Let Them In the House – Now They’re Walking All Over Me

**Diary Entry 5th October**

I never thought Id be the one to kick a lad out, but here we are.

*”You threw a child out onto the streets! Abandoned him in a strange city!”* my sister, Helen, shrieked down the line.

*”First, he threw himself out,”* I cut in, exasperated. *”Second, kids dont turn someone elses home into a halfway house. If hes old enough to bring strangers in, hes old enough to grow up.”*

*”Hell be expelled! Or worse! He rang mesaid the dorm had no beds left, hes sleeping on the floor!”*

I rolled my eyes and took a slow breath. Was I being unreasonable? Maybe. But the boy had pushed his luck too far.

Helen and I had lived quiet lives since our own kids left home. My eldest, William, was settled in Manchester with his own family. The youngest, James, was at uni in Leeds. It shouldve been peaceful. Instead, it felt hollowlike life had lost its purpose.

Then Helen called with *”a favour.”*

*”Listen, Emily, Michaels got into uni near you. The dorms are full, and you know what students are likemore drinking than studying. Could he stay with you? Youve got the space, and he could use some guidance.”*

I didnt refuse. I remembered bouncing Michael on my knee as a baby. He was my godsonalmost like a second son. And truth be told, I was glad for the company.

*”At least someonell eat my cooking,”* I told my husband, David, who grumbled but agreed.

At first, it was perfect. Michael was the ideal lodgerwashing up, cooking pasta dinners, home by nine, thanking us profusely. *”If only our boys had been this well-behaved,”* I joked.

But soon, cracks appeared. Clothes left everywhere, dirty plates piling up. Then the late nightsmidnight, then 3 AM, stumbling in drunk. One night, I found him fumbling with a shattered glass in the dark.

*”Why so late?”* I snapped.
*”Aunt Em, Im an adult. Im not skipping lectureswhats the issue?”*

I bit my tongue. He *was* grown. But when the food started vanishing faster, the shower draining strangers hair, I knew.

Then came the final straw. A midnight call from the neighbour: *”Your lot having a rave? The bass is shaking my walls!”*

We rushed home to find the flat trashedbeer cans, strangers sprawled on the sofa, Michael grinning like a fool.

*”Out. Now,”* I ordered.

The next morning, I laid down the law: no guests, no parties. He muttered about *”tyranny”* but scrubbed the stains from the carpet.

Then he brought a girl home. She darted into his room before we could blink. By ten, she still hadnt left. David knocked.

*”We need to talk.”*

Michael scowled. *”Its my life!”*

The girlGod knows how old she washid under the covers. My stomach dropped.

*”Send her home. Now. And pack your things.”*

Of course, Helen rang, furious. *”Hell end up in trouble! On the streets!”*

*”If you raised a brat, thats not my fault,”* I said, hanging up.

David found me with my head in my hands. *”You let them in out of kindness,”* he said quietly. *”But family doesnt turn on you like that.”*

Months later, Michael flunked out. Last I heard, hed had a run-in with the police.

As for us? The quiet returned. Only this time, it didnt feel empty. It felt earned.

**Lesson learned: kindness is a door. Some will walk through it with respect. Others will kick it off its hinges.**

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