I thought my landlord was cruel when he kicked my three kids and me out of our home for three days so his mother could stay there. But when I went back to get blankets, I discovered he’d lied to me! What I walked into was something no parent should ever have to see.
I’m a single mother to three kids.
Elliot is 11 and already trying too hard to be the man of the house. Noah is seven, all questions and scraped knees, and Mila, my baby, just turned four last month.
We rented a house on the edge of the city. It wasn’t much, but it was cozy, and there was a little playground down the block that the kids loved.
I didn’t know then how quickly all of that could be taken away.
We rented a house on the edge of the city.
Two nights ago, I was rinsing dishes when my phone rang. The number on the screen made my stomach sink before I even answered.
Mr. Hawkins. My landlord.
I quickly dried my hands and answered the call.
“I need you out of the house for a few days.”
I froze. “Out… what do you mean, out?”
I was rinsing dishes when my phone rang.
“My mother’s coming to town. She needs a place to stay, and I can’t have her in my house, so you’ll have to vacate for three days.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hawkins, but I have a lease agreement. You can’t just—”
He cleared his throat, slow and deliberate.
I didn’t know what was coming next, but I was certain I wouldn’t like it.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“You were late with the rent last month.”
“But I did pay it,” I said quickly. “With the late fee. You confirmed—”
“And according to the lease,” he continued, “I could’ve evicted you immediately. I didn’t. So I’m being generous here. Pack up for three days. Stay somewhere else.”
My eyes filled with tears I refused to let fall.
“I have three children. I can’t just pick up and go. I don’t have family nearby. I don’t have—”
“You were late with the rent last month.”
“That’s not my concern. You’ve got until tomorrow morning.”
The line went dead.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at the sink full of soapy water.
How could this be happening? Where would we go?
“Mom?” Elliot spoke behind me. “Is everything okay?”
The line went dead.
I swallowed my tears. “Yeah, sweetie. I just — give me a minute.”
His shoes scuffed the floor behind me. “Okay…”
That night, I packed enough things for three days while the kids watched silently from the doorway.
The quiet felt heavier than any tantrum.
“We’re going on a short trip,” I explained, forcing a smile.
That night, I packed enough things for three days.
“Like a vacation?” Mila asked, hugging her stuffed rabbit.
“Uh… not really. You’ll still be going to school and daycare. This is just… an adventure.”
She frowned and turned to Elliot, a questioning look in her eyes.
“An adventure… Sounds fun.”
It was anything but.
She frowned and turned to Elliot.
The motel was the cheapest one I could find that didn’t look outright dangerous. The room smelled like old carpet and disinfectant. The heater rattled when I turned it on, coughed twice, then went quiet.
“Is it broken?” Noah asked, hopefully holding his hands out toward it.
“It just needs time,” I said, adjusting the dial again.
It never warmed up.
The motel was the cheapest one I could find.
By midnight, Mila was crying.
“I’m cold, Mama,” she whimpered, and the sound of it carved something out of my chest.
I wrapped her in my jacket and held her tight, rocking back and forth on the edge of a bed that smelled like strangers. Elliot lay awake on the other mattress, curled into a ball with Noah.
“Did we do something wrong?” Noah asked quietly.
The question broke something in me that I’d been holding together with spit and prayers.
By midnight, Mila was crying.
“No, baby. This isn’t because of you. Any of you.”
I watched my children shiver in that awful place, and I knew one thing with absolute clarity: I couldn’t let this keep happening.
What kind of mother was I if I couldn’t even keep them warm?
The last thing I needed was for my children to get sick because I’d failed to stand up for us.
I watched my children shiver in that awful place.
The following morning, after dropping the boys off at school and Mila at daycare, I went back to the house to grab warm blankets.
I didn’t know how Mr. Hawkins’s mother would react, but I knocked on the door anyway.
She would just have to understand.
Nobody answered.
I knocked again, and the door swung open.
I went back to the house to grab warm blankets.
I walked inside, and my legs almost gave out when I saw what had happened to our home.
Someone had stacked our lives into careless piles, like obstacles that needed to be moved out of the way.
Our furniture was shoved into one corner. Our clothes and other things were piled up in garbage bags that hadn’t been closed properly, contents spilling out.
Mr. Hawkins had lied to me.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no…”
Someone had stacked our lives into careless piles.
I didn’t know what was going on, but my first instinct was to get proof of whatever was happening here.
I pulled out my phone and started recording:
“This is my house. We live here. My children live here—”
A voice snapped behind me, sharp and annoyed.
“Hey! What are you doing in here?”
I turned, nearly dropping my phone.
My first instinct was to get proof of whatever was happening here.
A man stood in the doorway, keys dangling from his hand. He was wearing a pressed jacket like he’d stopped there on his way to work, just like I had.
“I—I live here. I rent this house,” I said.
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. My landlord, Mr. Hawkins—”
He let out a short laugh. “I bought this place from Hawkins last week. You’re trespassing.”
A man stood in the doorway.
“That’s not possible! He told me I had to leave for three days because his mother was staying here.”
The man’s expression hardened, his patience clearly running thin. “Whatever arrangement you had was with him. All I know is, this place was sold vacant, and it’s my name on the deed now, not his.”
Vacant. Like we’d never existed at all.
I gestured helplessly around the room, at the evidence of our lives reduced to trash bags.
“Then why are my children’s things here? Why is everything piled up like this?”
“It’s my name on the deed now, not his.”
He shrugged, checking his watch like I was wasting his time. “I wouldn’t know, but if you want it, then grab it fast. I’ve got contractors coming today, and if this junk is still here, it’s going out on the sidewalk.”
“Junk?” My voice cracked. “Those are my children’s things!”
He sighed. “Do you want it or not? You’ve got maybe 20 minutes.”
I dropped my phone into my pocket and started grabbing what I could.
I made trip after trip to my car, arms loaded with pieces of our life.
“Do you want it or not? You’ve got maybe 20 minutes.”
I packed things until the car was overflowing, then I drove.
The moment I stopped in the parking lot at work, it all came crashing down on me. I sobbed so hard my whole body shook. And when my tears dried up, I made a decision.
Hawkins had pulled a dirty trick to get me out of the house so he could sell it out from under me, and I couldn’t let him get away with it.
I packed things until the car was overflowing.
That night, after the kids were asleep in the motel, I uploaded the video.
“This was my home,” I said in the voiceover. “My landlord forced us out for three days, then sold the house without telling us. My children and I are now homeless. I’m posting this because I will not let this be hidden.”
I hit post and set my phone down.
By morning, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
I uploaded the video.
Comments were still flooding in, and what they said stunned me. People were telling me that what Hawkins had done was illegal and urging me to contact tenant services, housing authorities, and legal aid.
The anger on my behalf felt overwhelming. I wasn’t alone!
But then I spotted a message that practically gave me heart palpitations.
“I’m a housing attorney. I saw your video. If you’re willing, I’d like to help you. Pro bono.”
Comments were still flooding in, and what they said stunned me.
I stared at the screen for a long time before replying, afraid to hope. “Yes, please.”
The lawyer, Sarah, met me that afternoon at a coffee shop. She went through my lease and took notes as I recounted the conversation when Hawkins told me to get out.
“He had no right to do this. Not even close.”
“What happens now?” I asked, afraid of the answer.
She smiled like a crocodile. “Now we make sure he answers for it.”
“What happens now?”
***
The court procedure took months. Months of living in that motel room, then a slightly better one, then a room at a shelter that at least had heating.
Hawkins avoided my gaze the entire time we were in court.
He sat at his table looking bored, like this was beneath him.
His lawyer argued that the sale had been planned for months, that due notice was given, but Sarah fought him at every turn with every bit of evidence I had.
The court procedure took months.
The judge’s ruling left me in tears.
Hawkins was heavily fined. He was also ordered to pay restitution for the motel, the moving costs, and the emotional distress his actions had caused.
The judge’s words were sharp and unforgiving.
And when the judge looked directly at me and said, “You were wronged, miss, and this court recognizes that,” I had to press my lips together to keep from crying right there in front of everyone.
“You were wronged, miss, and this court recognizes that.”
With the settlement, I secured a new place — a small duplex closer to the kids’ school.
The first night there, Elliot ran from room to room, opening closets like he didn’t quite believe it was ours. Like someone might jump out and tell us to leave.
“Mom,” Noah tugged my sleeve with sticky fingers, “no one can make us leave this one, right?”
I kneeled in front of him. “No, they can’t.”
Mila hugged my leg, her rabbit dangling from one hand. “Promise?”
I secured a new place — a small duplex closer to the kids’ school.
“Promise.”
That night, after the house was quiet and all three kids were asleep in their own beds in their own rooms, I locked the door, leaned my back against it, and breathed.
For the first time in a long time, I felt safe. And that made every moment of my fight for justice feel worthwhile.
Standing there in our home with the door locked and my children safe, I knew that I would never let anyone threaten or bully us again.
That made every moment of my fight for justice feel worthwhile.
