A month after I finished renovating my first apartment, I came back from work and my key didn’t fit. I called my mom. She casually said,
“We let Emily move in. You’re young. She’s going through a divorce.”
Emily is my older sister. She’s the one who said I’d never afford a place on my own. It was the second week of March when I stood in the hallway of my apartment building staring at the lock that had rejected my key three times already. The fourth attempt produced the same result. My hand shook as I pulled out my phone and called my mother.
“Honey, I’m so glad you called,” she answered, her voice bright and cheerful. “I was going to tell you earlier, but things got so busy with helping Emily settle in.”
The words didn’t register immediately. My brain struggled to process what she had just said while I stood in front of a door that was supposed to open for me.
“What are you talking about, settle in? Where?”
“Your apartment, sweetie. Emily needed somewhere to stay after the divorce papers were filed. You know how difficult Travis has been making everything for her. She’s absolutely devastated, and we couldn’t just let her stay in that big empty house while he got to keep living there comfortably. You’re only twenty-four. You can find another place easily.”
The air felt thick in my lungs. I’d spent the last three months working overtime at the dental office where I worked as a hygienist, saving every possible dollar while simultaneously renovating this apartment. The place had been a disaster when I’d signed the lease, which was why the rent was affordable. I’d scraped wallpaper, painted every wall, replaced broken fixtures, and spent my weekends hauling trash bags full of construction debris down four flights of stairs because the elevator was always broken.
“Mom, this is my apartment. My name is on the lease. How did Emily even get inside?”
“Well, we still have your spare key from when you asked us to water your plants that weekend you went to visit Ashley in Denver. Emily really needed this. Amanda, she’s your sister. Family helps family.”
My sister Emily had spent the last two years mocking every decision I’d made. When I told her I was looking for an apartment, she’d laughed and said I’d never afford anything decent on my salary. When I found this place, she’d driven over, walked through the door, wrinkled her nose, and asked if I was planning to live in a condemned building. At Christmas dinner, she’d announced to everyone that I was wasting my money on a place that would never be worth the investment.
“I’m coming over there right now,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady.
“Amanda, don’t make this difficult. Emily has enough stress in her life. You can stay with us until you find something new. Your old room is exactly how you left it.”
I hung up without responding. My old room was currently being used as my father’s home office, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that my apartment, the first place I’d ever secured independently, had been given away like a hand-me-down sweater. I walked the six blocks to the police station. The evening air felt cold against my face, and I welcomed the sensation. It kept me focused. The station smelled like burnt coffee and cleaning solution. An officer sat behind a desk, looking up as I approached.
“I need to report a breaking and entering,” I said, pulling my lease from my purse. “Someone changed the locks on my apartment without my permission.”
Officer Janet Reeves took down my information with practiced efficiency. She reviewed my lease, checked my identification, and made several phone calls. Within an hour, two officers accompanied me back to my building. One of them knocked on the door while I stood slightly behind them. Emily answered wearing one of my robes. Her eyes widened when she saw the police officers, then narrowed when she spotted me.
“Amanda, what is this? Did you seriously call the cops on your own sister?”
“Ma’am, do you have documentation proving you have legal right to occupy this residence?” Officer Reeves asked.
“My family helped me move in. My sister said I could stay here while I deal with my divorce.”
“I said no such thing,” I interrupted. “I didn’t even know you were here until thirty minutes ago when my keys stopped working.”
Officer Reeves asked Emily to step aside. The apartment looked different already. My carefully arranged furniture had been moved. Emily’s belongings were scattered across surfaces I’d spent hours cleaning and organizing. The kitchen counter held takeout containers and dirty dishes. A wine stain marked the coffee table I’d refinished by hand.
“Ma’am, you’re going to need to gather your belongings and vacate the premises,” Officer Reeves said to Emily. “The lease is solely in Miss Amanda Foster’s name. You have no legal right to be here, and changing the locks constitutes an illegal eviction.”
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