Chapter 2 - The Parasites Inside
According to Mom, the "few weeks" Khloe and Julian were supposed to stay had magically stretched into two harrowing years. Within six months of moving in, Julian and Khloe had systematically taken over the household. They claimed the master bedroom because it was "better suited for a married couple," relegating my mother to a small, damp guest room in the basement.
Worse still, they had taken financial control. Under the guise of "helping Mom manage the bills," Julian had intercepted the bank cards connected to the $3,000 monthly allowance I wired her. They changed the online banking passwords, told her she was "too old and technologically illiterate" to handle her own accounts, and doled out a meager fifty dollars a week for groceries—while they drove luxury leased cars and hosted lavish weekend pool parties for their friends.
"They told me the house belongs to 'the family' now, Natalie," Mom wept softly, her hands trembling as I held them. "And whenever I threatened to call you or text you about what was happening, Julian looked me in the eye and said if I caused any drama, you were a busy career woman in Dubai who would get sick of the burden, sell the house out from under us, and leave me homeless on the streets. I didn't want to be a burden to you, sweetheart. I didn't want to cause a fight between my daughters."
A searing, blinding rage surged through my veins, hot enough to melt steel. My own sister—the sibling I had protected and supported growing up—had watched her husband reduce our mother to an unpaid, starved domestic servant in a home I had paid for with every drop of my sweat overseas.
"You're done protecting people who are hurting you," I said firmly, my voice dead calm, masking the volcanic fury underneath. "We are going inside right now."
I guided my mother through the sliding glass door into the kitchen. The interior was unrecognizable. Expensive designer leather furniture replaced Mom's cozy recliners. Empty liquor bottles littered the marble countertops. Family portraits of Khloe, Julian, and their friends hung proudly on the walls, completely covering every single photo of me and my mother.
Khloe was sitting on the living room sofa, scrolling through her phone while painting her nails. When she looked up and saw me standing in the kitchen with Mom, her pastel pink nail polish bottle slipped from her fingers, splattering bright pink lacquer across the expensive rug.
"Natalie?!" Khloe screeched, jumping to her feet. "What the hell are you doing here? You weren't supposed to be back until next month!"
Julian sauntered out from the hallway, still holding his glass of scotch, a smug, lazy grin plastered across his face. "Well, well. Look who decided to crash the party. Did your flight get canceled, little globetrotter?"
I stepped past my mother, my eyes locked directly onto Julian and Khloe. The polite, quiet sister who had left for Dubai six years ago was dead. In her place stood a corporate consultant who specialized in dismantling hostile corporate takeovers.
"You have thirty minutes to pack your bags and get out of this house," I said, my voice cutting through the air like a razor blade.
Julian actually threw his head back and laughed out loud, a rich, condescending sound. "Get out? Are you out of your mind? We live here, sweetheart. You can’t just throw family out on the street."
Khloe crossed her arms defensively, recovering her composure and adopting a haughty pout. "Mom invited us to stay indefinitely. This is our home now too."
"Mom invited you for a few weeks," I fired back, stepping closer to them.
"That was two years ago, times change," Julian sneered, taking a slow sip of his scotch. He stepped up, towering over me with intimidating body language. "Let me give you a quick lesson in Texas real estate law, since you've been living overseas playing corporate office. Occupancy rights and residency laws protect people who have established a domicile here for over a year. You can't legally evict us without a formal court-ordered eviction process that takes months. Maybe you should call a lawyer before embarrassing yourself in front of the family."
I looked down at my watch. The digital numbers glowed starkly: 4:30 PM.
"You're right, Julian," I said calmly.
Julian’s smug smile widened. "Glad you're finally using that expensive brain of yours."
"—I'll call mine," I finished smoothly.
Without another word, I walked over to the hallway closet, grabbed my mother’s light cardigan and her purse, and took her firmly by the elbow. "Come on, Mom. We're leaving."
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"Leaving?!" Khloe shrieked. "Where do you think you're going? You can't just walk out of our house—"
"It's my house," I said, turning back at the front door with a cold, terrifying smile. "And by the time I come back tonight, you'll realize just how legally ignorant you really are."
