My Mom Harassed Me At My Job Until I’d Give My Home To My Sister. I Installed Hidden Cameras And Uncovered A Terrifying Plot To Make Me Homeless. How Far Should I Go To Protect Myself?

The Dinner Deception

Update to the dinner: The dinner was a disaster, but exactly the kind of disaster I should have expected.

I arrived at the restaurant early, choosing a table in a corner where we’d have some privacy but still be in public. I had my phone recording audio in my pocket and all the evidence saved to show them. When they walked in, both were practically glowing with anticipation. My sister was already talking about paint colors before she even sat down.

“I’m so glad you’ve come to your senses,” my mother began, not even looking at the menu. “Family should always come first. Your sister has already started packing, and we can have you moved out by this weekend.”

“Actually,” I said, pulling out my phone. “We need to discuss what happened Thursday night.”

The change in their expressions was instant. My mother’s face went from smug satisfaction to confusion, then to careful neutrality. My sister just looked panicked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” my mother said slowly.

I pulled up the video on my phone and turned it toward them. It was the clip of them in my apartment, clear as day, with my mother on the phone with a locksmith. I let it play for about 30 seconds before stopping it. The silence was deafening. Other diners were chatting around us, but at our table, you could have heard a pin drop.

My sister’s face had gone pale while my mother’s had turned an alarming shade of red.

“You put cameras in your apartment,” my mother finally hissed. “You filmed us without our consent.”

“You broke into my apartment,” I countered. “You were planning to illegally evict me by changing my locks and telling people I was mentally unstable.”

“We have a key,” my mother snapped. “That’s not breaking in. I’m your mother; I have every right to check on your well-being.”

“Having a key doesn’t give you the right to enter without permission,” I said. “And you definitely don’t have the right to conspire to change my locks and take over my lease.”

My sister finally spoke up, her voice shaky. “You can’t prove we were actually going to do anything. We were just looking around.”

I pulled up the audio clip of them discussing the locksmith and their plan to claim I was having a breakdown. My sister’s face went even paler, if that was possible.

“This is a legal recording,” my mother said, her voice rising. “You can’t use this against us.”

“Actually, it’s my apartment and I can record whatever I want in my own home,” I replied. “And I’ve already consulted a lawyer. What you did constitutes breaking and entering, conspiracy to commit fraud, and attempted theft.”

The Meltdown

That’s when my mother lost it. Really lost it. She stood up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor, drawing attention from nearby tables.

“How dare you?” she shouted. “After everything I’ve done for you! I gave birth to you, I raised you, and this is how you repay me? By treating me like some common criminal?”

“You literally broke into my apartment to steal it from me,” I said, trying to stay calm.

“It’s not stealing when it’s family,” she screamed. “Your sister needs that apartment. She needs it! You’re just being selfish holding on to it when you could live anywhere.”

The manager was approaching our table now, and other diners were openly staring. My sister was tugging on my mother’s arm, trying to get her to sit down, but she shook her off.

“You’re going to give your sister that apartment,” she said, her voice low and threatening now. “Or I will make your life hell. I’ll tell everyone at the zoo what kind of son you really are. I’ll show up everyday. I’ll tell them you’re unstable, that you need help. Who do you think they’ll believe? A concerned mother, or someone who secretly records his own family?”

That’s when I realized there was no reasoning with her. This wasn’t about the apartment anymore, if it ever really was. This was about control, about her inability to accept that I was an adult who could make his own decisions.

“If you come to my workplace again, I’ll file a restraining order,” I said quietly. “If you try to contact my employer, I’ll press charges for harassment. And if you or my sister come near my apartment again, I’ll file the police report my lawyer has already helped me prepare.”

My mother laughed, but it was an ugly sound. “You wouldn’t dare. I’m your mother, and that’s why I’m giving you this chance to walk away.”

I said, “Leave me alone. Leave my apartment alone. Leave my job alone. Or I’ll have no choice but to involve the police.”

She grabbed her purse and stormed out, knocking into a waiter on her way.

My sister hesitated, looking between me and the door.

“You know this is wrong,” I said to her. “You know what you were doing was illegal.”

She bit her lip, then said quietly, “She said you wouldn’t actually need to move out. She said we’d just share it for a while until you found somewhere else. She made it sound like you’d agreed but were just being difficult about the timing.”

I stared at her. “And you believe that? While measuring my apartment and talking about telling people I was having a mental breakdown?”

She had the grace to look ashamed. “She’s very convincing. You know how she is.”

“I do,” I said. “The question is, are you going to keep going along with it?”

She didn’t answer, just grabbed her things and left.

Desperate Measures

That was 3 days ago. Since then, I’ve received approximately 50 text messages from various family members, all saying versions of the same thing: “How could you threaten your mother with police?” “How could you choose an apartment over family?” “Don’t you know she just wants what’s best for everyone?”

I’ve also received several voicemails from my mother, ranging from tearful apologies while still insisting I’m overreacting to threats about ruining my reputation. My sister has been silent.

Yesterday, however, things escalated again. I got a call from my building’s superintendent. My mother had shown up at his office with printed emails—forged emails supposedly from me—saying I was planning to sublet the apartment to my sister and asking him to prepare the paperwork.

Fortunately, the super called me to confirm before doing anything. I sent him the real evidence of the break-in and explained the situation. He was appalled and has now banned both my mother and sister from the building, putting their photos at the security desk with instructions that they’re not to be admitted under any circumstances.

But I know this isn’t over. My mother doesn’t give up when she believes she’s right, and in her mind, she’s always right. The fact that I’ve stood up to her, that I’ve threatened legal consequences, has probably only made her more determined.

I’ve started the process of getting a restraining order. My lawyer friend is helping me file the paperwork. I’ve also informed HR at the zoo about the situation in more detail, providing them with copies of the threatening messages in case my mother follows through on her threat to contact them.

It’s exhausting. I go to work and try to focus on the animals, but I’m constantly checking my phone, worried about what she might do next. My co-workers have noticed I’m on edge. Yesterday while I was feeding the gibbons, one of them, a particularly perceptive female named Luna, kept touching my hand through the enclosure fence like she could sense my distress.

I love my job. I love my apartment. I’ve built a good life for myself and I’m not going to let my mother’s manipulation take that away from me. But the stress is wearing me down. I’m double-checking my locks obsessively. I jump every time I get a notification on my phone. I’ve started parking in different spots at work in case she’s watching my routine.

This shouldn’t be my life. I shouldn’t have to protect myself from my own mother, but here we are. I’m going to the police station tomorrow to file the report. I’ve put it off long enough hoping things would calm down, but the forged emails were the last straw.

My mother has shown she’s willing to commit fraud to get what she wants. My sister might have been a somewhat unwilling accomplice, but she was still an accomplice. I’ll update again once I’ve filed the report and know what the next steps are. For now, I’m just trying to take it one day at a time, focusing on my work and remembering why I love what I do. The animals don’t judge, they don’t manipulate, they just need care and respect—which I’m happy to provide. It’s more than I can say for some humans in my life.