What’s the most disrespectful thing a guest has ever done in your home?

The Stolen Necklace and Failed Eviction

I woke up one morning about two weeks after she’d forced herself into my house. My necklace, my mother’s necklace, was gone. It was a delicate gold chain with a small pendant.

It was the last thing I had left of my mom. She had given it to me before she passed away and I loved it more than anything. I tore through my room looking for it.

I thought I had misplaced it, but I knew that wasn’t true. I’d kept track of that necklace for years on end. Deep down I really knew where it was.

I walked straight to Diane’s room and threw open the door without knocking. She was sprawled out on the bed looking completely unbothered. I asked her where my necklace was, and she didn’t even look up.

She acted confused, and I asked her again where my Mom’s necklace was.

“Diane said that she borrowed it for a bit and that she’d give it back to me later.”

I shouted at her to give it back immediately, but she just laughed again and rolled over, muttering something about how I needed to chill out. I demanded to know where the necklace was that instant.

“She said I was selfish and not sharing the necklace with her since her sister had passed away.”

“She said she had every right to that necklace as I did but I knew Diane.”

She didn’t want to share the necklace. She sold that necklace to get her next drink. My mind swapped between anger and sadness as I realized that the last thing I had of my mother was gone.

That was it for me. I told her to pack her bags and get out of my house. But she didn’t flinch. Instead, she sat up, crossed her arms, and smirked.

“She taunted me saying she wasn’t going anywhere.”

“She said she had the right to stay in my house and that I couldn’t just kick her out.”

I was shaking with rage. I grabbed my phone, called my grandparents, and told them everything about the drinking, the stolen money, the necklace. I thought for sure they’d finally understand.

But instead, they said they didn’t want to get involved. I hung up the phone. I felt more helpless than ever. I couldn’t believe they were basically siding with her again, even after everything she’d done.

But there was no use fighting it. I told her that this was the last straw and that if she didn’t leave then I would call the police on her.

Suddenly something changed in her eyes. She stood up abruptly and walked to the door to leave. Before she did, she knocked over the magazine she had been reading.

She started bawling out. She yelled at me saying that she did so much for me and I was treating her like trash and how she was the only one there for me when my mother died which wasn’t true.

I began living with my grandparents. She then stormed around the room and began knocking things off the shelves. She knocked everything off the nightstand with one sweeping motion. A picture frame shattered as it hit the floor.

I backed out of the room, unsure of what to do. Diane was completely losing it. She was screaming more accusations and blaming me for things that made no sense.

She slammed a chair against the wall, leaving a dent, and I felt a panic in my chest. The noise was deafening, and before long I could hear footsteps outside. The neighbors must have heard the commotion.

My heart pounded as I prayed someone would call the police because I wasn’t sure what to do anymore. I was afraid Diane might actually hurt me.

As if on cue, there was a knock at the front door. I rushed to open it, relieved to see two police officers standing there. I begged them to take her; she was out of control.

They stepped inside and I led them to Diane’s room where she was still yelling and throwing whatever she could get her hands on. But the moment she saw the police, everything changed.

She turned on the waterworks and collapsed onto the bed. She said I was trying to throw her out. She gave them a whole sob story about having to live with me since she was in hard times.

She explained how life hadn’t been the same since her sister died. She pleaded for them to let her stay since she had nowhere else to go. I stood there stunned, watching Diane play the victim.

The story sounded so good I almost believed her myself. The officers exchanged glances, clearly unsure of what was really going on. I tried to explain the real situation: that she had stolen from me and she had been terrorizing me for weeks.

But Diane’s tears and sobs seemed to be more compelling than my story. The officer spoke to her softly. In the end, they told me that since Diane was a family member and had been staying here for a while, they couldn’t forcibly remove her without a formal eviction process.

I couldn’t believe it. After stealing from me and nearly destroying my home, the police were just leaving. Diane gave me a smug look again as they walked out the door.

I knew she wasn’t going anywhere. Not until she wanted to. She had won, at least for now. The next few days were hell. Diane became even more unbearable, if that was possible.

She seemed to sense that I couldn’t stand up to her and she used it to her full advantage. She drank more, trashed the house more, and even started bringing random guys over. I couldn’t believe what my home had become.