The arrival of the police
Two days later, around 6 p.m., he heard loud knocking at the door
“Police!”
Her heart raced.
When she opened the door, she saw two officers and, behind them, her mother crying on her stepfather’s shoulder.
One of the officers spoke:
— “Your mother says that you illegally evicted them from your home and are preventing them from entering their own house.”
The young man was stunned.
Her mother had claimed that she lived there.
That he had left her on the street.
And that they needed to go in “to get their things back.”
But he had the rental agreement in his name.
The bills.
The payments.
The proof.
“ They don’t live here,” the young man explained calmly.
“ They’ve never lived here. I pay for everything. This is my home. I changed the locks because they were coming in without permission.”
The officers asked for identification. He provided it.
His mother, shouting, insisted that he “had to let her in” because “she was his mother” and that “he owed her gratitude.”
The officer interrupted her:
— “Madam, you have no legal right to this property. If you attempt to enter again without permission, you will be committing trespass.”
Her expression changed from pleading to pure rage.
Her stepfather threatened that the young man would “regret it.”
The officers asked them to leave.
And they left.
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