On the train back home, I found a scathing post online.

[My sister-in-law is pushing thirty but isn’t married yet. She comes home all the time. Would you be bothered by it?]

The comments were numerous and ran the gamut of opinions.

The post got wildly popular, and there was an argument between the poster and commenters.

[It’s bad enough that she won’t get married. She wants to stay with us when she’s home. Shouldn’t she feel ashamed? I’m at the end of my rope. She even drank all my lemonade last time she was here. I really hate her.

[She has no boundaries. I’ve been wanting to teach her a lesson for ages. I turned her bedroom into my walk-in closet. Let’s see if she can still stay here.]

When I got to this point, I closed the post.

It was lucky that I bought the house where my parents and brother live. Because of that, I would not be at risk of losing my own room.

But when I got out of the train station, I received a text from my mother.

[Sweetie, I booked you a hotel room. You don’t have to come home and stay this time.]

The screen went dark, and the crowd squeezed around me as everyone walked out.

Since I could not spot my father, who was supposed to pick me up, I called him.

“Hello, Jackie? Ah, I’m so forgetful! Your brother said he wanted lamb this morning, so I went to the grocery store. I forgot to pick you up.”

He kept apologizing. “Sorry, sweetie. You should call a cab.”

I did not want to be petty about this, so I agreed.

In any case, this was not the first time this sort of thing had happened.

I got into a cab and told the driver my address.

The driver was really enthusiastic. “Oh, hey, that’s the city’s best neighborhood. It has the best mansions. They cost so much when sales started.”

I chuckled. “Yes, they’re quite expensive.”

A mansion in that neighborhood cost 3 million for about 2,200 square feet.

After paying a down payment of 2 million, the monthly payments were about $20,000.

The cost had decimated all my savings from working in the bigger city of Savidad. Not only that, I was left scrambling every month to repay the housing loan.

The price of air tickets had gone up by $100, and I could not bear to pay so much. I ended up having to take a five-hour train just to get back to my hometown.

As I rubbed my numb legs, my phone rang. It was a text from my mother.

[I’m not home right now. Go to the hotel. I’ll see you there. The house hasn’t been cleaned up, so you should stay in a hotel.]

I typed out a reply. [I know the door codes and can get inside myself. I brought some gifts, so I’ll bring them over.]

I suddenly recalled a post I had seen online.

I deleted the message I had typed out and found the post again.

‘Thirty and unmarried…’ I thought.

It was the same circumstance I was in.

However, I only went home once a year, so that did not match the details of the post.

When I came home last year, it was hot, and I was thirsty, so I went to the fridge to get some lemonade.

When my sister-in-law, Naomi Carmichael, got home and noticed this, she immediately shot me a dirty look.

During dinner, she kept making pointed remarks.

“Young ladies should be more careful about their diets. What if your future husband can't support you?

“We’re in a small city, and it’s harder to make money here than it is for you in Savidad. Prices here are high, so it’s hard to make a living.

“Jackie, you take such good care of yourself. You must spend a lot every month, right?”

The whole thing irked me, so I went out and bought a dozen huge bottles of lemonade to shut her up.

It was that detail that kept replaying in my head and made it impossible for me to overlook that post.

One of the comments read, [Who bought the house? If it was the man, the sister-in-law has every right to stay at home.]

The poster replied in anger, [This is our house. She will get married one day, and then she will be considered part of another family. What right does she have to stay here?]

I let out a relieved breath. I was the one who paid for everything when it came to the house. I had paid every cent from the down payment to the loan repayments.

I bought it to give it to my parents so that they would have a nicer place to live.

I planned to return home and settle down in two years. When the time came, we could all live together.

The poster kept criticizing her sister-in-law.

[She keeps making my mother-in-law send her care packages from home. Does she think that stuff doesn’t cost money? Sometimes, she even texts her brother in the middle of the night. She’s a grown adult, but she can’t understand that it was not appropriate. How shameless!]

I frowned.

I had once asked my mother to send me some of our special hometown sausages. Before the package arrived, Naomi called me.

The first thing she said was, “Jackie, I have to tell you this because I care about you. You’re really quite thoughtless when it comes to some things. We can barely afford meat at home, but you’re asking Mom to send you so much!”

After hanging up, I sent my mother $1,000.

When the package arrived, I nearly burst into laughter. I assumed that Mom had sent a lot, but there was only one measly pack of sausages in there.

As for the matter of the text, I had once gotten into an argument with Naomi.

I had been online and found some news about the vaccines, so I sent it to my brother, Jon, as a reminder to take our elderly parents to get the shots.

Naomi had seen the text and immediately sent me a voice message to scold me for it.

“Are you mad? Why are you sending Jon texts in the middle of the night? Don’t you know what time it is? Even a mistress would know better than to do that!”

That sparked a huge row, and we gave each other the silent treatment for a while.

The more I read the post, the deeper my frown got.

Meanwhile, I had arrived in my neighborhood.

I paid, brought my luggage over to the right building, and walked up to the door.

The fingerprint lock did not click when I put my thumb to it. Flabbergasted, I tried again, but nothing happened.

I keyed in the string of numbers I remembered—my birthday and my mother’s birthday combined—but it still did not work.

The red light from the keypad flashed at me.

The unease I had felt since reaching the place intensified.

I called Jon, but he did not answer.

I called Mom, and it rang for a long time before she picked up.

“Mom, did you change the door’s code?”

Silence was all that came through the line for a few seconds. When she spoke, my mother sounded hurt. “Um… yes. It was changed. Naomi said the code was too simple and was unsafe, so we changed it.

“Why did you go home? Didn’t I get you a hotel room?”

“What’s the new code?” I asked instead of answering.

“Um… Naomi was the one who set it, so I don’t know. Can you wait for me to get back?”

“Mom,” I said with a calm voice, “I’m at the door now. Tell me the new code. If you don’t, I’ll call a locksmith.”

She must have sensed that I was serious.

“Oh, child, why are you so stubborn? Alright, I’ll text it to you.”

After I hung up, a text came in with a string of numbers: 0105.

It was Jon’s birthday.

I scowled and entered the code.

With a click, the door unlocked.

The interior was warm, a sharp contrast to the chill of the outside.

I opened the shoe drawer in the vestibule to get my house slippers, but I could not find them.

I usually had two pairs of running shoes in there as well, but they were shoved into a corner and covered with dust.

I dragged my luggage inside.

When I passed by the master bedroom, I noticed something amiss with the pink carpet.

We had agreed early on that the master bedroom would be for our parents. Since I spent most of my time in another city, I took the smallest bedroom. Meanwhile, the other bedroom was for Jon and Naomi to stay in temporarily.

But I could see that the decorations of the master bedroom did not fit my parents’ taste.

My bedroom was at the end of the hallway.

The closer I got, the faster my heart beat.

I swung the door open and became rooted to the spot.

My big wooden bed was gone. In its place was a row of white wardrobes.

My books, trophies, pictures, and everything from my childhood were all gone. In their place were a rainbow of clothes, bags, and shoes.

My room, located in the home I had bought, had been turned into Naomi’s closet.

Blood rushed to my head, and I could hear it roaring in my ears.

It seemed that the post I saw about the unwelcome sister-in-law was indeed about me.

I stood rooted to the spot and felt cold all over. But then, flames of rage started burning, nearly turning my rationality into ashes.

Just then, I heard the sound of the front door unlocking.

Naomi walked in on high heels and a brand-new luxury bag on her arm.

When she saw me, the smile on her face froze.

Her voice was shrill as she said, “How did you get in here? Shouldn’t you tell the owner of the house before you’re in? How rude!”

My voice was frosty as I said, “This is my home. Why shouldn’t I be in here?”

Naomi scoffed. “Your home? You’re only my sister-in-law. Don’t act like you own the place. You should take a good look at yourself and think if you’re worthy of being here. People will laugh at your overreach.”

Naomi threw her bag to one side and walked forward, blocking the way to her closet.

Her posture made it seem like she was defending her territory.

She looked me up and down with a disdainful gaze.

“Didn’t your mother book you a hotel room? Why are you shameless enough to barge into someone else’s home? And look at what you’re wearing! Is that even worth $100? Don’t bring your stink of poverty into my house.”

‘My stink of poverty?’ I thought.

I looked at her wool coat. It was the one I had sent to my mother just last month.

If it were not for me, Naomi would not even be standing here talking to me about this.

I took a step forward.

“The name on this property’s deed is mine: Jacqueline Selavy. Listen carefully. This is my home, not yours.”

Naomi’s expression shifted. She said loudly, “Stop this nonsense! This place is the Selavy family’s gift to me for my wedding to your brother. Jon and I are the ones who own this place. How dare an outsider like you make demands?”

“This place was given to you for your wedding?” I was so angry that I nearly started laughing.

“Did you hit your head somewhere, Naomi? Or are you just playing dumb? I’m only letting you live here because I consider you family. Have you or Jon ever spent a single cent on this place?”

Naomi’s face reddened when I hit a nerve.

“You’d better mind your tongue! Do you think you’re so great just because you pay? You should rightly be helping out your family! Your parents have agreed to let me use your room. Who do you think you are?”

“Who do I think I am?” I repeated. Rage made my heart thunder in my chest.

“I’ll show you who I think I am.”

I could not bother to speak with her any longer and pushed her aside. I walked into the room that used to belong to me and started recording a video on my phone. I made sure everything was captured, from the wardrobes to the dressing table and the shoes scattered everywhere. I even filmed the windowsill and her skincare products.

Naomi shrieked and pounced at me, trying to grab my phone.

“I didn’t let you record my closet! This is my private space! Get out!”

I dodged her hands. She staggered and nearly fell, and this made her even angrier.

Just then, the front door opened. My parents and Jon were home.

Jon frowned when he saw the commotion inside and Naomi’s red eyes.

“What’s going on? Have you upset Naomi right after coming home?”

Mom’s expression also darkened. “Didn’t I tell you to stay at the hotel? Why are you causing such a ruckus right after coming home?”

Dad tugged my sleeve.

“Jackie, you shouldn’t get in a fight with Naomi so soon after returning. Can’t you work things out?”

This was supposed to be my family.

They did not care about the facts or what was actually going on. I was always the one at fault.

Jon’s tone was matter-of-fact as he said, “You’re only home for a few days a year. The room was going to be empty anyway. Naomi has a lot of clothes. What’s so wrong about using the room for her clothes? We’re a family! Are you really going to get into a fight because of this?”