I thought I was surprising my parents for Easter with flowers and chocolate. Instead, I found them living in the garage—while my sister Cassandra had taken over their house. The moment I stepped inside, I knew something was wrong. The cozy family home I grew up in was gone—replaced with cold, modern furniture, gray walls, and no trace of our life there. Then I heard her—Cassandra,
laughing with her boyfriend, Nathan. I found my parents in the garage, sleeping on cots, cooking on a camping stove. “It’s just temporary,” my mom whispered. But I knew better. I took them to a hotel and got to work. I’m a contracts manager—I understand paperwork. I found the deed:
my parents were the only owners. Cassandra? Just a guest. And legally, guests can be evicted. I invited her to lunch, recorded our conversation, and used it as evidence. Three days later, I returned with a police escort and an eviction notice. A week later, my parents were back home,
warm, safe, and surrounded by love. Cassandra? Couch-surfing. Nathan? Gone.That Easter ended with grilled steaks, tulips on the table, and laughter echoing through the house again. Home was home again—and everything was back where it belonged.
