lasted only about 2 seconds before I dropped the bomb.
“So, I have been conducting some calculations. Based on the market pricing in our area, I believe $1,200 per person is reasonable. That is $3,600 for you, Brandon, and Sierra. Of course, that excludes utilities. Oh, there will be a security deposit.”
Chaos.
Total chaos.
Brandon genuinely choked on his frosted flakes, while Sierra’s avocado toast went face down on her new white crop top.
Karma is real, people.
And Tracy.
Tracy appeared to be about to pass out.
“You can’t be serious,” she sputters. “We are family.”
“Oh, I am dead serious.”
“And since you raised a family,” I take out my phone, which has a tape of her morning conversation with Dad queued up, “let’s speak about your little plot to ship me off to college.”
Brandon and Sierra are looking between us like they’re watching a tennis match.
And the color in her cheeks drained so quickly that I thought she’d pass out.
So, after I aired the recording of Tracy’s phone call, things got crazy.
Like Jerry Springer crazy.
Tracy rushes up from her chair so quickly that she knocks over her treasured world’s best mom cup, which fortunately did not break.
She’s doing this weird thing with her face, trying to seem angry, but her Botox is fighting back and it’s actually kind of funny.
“You’ve recorded me?” she screeches. “That’s illegal.”
I simply smile and add, “Actually, we live in a one party consent state. I checked.”
“Also, my house and my regulations.”
Brandon is just sitting there with his mouth open, milk trickling down his chin.
I suppose this guy never learned how to eat correctly.
Sierra is hurriedly texting someone, most likely her Tik Tok group chat, where she pretends to be wealthy and unconcerned.
Tracy begins pacing around the kitchen. Her knockoff Gucci slides making that annoying flip-flop sound on the tile floor that I cleaned yesterday.
And she’s muttering something about calling her lawyer cousin.
You know, the one who specializes in real estate law but only handles DUI cases in some strip mall office.
Then she takes a different approach.
Her voice becomes quiet and concerned, as if she’s attempting to secure a refund without a receipt.
“Lucy, I understand you’re upset, but what about this behavior? Yeah, it’s unhealthy. Your father and I are only trying to help you. Perhaps some time away would be beneficial for you. There’s this beautiful college in Michigan—”
I cut her off right then.
“Tracy, let me make something very clear. I’m not going anywhere. This is my house. The deed is in my name, and if anyone’s going to be leaving, it won’t be me.”
That was when she lost it completely.
“You ungrateful little—”
I won’t mention what she called me, but it wasn’t very world’s best mom for her.
She begins to rant about how she raised me as if I were her own, by making me their maid.
How she gave up everything to be a good stepmother by shopping at TJ Maxx rather than Nordstrom.
And how I’m ripping this family apart.
What family?
Meanwhile, Brandon and Sierra are experiencing their own meltdowns.
Brandon: “Please. This is Bulls. I’m not paying rent. I’m about to blow up on Twitch.”
Narrator: He wasn’t going to blow up on Twitch.
Sierra is screaming, “Daddy won’t let you do this. He loves us more than this stupid house.”
Spoiler alert, he does not.
I just sit there sipping my coffee, which I made because Tracy still doesn’t know how to use the French press, and watching them plummet.
It’s as if every ounce of entitlement and privilege they’ve been hoarding is simply bursting forth.
Tracy then takes out her trump card.She grabs her phone and calls my father again, undoubtedly expecting him to rush home and solve everything like he always does.
But plot twist, I’ve been messaging Dad all morning.
Send him the recording.
I explained everything.
For the first time in his life, Dad is truly supporting me.
Kind of in his own ineffective way.
When he responds, he returns to speaker mode.
Tracy is screaming, “Mark, you need to come home right now. Your daughter is out of control.”
Dad, surprisingly firm: “Tracy, we need to respect that it’s her house. Maybe we should start looking for a new place.”What about the stillness that followed?
OMG.
Brandon’s brain cells could be heard struggling to digest this betrayal.
All three of them.
Tracy’s face undergoes a fantastic journey of shock, rage, disbelief, and finally fear.
Real terror.
Because it has now dawned on her that she is about to lose everything.
The comfortable life.
The free ride.
She has been on a power trip for many years.
This is when she makes her worst mistake.
She turns towards me, gets right in my face, and says, “Listen here, you little bae. I don’t care whose name is on the deed. This is my house. I’ve lived here for 12 years, and no spoiled brat is going to kick me out. I will make your life hell.”
Perfect.
Just perfect.
Because guess what?
I’ve also been taping this entire chat.
Not only that, but I had already spoken with a lawyer.
Thanks to r/legal advice for the recommendations.
It turns out that threatening the legal owner of your residence is not a good idea.
Who knew?
Okay, remember how I discussed speaking with a lawyer?
Best decision ever.
Turns out my grandparents did more than simply transfer the house in my name.
They also set up the entire legal process.
Trust, estate.
I’m not sure what legal terminology is, but it basically prevents anyone from contesting it.
My lawyer actually laughed when she saw Tracy’s legal threats in the text I showed her.
But let me back up a little.
The day following Tracy’s minor breakdown, I went nuclear.
I served them all with legitimate eviction notices, including official court paperwork.
Tracy’s facial expression when she was served, priceless.
She attempted to refuse to take the documents, but apparently that is not how it works.
Thank you, Reddit.
Brandon’s reaction was precisely as expected.
He flung his gaming chair down the stairs, breaking it.
Elmo karma.
Sierra had a complete Instagram live tantrum.
Congratulations on gaining almost 200 followers.
What about Tracy?
Oh man.
Tracy became completely insane.
First, she attempted to contact every single lawyer in town.
But here’s the thing with small town lawyers. Everyone knows each other.
And after the first couple told her she had no case, word spread.
Even her DUI cousin refused to touch it.
Then she took the social media way.
Posted a lengthy dramatic Facebook status on how her ungrateful stepdaughter was attempting to make her family homeless.
But that backfired when one of my mother’s old friends mentioned Tracy’s treatment of me throughout the years, accompanied by receipts.
Side note, a shout out to my mother’s friend, Elise, who has been saving screenshots of Tracy’s BS for years.
The hero we did not realize we needed.
What is the best part?
Tracy’s expensive country club friends began to distance themselves.
It turns out that they dislike associating with those who are about to become homeless.
Funny how that works.
Meanwhile, Brandon and Sierra are experiencing their own crisis.
Brandon finally recognized that being a content producer isn’t a career when you have 247 followers and your main content is about Fortnite.
He tried looking for actual jobs, but professional gamer unofficial does not sound good on a resume.
Sierra’s sorority friends found out about everything since she shared it on her private story, which has roughly 200 followers.
They’re now everyone chatting about how her luxury bags were most likely fakes and that her father isn’t genuinely wealthy.
She’s having a complete identity crisis.
But the real drama began when Tracy attempted her final desperate move.
She waited until I was at work before attempting to rearrange some things in the house.
By reorganizing, I mean she attempted to take some of my mother’s old jewels which my grandparents had left for me.
Unfortunately for her, I had previously installed surveillance cameras following the eviction notice.
Thanks again, Reddit, for the advice.
I caught her on film trying to put my mother’s antique necklaces into her trashy Michael Kors purse.
I called the cops.
I filed a report.
I showed them the footage.
Tracy tried to explain to the police officer that she was only moving jewelry that didn’t belong to her.
Her phony tears didn’t work this time, most likely because her mascara wasn’t even running.
Waterproof makeup completely undermines the dramatic impact.
The officer, an elderly woman, took one look at the scene and was not having it, especially when Tracy tried to play the but family card.
Attempting to steal from the legal owner of this house isn’t a family matter.
I haven’t filed charges yet because having something on file for the eviction case is better.
My lawyer was delighted.
Speaking of the eviction, remember how Tracy used to talk about her investment accounts and how she was independently wealthy before dating my father?
It turns out that was all BS.
She has nowhere to go and is in complete panic.
She tried calling my father’s sister for assistance, but my aunt, who never liked Tracy, simply forwarded her a link to apartment ads in the shady section of town.
I felt awful for a moment until I remembered Tracy inadvertently donating my mother’s Christmas ornaments to Goodwill.
The best worst part.
My father finally grew a spine.
Kind of.
He told Tracy that if she does not go gently, he will not accompany her.
It turns out that even he was tired of her toxic BS after 12 years.
I will notify you when they leave.
Final update.
So after the entire jewelry theft attempt, Tracy realized she was in trouble.
Tracy, on the other hand, felt compelled to make the most spectacular exit imaginable.
The day before the final eviction deadline, she attempts one last power play, calls this a family meeting, lmao, what family, and walks in wearing her phony Chanel suit with the evident wrong pattern, which she claims is vintage.
She has a full speech planned about how she’s choosing to leave because she can’t take the negativity or whatever.
Tracy begins this monologue by explaining how she is taking the high road.
When did getting legally evicted become an honorable act?
Then she drops what she believes is her trump card.
“Your father and I have decided to move to Florida. We just bought a beautiful house in Tampa, much nicer than this old place.”
First and foremost, they did not make any purchases.
I honestly saw her GoFundMe for Family and Crisis Needs Housing, which received exactly $43 in donations. The majority came from her multi-level marketing group.
Second, my father wasn’t even present for this news.
He was in a hotel.
It turns out that witnessing your wife try to steal your deceased wife’s valuables is quite depressing.
Who knew?
But here’s when it gets good.
While Tracy is doing her faux elegant exit speech, the movers I hired arrive.
Specifically in the midst of her.
“This house was beneath me anyway,” diet tribe.
There are these gigantic dudes coming in with crates and dollies.
Tracy’s face does that odd frozen thing again.
Botox with wrath equals comedic gold.
She began shouting about how she wasn’t prepared and needed more time to organize her items.
The head mover guy shouts out to Mike, “You’re a real one,” looks at her and says, “Ma’am, we have strict instructions. Everything gets packed and moved to your storage unit today. If you want your stuff, you’ll need to take it up with the court.”
Y’all, she lost it.
Full nuclear meltdown.
Started snatching random items, claiming they were family heirlooms, including my mother’s ceramic bowl, which she had wanted to throw away last year.
Sierra’s upset because her Tik Tok backdrop has been wrecked.
Brandon is having a panic attack because he cannot disconnect his gaming equipment quickly enough.
But this is the finest part.
Tracy used to brag about her designer items. Vintage bags and expensive clothing.
The movers begin packing it and half the labels practically come off.
While all of this is going on, I’m sitting on my couch having coffee at home and watching them scramble.
I posted a couple updates to my private tail and suddenly all these individuals from high school are sliding into my direct messages like, “OMG, I always knew she was fake.”
Final inventory of items they attempted to steal on their way out.
Three of my mother’s necklaces, captured on camera.
My grandmother’s china set, also on camera.
The nice coffee maker.
I purchased it with my Starbucks money.
Every single towel in the house.
A strange flex, but okay.
The garage door opener.
Really?
But you know what?
They can keep the towels.
I’ve already purchased new extremely excellent ones that Tracy would have complained were too expensive while spending $500 on her false designer items.
What about the actual eviction?
Chef’s kiss.
They had to complete the walkthrough with the sheriff’s deputy, which was a typical process, but more fulfilling.
Tracy tried to claim that I damaged her belongings during the relocation.
The deputy simply pointed at my security cameras and asked if she wanted to file a fake report.
She shut up quickly.
So, where are they now?
Tracy and my father are staying in her sister’s two-bedroom apartment in the next town over. Apparently, it’s not working well, as her sister wrote on Facebook about ungrateful house guests who don’t do dishes.
Brandon had to sell his gaming equipment to put down a deposit on a room in a shady house share. He’s currently working at GameStop, which could be beneficial to him.
Sierra moved in with her sorority sisters, but it only lasted a week until they became tired of her sobbing. Now, she commutes 2 hours to college from her mother’s sister’s house.
Her most recent Tik Tok is about being humbled, but she’s still being rationed in the comments.
As for me, the house is so quiet now.
Like strangely peaceful.
There will be no more odors of imitation luxury perfume everywhere.
No more passive aggressive notes about properly loading the dishwasher.
No more 3:00 a.m. screaming from Brandon’s gaming sessions.
I converted his previous room into my home office, which is already furnished with genuine designer items because I can afford it now that I am not paying for their groceries.
Sierra’s room is becoming my ideal closet.
Tracy’s meditation room, where she spent the day watching Real Housewives, is now my yoga studio.
Dad calls occasionally.
He’s living with Tracy for now, but really, he seems exhausted.
I believe he has finally realized what everyone else knew 12 years ago.
He married a gold digger who isn’t even skilled at gold digging.
Was I overly harsh?
Maybe.
Do I regret it?
Nope.
They screwed around.
They discovered it.
It turns out that Karma doesn’t care about your faux Gucci slides.
Final update.
My mom’s best friend, Elise, is currently renting one of the spare rooms.
So, I’m not alone in this large house.
She’s teaching me all of Mom’s old recipes and helping me replace things Tracy threw away over the years.
Sometimes excellent things emerge from horrible situations.
THE END.