They had started buying their own cheap groceries, stacking instant noodles and frozen dinners on the counter.
At 6:00 that evening, I knocked on their bedroom door. The room that used to be my guest room.
Na Nathan opened it, looking exhausted.
“It’s the first of the month,” I said calmly. “I haven’t received your payment.”
Sarah appeared behind him, crossing her arms.
“We aren’t paying you rent, Valerie. We are family.”
“No,” I replied, my voice steady. “I recall being told very clearly in front of 20 people that I am not family. I am a landlord, and landlords collect rent.”
“We don’t have it,” Nathan admitted quietly. “We spent our paychecks on the storage unit for the garage stuff and groceries, and we just don’t have it.”
“Then you have broken the terms of our arrangement.”
I didn’t raise my voice. I simply turned around and walked down the hall to the hall closet.
I pulled out a stack of flat cardboard moving boxes. I carried them back and dropped them at Nathan’s feet.
They hit the floor with a loud slap.
“What are these for?” Sarah demanded.
“Packing,” I said. “You have 30 days to vacate the premises. If you are not gone by the first of next month, I will have the locks changed while you are at work.”
Sarah laughed nervously.
“You wouldn’t actually kick your own son out on the street.”
“I am encouraging my adult son to find a home he can afford,” I corrected her. “You wanted independence. You wanted to be the lady of the house. Now is your chance.”
They didn’t believe me at first. For a week, they left the cardboard boxes untouched in the hallway.
But as the days passed, they noticed I wasn’t backing down.
I stopped acknowledging them. I lived my life, cooked my own meals, and kept my spaces pristine.
The mess they made in the living room stayed exactly where they left it.
By the third week, the reality finally set in. Sarah stopped glaring and started packing.