My MIL secretly sold my apartment when I refused to give, “Now we’ll buy a new one with your money!”

 The Shadow of Joanna and the Great Betrayal

Some nights, as I lay in the guest room listening to distant city sirens, I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. Saint’s phone calls were my only solace, his voice connecting me to a different life.

He would check in on me, always concerned, but I kept my tone cheerful to avoid adding to his worries. Life in the Tyson household became even more complicated when Joanna, Mrs. Tyson’s daughter, arrived unexpectedly.

Her presence was chilling, like a cold draft sneaking under a door. Joanna had a distant and strained relationship with Mr. Tyson, and her sudden appearance added tension to an already stretched situation.

One evening, Mr. Tyson motioned for me to come closer. His voice was hoarse and urgent as he warned me about Joanna, describing her as untrustworthy.

I assured him that I would be cautious, though I wasn’t entirely sure of the specifics of the threat he perceived. True to warnings, Joanna quickly began to assert her influence.

She altered the dynamics of the household as if she had every right to do so. Her actions made it clear that she intended to stay and take control, adding a new layer of stress to my load.

One morning I encountered Joanna in the kitchen, her presence casting a shadow like a storm cloud over the breakfast nook. With a sharp tone and a dismissive glance, she made her intentions clear.

“Just so we clear and I’m not here to play housemade or Chef for anyone,” she stated bluntly, sipping her coffee and eyeing me as though I was an unwanted guest in her mother’s kitchen.

Taken aback yet striving to maintain harmony, I responded calmly:

“Okay Joanna, I’ve been managing things so far and I can continue to do so.”

“Good because I don’t plan on lifting a finger. This is Mom’s house after all,” she retorted, her gaze challenging me to contradict her.

From that day forward, Joanna’s presence became increasingly burdensome. She would order takeout just for herself and her mother, carelessly leaving the empty containers for me to clean up.

Her disdain was palpable, and although it stung, I endured it for the sake of Mr. Tyson’s peace. One evening, Mrs. Tyson invited me to join them for dinner.

Before I could accept, Joanna interjected sharply:

“Mom, Mave’s been busy all day, she probably prefers eating later.”

Her tone was laced with feigned concern, but the underlying message was clear: I was not welcome. As days passed, my responsibilities seemed to double under Joanna’s reign of entitlement.

I would often hear her late at night whispering with her mother, sowing seeds of discord against me. Gradually, Mrs. Tyson’s demeanor cooled, her gratitude less frequent and her expressions more reserved.

When Mr. Tyson passed away, the funeral was a subdued gathering with Saint returning just in time to bid his father farewell. The comfort of having him by my side during such a sorrowful time was a significant relief.

Yet amidst the mourning, I sensed a shift in the atmosphere at the Tyson residence. Joanna displayed exceptional politeness, a stark contrast to her usual demeanor.

“How’s everything been while I’ve been gone?” Saint asked during a quiet moment after the service.

“Fine… everything’s been fine,” I lied, masking my true feelings with a forced smile, unwilling to burden him further amid his grief.

“You sure? You look a bit worn out,” he pressed, his concern evident.

“It’s just been busy, you know, helping out around here,” I reassured him, avoiding his gaze.

As soon as Saint departed, Joanna reverted to her true self. The pretense of a dutiful sister was discarded for a sneering, dismissive attitude. Mrs. Tyson grew distant and cold.

Commands replaced the warm conversations we once had, making me feel more like an intruder than a family member. Joanna assumed control of the household, acting as though she were the lady of the manor.

She began intruding into my room without permission, rummaging through my belongings. One afternoon, I stumbled upon a box hidden among the shrubs in the garden.

I opened it to find my watches, jewelry, and personal items. Nearby, several of my dresses were carelessly draped over a bush. A surge of fury overwhelmed me.

Clutching the box tightly, I stormed into the living room. I found Joanna sprawled on the couch as if she owned everything around her.

“What the hell, Joanna?” I demanded, my voice shaking with rage. “You can’t just throw my stuff outside.”

Joanna’s laugh cut through the tension, a cold and harsh sound.

“Live here? Please. You’re just a guest and not a welcome one. You should be out in the garden or better yet on the street. You’re nothing but a ruthless beggar anyway.”

I turned to Mrs. Tyson, who had just walked into the room.

“Mrs. Tyson, please tell her she can’t treat me like this. This is supposed to be my home too,” I pleaded.

Mrs. Tyson now looked through me as if I were invisible.

“This is Joanna’s house now,” she stated flatly. “She’s right, Mave. Maybe it’s time you found somewhere else to live.”

I stood there, box in hand, heart shattering. Despite the betrayal, I stayed, clinging to a promise I made to Mr. Tyson to look after his wife and not let Joanna overpower her.

But Mrs. Tyson’s words turned sharp.

“You’re just sitting on your hands here, aren’t you?” Mrs. Tyson snapped one evening.

“I’m doing my best to keep things running smoothly,” I replied.

“Best? Could have fooled me. Seems like you’re just freeloading,” she scoffed.

I had transferred nearly all my rental income to her while handling the housework, yet Joanna was relentless in her taunts.

“Really, what did my brother even see in you?” Joanna mocked me night after night.

One evening, I walked in to hear Joanna and Mrs. Tyson in a heated discussion.

“We need to get her to sell that apartment of hers. You know how much we could use that money,” Joanna was saying.

“Yes, but how do we convince her? Mave’s no fool; she won’t just hand it over,” Mrs. Tyson replied.

“Leave it to me, Mom. I’ll sweet talk her into it. Once she signs it over, we can finally live the way we deserve,” Joanna plotted.