My Father Lived In My House Rent-free For 9 Years, Then Changed The Locks To Kick Me Out. I Evicted Him And Accidentally Bought His Only Backup Home. Am I The Jerk For Leaving Him Homeless?
The Confrontation
9 years of free housing and now they want to give away my bedroom to some complete stranger. But it started making sense why Carmen had treated me like such crap when I was 15.
This woman had a daughter she’d completely abandoned and never talked about for 9 years. She couldn’t even be bothered to mention that chick’s existence, let alone maintain a relationship with her own kid. No wonder she had no problem throwing away my mom’s stuff and trying to erase me from my own house.
She’d already done it to her own daughter first.
“Are you completely insane? You’re guests in my house. You don’t get to make decisions about who lives here,”
I said. That’s when Dad’s mask came off completely, started screaming about family obligations, how I was being selfish, how Becca really needed this, and I was cruel for refusing.
I’m standing in some random rental property listening to my father have a meltdown because I won’t give my bedroom to a woman I’ve never met. The manipulation was so obvious it was almost insulting.
Make me the bad guy for protecting my own space. Paint him as the caring family man just trying to help someone in need. Classic guilt trip.
“Don’t touch my room or grandpa’s office,”
I said clearly, keeping my voice level even though my hands were shaking with anger.
“Touch either one and I’ll evict you immediately.”
Dad went nuclear.
“You can’t evict family. We’ve been living here for 9 years. We have rights.”
“You have the right to find your own place. Don’t test me on this.”
Then he dropped the real bomb. They’d sold their old house years ago to pay off debt. They literally had nowhere else to go. I was hella mad.
“Sounds like you should have thought about that before trying to give away my bedroom,”
I said and hung up.
The Guilt and The Setup
I sat in my car for 10 minutes after that call, hands still shaking. Part of me couldn’t believe it had come to this. The other part was already planning my next move.
That night I barely slept, kept telling myself I was doing the right thing but the guilt was eating at me. These weren’t strangers. This was my dad, the same guy who taught me to ride a bike and came to my baseball games.
Was I really about to make my own father homeless over a bedroom? I kept thinking about what people would say. Family, friends, relatives, everyone who’d ask, “How could you kick out your own dad?”
The story would spread and I’d be the ungrateful son who chose money over family. But then I remembered finding Carmen going through my phone at 2 a.m. when I was 15. I remembered my dad standing there like a statue while she threw away my mom’s jewelry.
I remembered 9 years of paying every bill while they lived free and acted like they owned the place. And on top of all that, I’d never even met this Becca before. She was nothing to me.
Not family, just some random woman Carmen had abandoned for years and now suddenly wanted to help. Why the hell would I put a complete stranger in my house for someone who couldn’t even be bothered to mention her own daughter’s existence for years? At that point I was done being a pushover.
That same night Uncle Derek calls out of nowhere. My dad’s brother who I hadn’t talked to in years because of some business falling out.
“Hey kiddo. Heard you’re having some family drama. Maybe you should reconsider this eviction thing. Family’s supposed to stick together right.”
I could smell the setup through the phone. Uncle Derek wasn’t calling out of concern. He never cared about anything.
Dad had gotten to him first. Probably crying about his cruel son who was about to make him homeless.
“I’ll think about it,”
I lied because I wanted to see what other moves they’d try. Derek seemed satisfied.
“Good. Good. Your dad’s been through a lot lately. This custody thing with Becca is really important.”
I hung up and called my lawyer. We agreed to go to the house early morning to give them official notice to leave.
The Lockout
So the next morning I drove over with my lawyer to serve proper eviction papers. Legal, by the book, no surprises. I was actually nervous as hell.
My palms were sweating and I kept rehearsing what I’d say to dad’s face. I pulled into the driveway of my own house and walked up to my own front door. Put my key in the lock.
It didn’t work. For a second I thought I’d grabbed the wrong key. Then reality hit.
These absolute morons had changed the locks on my house without telling me. After everything I’d done for them, they were literally locking me out of my own property. I pounded on the door until Dad answered but he wouldn’t open it.
Just talk through the wood like some paranoid criminal.
“I’m not letting you in until you change your mind about Becca,”
he said. That’s when every doubt I’d had disappeared. This has nothing to do with some custody case and helping family.
They wanted control, especially my dad. He thought he could lock me out of my own house and force me to cave to his demands. And there I was standing outside with a lawyer and dad refusing to let me in.
The cold anger was back but now it was mixed with complete clarity about what needed to happen next.
“You illegally changed locks on property you don’t own and you’re refusing to let the actual owner inside,”
I said, my voice deadly calm.
“You just committed about three different crimes genius.”
“This is my home too. I have rights,”
he screamed behind the door.
“Your rights ended the second you locked me out of my own house. Hope it was worth it.”
