When my dad remarried, I thought Sharon was nice. She smiled a lot and said she wanted to be “one big happy family.” But soon, that changed.
One day, out of nowhere, she sat me down and said, **”You’re almost an adult. You should start paying rent.”**
I was **sixteen.**
She made me pay $500 a month—plus utilities, plus groceries. And on top of that? I babysat her kids for free, cooked, cleaned, and still had to keep my grades up.
I wanted to tell my dad, but every time I tried, Sharon would somehow turn it into me being “ungrateful.”
Then, one afternoon, she made herself a cup of tea, sat across from me, and said:
**”We need your room. The new baby’s coming. You have a week to move out.”**
I was **speechless.**
That night, I called my aunt. She called my **grandpa.**
The next evening, Grandpa pulled up in his old truck. He walked right in, looked me in the eyes, and said, **”No worries, kiddo. I won’t let anybody act like this with my granddaughter.”**
Then he sat **Sharon and my dad** down and gave them **three options**:
1. **They refund every dollar I paid in rent.**
2. **I move in with him, and he takes Dad to court for parental neglect.**
3. **He reports Sharon for financial abuse of a minor.**
Dad turned pale. Sharon went silent. I chose **option two.**
Two days later, I was settled in Grandpa’s cozy home, eating pancakes and **not paying rent.**
Then the call came. **Sharon was livid.**
**”HOW COULD HE DO THAT?!”** she shrieked.
I smiled, remembering Grandpa’s words as he loaded my bags into his truck:
**”Sometimes, people need to be reminded they’re not as powerful as they think.”**