When I invited my girlfriend Melissa to move in with me, I imagined it would bring our relationship closer and help create a real home for the three of us — me, her, and my 16-year-old brother, Liam. After our parents died in a car crash two years earlier, I’d taken full responsibility for Liam. He wasn’t just my brother anymore — he was my kid, my family, and my best friend. So, when Melissa agreed to move in, I was hopeful, despite a few red flags I chose to ignore, like her dismissive attitude toward Liam’s place in our lives.

On moving day, everything seemed fine. I helped her get settled and left to buy groceries for a celebratory dinner. I imagined us laughing over pasta and wine, starting this new chapter together. But when I returned, I was stunned. Liam’s belongings — his clothes, books, and even his backpack — were dumped on the front porch in boxes and trash bags. Melissa stood in the doorway, calm as ever, and said she’d “helped him understand” that couples need space. Then she called him a freeloader and insisted he was old enough to live on his own.

I was furious. Liam, who works two jobs and supports himself more than most teens ever have to, stood there humiliated. In that moment, I realized exactly who Melissa was — someone who didn’t care about the bond my brother and I had built, someone who thought love meant erasing my past and my responsibilities. Without hesitation, I told her to pack her things and leave. She tried to argue, but I didn’t budge. Liam came first. Always.

As she left, I helped Liam bring his stuff back inside. He apologized, thinking he’d ruined things, but I told him the truth — he saved me. Melissa showed her true colors, and thanks to him, I didn’t waste any more time on someone who couldn’t love us both. We sat on the couch, laughing at the chaos of the day, and I reminded him we were a team. No matter what, this would always be his home — and no one would ever make him feel unwanted in it again.