When I was eight months pregnant, my sister-in-law Tessa begged to stay with us “just for a week.” I wanted to be supportive, so we cleared the guest room and welcomed her in. But weeks stretched into months, and she turned our home into a trash-covered crash pad. She stayed up all night blasting TV, ordered food on our account, and acted like she owned the place. Even after the baby arrived, she refused to leave, growing ruder and lazier by the day.
Finally, we told her she needed to move out so we could focus on our newborn. She exploded, stormed out, and I thought that was the end—until we returned home from a pediatric appointment to find our kitchen flooded. Someone had stuffed towels in the sink and left the tap running. Tessa denied everything, acting innocent and smug, but I remembered the nanny cam I’d set up.
Sure enough, the footage showed her blocking the sink, turning on the faucet, and smirking as she walked out. We stayed calm, invited her to dinner, and handed her a box containing the screenshots and an invoice for the damage. Her face drained when she realized we had proof. We told her she was done in our lives and changed the locks that night.
The insurance covered most repairs, and Tessa disappeared—until her old landlord emailed us for a reference. I simply told the truth and attached the evidence. She didn’t get the new apartment. Sometimes karma doesn’t need yelling or revenge—it just needs receipts and a quiet door closing behind someone who showed you exactly who they are.
