“Document everything,” she said. “Save texts. Install security cameras. Don’t engage in screaming matches. If she threatens you again, that’s harassment. If she tries to take anything of your mother’s or grandparents’, that’s attempted theft.”
I walked out of that office feeling like I’d just been handed a sword.
For years, I’d been fighting with a plastic spoon.
Now? I had steel.
The eviction notice went out on a Tuesday.
I printed three copies. One for Tracy. One for Brandon. One for Sierra. Because as far as the law was concerned, they were all adults living there without a lease.
I hired a process server because that’s one detail Reddit drilled into my brain: “Don’t DIY service. Get it done properly.”
He was a big guy with kind eyes. He knocked on the door while I sat at the kitchen table pretending to scroll my phone, heart pounding.
“Are you Tracy [Last Name]?” he asked when she answered.
“Yes?’ she said cautiously.
He handed her a packet of papers.
“You’ve been served,” he said, then turned and walked away.
“Served?” she shrieked. “What do you mean ‘served’?”
I sipped my coffee.
“What did you do?” she demanded, rounding on me, papers shaking in her hand.