Drawing the Line
The next morning, I changed the Wi-Fi password. I left her laundry sitting in the machine, damp and wrinkled. And I didn’t make her breakfast. Normally, I cook enough for everyone, but that day I only made food for my husband and myself and put everything away before she came out.
I even locked the guest bathroom door from the outside—if she couldn’t respect it, she didn’t need to use it.
The first thing she noticed was the Wi-Fi. When she asked about it, I told her I’d share the password after we talked about the house rules—because I’d asked nicely for weeks and been completely disrespected in my own home.
We kept our word; she didn’t keep hers.
She got angry and ran to my husband, saying I wasn’t being “sympathetic” to her situation.
Though he admitted she’d been a nightmare to live with, he thought I should’ve given her one last warning instead of cutting her off cold. But I reminded him: we promised her a roof over her head—nothing more. Everything else was an act of kindness. He agreed and passed that message along to her.
