When I came back from my trip, my belongings were dumped on the lawn with a note: “If you want to stay, live in the basement.” So I moved into my secret apartment instead—and stopped paying a dime. Six months later, they knocked on my door, asking to move in with me.

Sandra crossed her arms. “Well, that doesn’t give you the right to be selfish. We’re family.”

“Family that never asked if I wanted house guests,” I replied.

“Fine,” Sandra said when I refused to budge. “Keep your precious room. But don’t expect us to be grateful when you can’t even be considerate to family in need.”

I headed upstairs and shut the door behind me. That’s when the nightmare really began.

The house was never quiet anymore. Marcus lounged on the couch all day, pretending to job hunt with phone calls that led nowhere. Sandra walked around like she was some kind of savior, as if we were lucky to have her there.

But the hardest part was trying to get my work done. The kids constantly pounded on my door and burst in during my video meetings, completely throwing off my focus.

“Can you please keep the kids quieter during my work hours?” I asked Marcus one morning.Family games

“They’re just being kids,” he said, not looking up from his phone. “You don’t understand because you don’t have any.”