Part 1: The Invoice

Chapter 1: The 30-Minute Charge

The Venmo notification pinged on my phone at 6:45 PM.

Request: $300.00 From: Beatrice Sterling Memo: Babysitting Services (Emergency)

I stared at the screen. I was standing in the kitchen of my own apartment—a sprawling, three-bedroom unit in downtown Chicago that I had bought five years ago, long before I married Jason. My feet ached from a ten-hour shift at the hospital where I worked as a Head Nurse.

I looked up. Jason was sitting at the island, eating a sandwich.

“For three years,” I said, my voice trembling not with sadness, but with a cold, rising fury. “Your mother and your sister have lived in my apartment without paying a cent of rent.”

Jason didn’t look up from his phone. “They’re family, Elena. We help family.”

“I help family,” I corrected. “I pay the mortgage. I pay the HOA fees. I pay for the groceries they eat. And today… today I had an emergency at the hospital. A trauma case. I asked your mother to watch Leo for thirty minutes until I could get home.”

Leo was our two-year-old son. He was currently napping in the living room, surrounded by toys that I had cleaned up earlier.

“So?” Jason took a bite of his sandwich.

“So she sent me a bill,” I held up the phone. “For three hundred dollars. For thirty minutes.”

Jason blinked. He finally looked at me. “What? No, that must be a mistake. Maybe she meant thirty dollars? Even that is…”

“It says $300, Jason. And I asked her. She said it was a ‘convenience fee’ because I interrupted her nap.”

Jason shrugged, a gesture of casual indifference that made my blood boil. “Well, Elena, you can’t expect her to work for free. Do you think my mother is a free maid? Her time is valuable.”

The world stopped.

The hum of the refrigerator seemed to vanish. The city noise outside faded. All I could hear was the rushing of blood in my ears.

Do you think my mother is a free maid?

I looked at Jason. I looked at the man I had married three years ago. He was handsome, yes. Charming, occasionally. But he was weak. He had moved his mother, Beatrice, and his sister, Chloe, into my spare rooms “temporarily” three years ago when they lost their house in Ohio. They never left.

They didn’t clean. They didn’t cook. They didn’t contribute. They complained about the Wi-Fi speed and the brand of coffee I bought.

And now this.

“You’re right,” I said softly.

Jason looked surprised. “I am?”

“Yes,” I said. “Her time is valuable. Everything has a price. I’ve been looking at this all wrong.”

“Exactly,” Jason smiled, relieved that the fight was over. “Just pay it, babe. Keep the peace. It’s only three hundred bucks. You make good money.”

I didn’t pay it.

I walked out of the kitchen. I walked into my home office and locked the door.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream.

I opened my laptop. I opened a spreadsheet.

I was going to calculate the price of “free.”

Chapter 2: The Audit

I spent the night auditing my own life.

I pulled up the utility bills for the last three years. The grocery receipts. The streaming service subscriptions. The car insurance (I had added Chloe to my policy because she “couldn’t afford it”).

I looked at the mortgage statements.

The apartment was in my name. Solely. I had bought it with my inheritance and my savings. Jason moved in when we got married. He paid for… well, he paid for his own car lease and his gym membership. I paid for everything else.

I calculated the market rent for a two-bedroom suite in downtown Chicago (the space Beatrice and Chloe occupied). $2,500 a month. Times 36 months. $90,000.

I calculated the utilities. The food. The “loans” I had given Chloe for her failed Etsy business. The medical bills I had covered for Beatrice.

The total was staggering. $142,000.

That was what they owed me.

And they had the audacity to charge me $300 for watching their own grandson for half an hour.

I printed the spreadsheet.

Then, I did something else.

I logged into our home security system. I hadn’t checked the logs in months—I trusted my family. Or I thought I did.

I scrolled through the footage from today.

2:00 PM. I called Beatrice. 2:15 PM. I left work. 2:30 PM. Beatrice is sitting on the couch watching TV. Leo is playing on the floor.

She didn’t “watch” him. She ignored him. She was on the phone the entire time, painting her nails.

But then I saw something else.

3:00 PM. A stranger walks into the apartment.

A man.

He didn’t knock. He used a key.

He walked into Chloe’s room. Ten minutes later, he walked out. Chloe walked him to the door. She handed him an envelope.

I zoomed in. It was cash.

I frowned. Who was he?

I switched to the exterior camera. The man got into a car. It wasn’t a taxi. It was a private sedan.

I rewinded the footage to last week. Monday. Same man. Same key. Same room.

Chloe wasn’t just living here rent-free. She was running a business out of my guest room. Or worse.

I felt a cold knot in my stomach.

I needed to know.

I waited until morning.

Chapter 3: The Breakfast Bill

I walked into the kitchen at 7:00 AM.

Beatrice and Chloe were already up, drinking my expensive coffee and eating the bagels I had bought yesterday. Jason was in the shower.

“Good morning, Elena,” Beatrice said, not looking up from her iPad. “Did you send the money? I didn’t get the notification.”

“I’m having issues with the app,” I lied smoothly. “I’ll handle it today.”

“Good,” Beatrice said. “I need to go to the salon. My cuticles are a disaster.”

Chloe looked at me. “Hey, Elena. Can I borrow your car today? I have a… job interview.”

“A job interview?” I asked. “That’s great, Chloe. Where?”

“Oh, just… a boutique. In the West Loop.”

“Sure,” I said. “Keys are on the counter.”

I watched them. They were comfortable. Entitled. They thought I was a pushover. They thought I was the “rich wife” who existed to subsidize their existence.

Jason walked in, smelling of soap. “Morning, ladies. Coffee?”

“Please,” Beatrice smiled at her son. “You’re such a good boy.”

I stood up.

“I have an announcement,” I said.

They looked at me.

“Since we are establishing that time and services have value,” I said, placing the printed spreadsheet on the table, “I decided to update our living arrangement.”

“What is this?” Jason asked, picking up the paper.

“It’s an invoice,” I said.

“Invoice?” Beatrice laughed. “For what?”

“For rent,” I said. “Backdated three years. Plus utilities. Plus food. Plus the ‘convenience fee’ of living in a luxury penthouse.”

Jason stared at the number. “$142,000? Elena, are you crazy?”

“No,” I said. “I’m just a landlord. And my tenants are delinquent.”

“We’re family!” Chloe shouted. “You can’t charge family rent!”

“You charged me for watching Leo,” I countered. “Family helps family, right? But you turned it into a transaction. So, I’m finalizing the transaction.”

“This is ridiculous,” Beatrice scoffed, pushing the paper away. “I’m not paying this. Jason, tell your wife to stop being hysterical.”

“She’s not being hysterical, Mom,” Jason said, but he looked terrified. “Elena, you can’t be serious. Where are they going to get this kind of money?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe Chloe can use the money from her… side business?”

Chloe froze. Her face went pale.

“What side business?” Jason asked.

“The man,” I said, looking directly at Chloe. “The man with the key. Who comes every Monday and Thursday at 3:00 PM.”

Chloe stood up, knocking her chair over. “You… you spy on me?”

“It’s my house, Chloe. I have cameras.”

“Who is the man, Chloe?” Jason asked, his voice hardening.

“He’s… he’s a client,” Chloe stammered.

“A client for what?” I asked.

Chloe didn’t answer. She looked at Beatrice. Beatrice looked away.

“Mom knew?” Jason asked, shocked.

“It’s nothing illegal!” Beatrice snapped. “She’s… she’s subletting the room during the day! For… naps!”

“Naps?” I laughed. “You’re running an Airbnb out of my guest room? Without telling me?”

“We needed spending money!” Chloe cried. “You’re so stingy, Elena! You control everything!”

I stared at them. They had given a stranger a key to my home—the home where my son slept—so they could make a few hundred dollars a week.

“You compromised my security,” I said, my voice shaking with rage. “You let a stranger into the house with my child.”

“He’s a nice man!” Beatrice defended. “He takes his shoes off!”

“Get out,” I said.

“What?” Jason asked.

“Get out,” I repeated. “All of you. Now.”

“Elena, you can’t kick them out,” Jason pleaded. “They have nowhere to go.”

“That’s not my problem,” I said. “They have thirty minutes. After that, I’m calling the police for trespassing. And Jason? If you don’t like it, you can go with them.”

Jason looked at his mother. He looked at his sister. He looked at me.

He was weak. I knew he was weak. But I needed to know how weak.

“I…” Jason stammered. “Elena, be reasonable. It’s winter. Just give them a week.”

“They charged me $300 to watch your son for thirty minutes, Jason. And they rented out his home to strangers. There is no reason left.”

I walked to the door.

“Thirty minutes,” I said. “The clock starts now.”

Chapter 4: The Eviction

I went to my room and locked the door. I could hear the screaming downstairs.

Beatrice was wailing. Chloe was throwing things. Jason was trying to mediate, but his voice was drowned out by the entitlement of two women who had never been told “no.”

I packed a bag for Leo. I wasn’t staying here tonight. I was going to a hotel. I needed the house cleared, the locks changed, and the air purified.

I called my lawyer.

“Start the eviction proceedings,” I said. “And draft a divorce petition.”

“Divorce?” my lawyer asked. “Are you sure?”

“He defended them,” I said. “He knew about the $300. He thought it was fair. He’s not my partner. He’s their hostage.”

At the 29-minute mark, I walked downstairs.

They were still there. They hadn’t packed. They were sitting in the living room, arms crossed, calling my bluff.

“We’re not leaving,” Beatrice announced. “This is my son’s house.”

“It’s my house,” I said. “Name on the deed: Elena Vance.”

“Jason pays the mortgage!”

“Jason pays for his Audi,” I corrected. “I pay the mortgage.”

I picked up my phone.

“I’m calling 911.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Chloe sneered.

I dialed. “911, what is your emergency?”

“I have intruders in my home who are refusing to leave. I fear for my safety.”

Jason grabbed my arm. “Hang up! Hang up, Elena! Fine! We’ll go!”

He looked at his mother. “Mom, get your things. She’s serious.”

“You’re letting her do this?” Beatrice screamed at him. “You coward!”

“She called the cops, Mom! Move!”

They scrambled. It was a chaotic, messy exodus. They threw clothes into garbage bags. They took the toaster. They took the blender.

I let them. I didn’t care about the toaster. I cared about the peace.

As they walked out the door, Beatrice turned to me.

“You’ll regret this,” she hissed. “You’ll be alone. And you’ll rot in this big, empty apartment.”

“I’d rather be alone than be used,” I said.

Jason stopped at the door. He looked at me. He looked torn.

“Elena…”

“Are you staying or going?” I asked.

He looked at his crying mother. He looked at his angry sister.

“I have to make sure they’re okay,” he said. “I’ll… I’ll stay with them at a hotel tonight. We can talk tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother,” I said. “Leave your key.”

“What?”

“Leave the key, Jason. If you walk out that door with them, you don’t come back.”

He stared at me. He couldn’t believe it. He thought I was the doormat. He thought I would always be there.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“No,” I said. “You love the lifestyle I give you. Goodbye, Jason.”

He hesitated. Then, slowly, he placed his key on the console table.

He walked out.

I closed the door. I locked it.

I slumped against the wood. The silence in the apartment was deafening. It was over. Three years of marriage, gone in an hour.

But as I looked around the empty living room, at the toys scattered on the rug, at the sun streaming through the windows… I didn’t feel sad.

I felt light.

The parasites were gone.

But the story wasn’t over. Because people like Beatrice and Chloe don’t just disappear. They retaliate.

And I had forgotten one thing.

The car.

I had given Chloe the keys to my car. And she hadn’t given them back.