“We’re Staying Until Summer!”: How I Kicked Out My Husband’s Entitled Family, Changed the Locks, and Reclaimed My Own Home The intercom didn’t just ring—it screeched, desperate for attention. I glanced at the clock: 7 AM on a Saturday, my one chance to sleep in after slogging through the quarterly report—not exactly the best time for uninvited visitors. The screen lit up with my sister-in-law’s face. Svetlana—now just “Sue,” my husband’s sister—looked ready to storm the Tower of London, three wild-haired children crowding behind her. “Ian!” I bellowed, ignoring the receiver. “Your family’s here. You deal with them.” Ian stumbled out of our bedroom, fumbling his shorts on backwards. He knew by my tone there was no loyalty left in reserve for his relatives. While he mumbled into the intercom, I stood, arms folded, making it clear this was my flat—my rules. I’d bought and paid off this three-bed in Central London years before saying “I do,” and the last thing I wanted was a house full of freeloaders. The door flung open and in tumbled the whole circus. Sue, burdened with bags, didn’t even greet me—she just shoved past, as if I were a coat-stand. “Oh praise the Lord, we’ve made it!” she sighed, dumping her luggage on my expensive Italian tiled floor. “Alice, why are you blocking the way? Put the kettle on. The kids are starving after the journey.” “Sue,” I said coolly. Ian hunched his shoulders, knowing he’d meet the gallows later. “What’s going on?” “She didn’t tell you?” Sue went full ‘innocent victim’ mode. “Our place needs major work—pipes, new floors, the lot. Can’t live in all that dust. We’ll just crash here for a week. And you’ve got all this space we wouldn’t want to go unused.” I shot Ian a look. He studied the ceiling. Death row awaited. “Ian?” “It’s only for a week, Alice,” he bleated. “Where else can they go? Just a week.” “One week,” I declared. “Seven days, exactly. You buy your own food. The kids don’t run wild, no sticky fingers on the walls, no one comes near my office. And silence after ten.” Sue rolled her eyes, scoffing, “Oh, aren’t you the prison warden! Fine, deal. Where are we sleeping? Not on the floor, I hope?” That was the start of hell. “One week” turned into two. Then three. My pristine, designer-kissed flat became a wreck. The entryway was a mountain of filthy shoes. The kitchen—a disaster of greasy countertops, crumbs, and mysterious puddles. Sue acted like lady of the manor, treating me like one of her maids. “Alice, why’s the fridge empty?” she asked one evening, peering at the bare shelves. “Kids need yogurts. As for us, Ian would like a proper steak. You’re the high earner here. You could look after family.” “You’ve got a card and a phone. Use them,” I replied without looking up. “There’s 24-hour delivery.” “Stingy,” she muttered, slamming my fridge so hard the bottles clattered. “Can’t take it with you when you’re gone, remember.” But the final straw wasn’t even that. Coming home early one night, I found my nephews in my bedroom. The eldest was jumping on my orthopaedic mattress—pricey as a round-the-world ticket—and his sister was drawing on the wall. With my Tom Ford lipstick. Limited edition. “Out!” I roared, sending them scattering. Sue came running at the noise, took in the graffiti and broken lipstick, and just waved it off. “Oh, come on! They’re just kids! It’ll wash off. And your lipstick’s just a chunk of dyed fat, Alice—you’ll buy another. By the way, our builders are hopeless drunks. Looks like we’ll be staying till summer. It’s not like you two get lonely here—think of the fun!” Ian just stood there. Spineless. I said nothing. I walked to the bathroom, resisting the urge to become a tabloid headline. That night, Sue went for a shower, leaving her phone on the kitchen table. The screen lit up with a message I couldn’t help but read—in big bold letters: a transfer from “Marina Rentals” had landed. “Sue, I’ve sent next month’s rent. Tenants are thrilled—want to extend through August?” Followed by a bank notification: “+£800 received.” Everything clicked. There was no renovation. My husband’s dear sister had let out her own flat for a tidy profit, came to live in comfort and luxury at my expense, and was pocketing passive income on the side. I snapped a photo of her phone with mine. My hands were steady—calm, cold, clear. “Ian, come to the kitchen,” I called. He saw the photo, paled, and looked back at me. “Maybe it’s a mistake?” he said. “No, Ian—the mistake is you not throwing them out,” I said evenly. “You have a choice. By tomorrow lunchtime, either they’re all gone—or you move out with them. You, your mum, your sister, and the whole travelling show.” “But where—?” “I don’t care. Under Tower Bridge for all I mind.” Sue waltzed out bright and early, shopping bags in hand, leaving Ian with the kids. Once she was gone, I said, “Ian, take the kids out. To the park. All day.” “Why?” “Because this flat’s about to get a deep clean—from parasites.” Once they were gone, I called a locksmith and the police station. Hospitality was over. It was time for a purge. The locksmith—a bear of a man with a forearm tattoo—installed a monstrous lock. “Good door,” he said. “But this lock’s a beast. No way in without power tools.” “Exactly what I want,” I replied. I filled black rubbish bags—Sue’s bras, kid’s tights, toys. Tossed her cosmetics in without a thought. After forty minutes, five bulging sacks stood in the hallway, two battered suitcases by their side. When the police officer arrived, pen hovering, I greeted him with my ownership documents. “They’re relatives?” he asked. “Ex-relatives,” I said with a smirk. “Let’s just say the family drama’s reached its climax.” Sue finally arrived. Glowing, new shoes poking out of a designer bag—her face fell when she saw the pile and me beside the officer. “What’s this?” she shrieked. “Alice, have you gone mad? These are my things!” “Correct. Take them. The hotel is closed.” She tried to barge past, but the officer blocked her way. “Do you live here? Any paperwork?” “I’m his sister! We’re just staying—” She spun to me, cheeks blazing. “Where’s Ian? He’ll fix you!” “Go ahead—call him.” But he didn’t answer. For once, he’d grown a spine, or maybe just feared the divorce and asset split. “You’ve no right!” Sue shrieked, a shoebox tumbling from her shopping bag. “We’re having work done! We’ve nowhere to go! I’ve got kids!” “Liar,” I snapped. “Say hi to Marina. Ask her if your tenants will extend the lease, or whether you’ll have to turf them out.” Her mouth dropped. Air leaked from her like a punctured balloon. “How did you…?” “Should lock your phone, businesswoman. You lived for free. Ate my food. Wrecked my home while letting your place out to save for a car? Genius. But listen: Take your stuff and leave. If I see you, or your precious children, within a mile of my home, I’ll call HMRC. Unregistered subletting—tax fraud will interest them. Oh, and I’ll report you for theft—my gold ring’s gone missing. Guess where the police might find it?” The ring was in my safe, of course, but Sue looked set to collapse. “You’re vile, Alice,” she spat. “God will judge you.” “God’s busy,” I said, “but I have all day. And my home’s finally free.” She clutched her bags, dialing Ubers with trembling fingers as the police officer idly watched. When the lift doors hid her, I turned to him. “Thank you for your service.” “Best to stick with good locks,” he grinned. I turned, shut my door, and locked it with a satisfying click. The smell of bleach said the cleaners had been thorough. Ian came back alone, eyes wide, cautious. “Alice…she’s gone.” “I know.” “She said awful things about you—” “I don’t care what rats scream as the ship goes down.” I sat at my kitchen table, sipped espresso from my favourite cup. No more lipstick art on the walls. Fresh food in my fridge—just for me. “Did you know about the rental?” I asked without looking up. “No, honest. If I had—” “If you had, you’d have kept quiet,” I cut in. “Listen closely, Ian. This was your family’s last free ride. One more stunt, and your bags will join theirs. Got it?” He nodded, fast, terrified. He knew I wasn’t bluffing. I took another sip. It was perfect—hot, strong, and finally, blessedly, enjoyed in the total peace of my own home. No crown too heavy here—it fit just right.

Were just staying until summer!: How I Sent My Husbands Pushy Family Packing and Changed the Locks

The entry phone didnt just ring; it howled for attention. I glanced at the clock: seven in the morning, Saturday. The only morning Id hoped to catch up on sleep after a torrid end-of-quarter at work, not the day I welcomed guests. My sister-in-laws face filled the tiny screenMargaret, my husband Edwards sisterher expression thunderous, closely followed by three messy-haired children bobbing behind.

Edward! I called out, not even touching the receiver. Your lots at the door. Deal with it.

My husband tumbled out the bedroom, hurriedly pulling his shorts on backwards. My tone had left no room for protestmy tolerance for his relatives was at an all-time low. As he fumbled his way through some apology on the intercom, I stood in the hallway, arms folded. My homemy rules. Id bought this three-bedroom flat in Marylebone years before we ever signed marriage papers. Id paid off the mortgage with blood, sweat, and countless overtime hoursI wasnt about to have uninvited guests turn it into a public thoroughfare.

The front door burst open, and my pristine, bergamot-scented corridor was instantly overrun. Margaret, loaded down with bags, didnt even greet me. She just jostled past, nudging me aside like a stray umbrella stand.

Oh, thank heavens we made it, she puffed, dropping her bags straight onto the Italian tiled floor. Alice, why are you standing in the doorway? Stick the kettle on, will you? These children are starving after the journey.

Margaret, my voice was measured, but Edward shrank back into his dressing gown like a turtle in retreathe knew I only got this calm when my patience was spent. Whats going on?

Didnt Edward mention? she batted her lashes, feigning innocence. Our house is under renovation! Full worksnew pipes, ripped up floors, builders everywhere. Unliveable! Well squeeze in for a week, shall we? Youve got plenty of space, and its not like you two are rattling around in a shoebox.

I shot Edward a look. He studied the ceilings intricate roses. He knew thered be hell to pay later.

Edward?

Alice, reallyonly for a week, he faltered. Where can she take the children, in all that dust?

A week, I snapped. Exactly seven days. You sort out your own food. No running in the hallways, dont touch my office, and I want silence after ten oclock.

Margaret rolled her eyes.

Oh, Alice, youd make a marvellous wardenso strict! All right, we agree. Where are we sleeping, then? Not the floor, I hope.

That was the beginning of my ordeal.

One week stretched into two, then three. My carefully curated flatthe one Id painstakingly restored, with a designer, to my exacting tastedescended into chaos. Shoes stacked in the hallway, turning it into an assault course. The kitchen perpetually sticky: grease smears, crumbs, and spilled juice everywhere. Margaret acted like she was the lady of the manor and I was household staff.

Alice, whys the fridge empty as Old Mother Hubbards? she declared one evening, eyeing the bare shelves. The children need yoghurts, and Edward and I could do with a nice roast. You earn wellsurely you could look after your relatives?

Youve got a credit card and theres a Sainsburys on the corner, I replied without looking up from my laptop. You can get delivery at any hour here.

Stingy, she muttered, slamming the fridge so hard the jars rattled. You cant take it with you, you know.

But that wasnt the breaking point. The final straw came when I arrived home early, exhausted, only to find her children tearing around my master bedroom. The eldest was bouncing on my expensive, orthopaedic mattressthe one that cost as much as a flight to the Caribbeanwhile the youngest, utterly focused, was scribbling on the feature wall. With my lipstick. Tom Ford. Limited edition.

Out! I bellowed. The children scattered as if Id set off a fire alarm.

Margaret dashed in, clapped eyes on the newly decorated wallpaper and my broken lipstick, and merely flapped her hands.

Oh, do calm downtheyre only children! Its just a mark on a wall, itll scrub off. And your lipstick? Heavens, its just some coloured wax, buy anotheryou wont go bankrupt.

She barely drew breath. Actually, we were going to sayour builders are taking ages. Useless, the lot of them. So, well stay till summer! You dont mind, do you? Bit lonely here with just you two, anyway!

Edward stood silent, spineless as a wet mop.

I didnt reply. I just locked myself in the bathroom before I did something worthy of a headline in the Telegraph. I needed a moment to breathe.

That evening, while Margaret showered and left her phone on the kitchen table, it lit up with a notification. I dont usually snoop, but the preview flashed large on the locked screen. A message from someone saved as Lettings Marina:

Margaret, have transferred next months payment. Tenants are happy and want to extend till Augustpossible?

Then a bank app alert: Balance credited: +£950.

Everything clicked. There hadnt been any renovations at all. Margaret had sublet her own cramped flat to tenantseither nightly or monthlyraking in easy money, while her entire family camped here, sponging off my food and bills. All at my expense. A genius little enterprise, if you could stomach leeching off your brothers wife.

I quietly snapped a photo with my own phone, hands perfectly steady with icy calm.

Edward, would you come into the kitchen? I called.

He came, curious, and I showed him the picture. His eyes flickered over the messages. He flushed, then turned white.

Alice, maybe its a misunderstanding?

The only mistake is that you havent shown them the door yet, I replied, voice calm, almost bored. Youve got a choice. Either theyre gone by lunchtime tomorrow, or youre leaving as well. Take your sister, your mother, and all their circus.

But where would they go?

I dont care. Under Waterloo Bridge, or The Ritz if she fancies it.

Next morning, Margaret announced she was off to Oxford Street to look at divine new boots (no doubt with her rental windfall), leaving the children with Edward, whod taken the day off. I waited for her to go.

Edward, take the children and go out for a long walk in Hyde Park.

Why?

Because Im about to fumigate the flat for parasites.

Once theyd left, I made my calls. First, a locksmith. Second, the local constable.

The era of hospitality was over. Time for a clean sweep.

Maybe its a mistake? Edwards faint words echoed in my mind as the locksmith began dismantling the lock.

No mistakes. Only calculation.

The locksmitha burly chap, forearms tattooed with a bulldogworked fast.

Good door, he nodded with approval. But this lockyouve gone for the armoured sort. Nothings getting through now, not without heavy tools.

Thats what I want. Impeccable security.

I transferred him a sum that could buy a respectable dinner for two at The Ivy, but peace of mind is worth more. Then I got to work. No sentimentality. I grabbed black bin sacksindustrial strengthand swept everything in. Margarets bras, the childrens tights, those sodding toys strewn across the lounge. Nothing folded, everything stuffed. Her bathroom productshundreds of pounds worth, cluttering my shelvesI dumped in at once.

Forty minutes later, five fat black sacks and two battered suitcases stood marooned on the landing.

As the lift pinged, I was already at the door with my folder of documents.

Good afternoon, constable, I said, offering the land registry extract and my passport. I am the legal owner, sole resident. In a moment, some people are going to try to force entrytheyre not entitled to be here. Please note their attempt.

The young policemana tired sortflicked through my papers.

Family?

Former, I smiled coldly. Weve reached the open war phase of property disputes.

Margaret arrived an hour later, arms full of Selfridges bags and face radiant. All smilesuntil she saw the black bags and me by the door with the officer.

Whats this? she shrieked, jabbing a finger. Alice, have you lost your mind? Thats my stuff!

Exactly. Take itand clear off. The inns closed.

She tried to shoulder past, but the constable blocked her way.

Miss, do you have residential status here?

ImEdwards sister! Were just visiting! She swung to me, cheeks blotchy. What are you doing, you stupid cow? Wheres Edward? Ill ring him and hell soon set you straight!

Go ahead, I gestured. Hes busy explaining to your children why their mum is such an entrepreneur.

She dialed. Voicemail. Again. Call dropped. Edward, at last, seemed to have grown a spineor simply realised hed get nothing from a divorce.

Youve no right! Margaret wailed, dropping her bags. A shoebox of new heels spilled out. Weve nowhere to goour house is under renovation! The children

Dont lie, I stepped forward, eyes fixed on her. Say hello to Marina for me. And ask if the tenants will renew till August, or if youll need your place yourself?

She froze, mouth agape. All the air hissed out of her.

But… how did you…

Lock your phone next time, business magnate. Youve lived here on my dime, eating my groceries, wrecking my flat while subletting your own to save for a new car? Clever. Now listen carefully.

I dropped my voice to a dangerous whisper that echoed along the tiled hall.

You take your bags and you leave. If I see you or your brood within a mile of this building, Ill be on to HMRC about your little under-the-table rental scheme. Tax avoidance, improper tenancyitll interest them. Ill also file a report about my stolen gold ring. And you know where theyll look? Those black sacks, if the police feel like checking.

Id tucked the ring safely in my jewellery box. But Margaret wouldnt know that. She turned sheet-white, her foundation like a death mask.

Youre evil, Alice, she hissed. God will judge you.

Gods otherwise engaged, I said simply. And now, sos my flatfinally free, as am I.

She hauled her bags away, cursing under her breath, fingers trembling as she summoned a taxi. The policeman looked on, only slightly interested, glad thered be no forms to fill out.

As the lift swallowed Margaret, her suitcases, and her sorry schemes, I turned to the constable.

Thank you for your time, officer.

Best keep those sturdy locks, miss, he winked, and left.

I closed my door. The new bolt slid homedeliciously tight, unbreakable. The sharp tang of bleach filled the airthe cleaners had finished the kitchen and were onto the bedroom.

Edward returned two hours later, alone. Hed handed the children back to Margaret at the kerb as she loaded her bags for the taxi. He came in warily, as if expecting a trap.

Alice… Margarets gone.

I know.

She… she was shouting all sorts about you.

I dont care what rats scream as theyre thrown off a sinking ship.

I sat in the kitchen with a mug of hot coffee, in my favourite, unbroken cup. My wall, free of lipstick doodles, gleamed. The fridge held only my food now.

Did you know she was renting her place? I asked, not bothering to look up.

No! Honestly, Alice, I swearif Id known…

Youd have kept quiet, I finished. Hear me, Edward. This was your familys very last chance. If theres ever a repeat, your suitcases will be out there with theirs. Do you understand?

He nodded, frantically and afraid. He knew I meant it.

I savoured my coffee, perfectly hot and rich. And for the first time in ages, I drank it in absolute, blissful silence, in a home that was once again truly mine.

No crown weighs heavy. It fit me just right.