“My Son and His Wife Won’t Leave the Apartment We Lent Them for a Year”

When Roger and Savannah first approached us about moving in together, my husband Dylan and I were hesitant. We had just become empty nesters and were enjoying the newfound peace in our home. However, seeing the financial struggles they were facing, we couldn’t turn our backs on them. We decided to let them stay in our two-bedroom apartment in downtown Chicago, which we had kept for investment purposes.

The plan was simple: they would live there rent-free for a year, giving them time to save up and find a place of their own. We thought it was a generous offer, considering the high cost of living in the city. The apartment was beautiful, with large windows overlooking the bustling streets, modern amenities, and just a short walk from Roger’s new job at a tech startup.

The first few months seemed to go well. Roger and Savannah would invite us over, showing us how they had decorated the place and made it their own. They expressed their gratitude often, assuring us that they were on track with their savings plan. However, as the year mark approached, the tone of our conversations began to change.

Whenever we brought up the topic of their next steps, there was always an excuse. First, it was the instability of Roger’s job. Then, it was the lack of affordable housing options that met their standards. Each excuse seemed to carry less weight than the last, and it became clear that they had grown too comfortable with the current arrangement.

Dylan and I decided it was time to set a firm move-out date. We met with them and explained that while we loved having them close, it was important for them and for us that they start their independent journey. We gave them a three-month extension, thinking this would be an ample buffer for any genuine issues they were facing.

The deadline came and went, and Roger and Savannah hadn’t made any visible efforts to move out. They stopped discussing their plans with us and started avoiding our calls. Feeling betrayed, we consulted with a lawyer to understand our options. It was then we learned about the complexities of tenant rights, even for family members. The process to legally evict them could be long and emotionally taxing.

We attempted one last family meeting, hoping to resolve things amicably. The meeting, however, only revealed the deep fissures in our relationship. Savannah accused us of being unsympathetic and not understanding the pressures they were under. Roger, who had always been the peacemaker, sat there silently, a clear sign of his divided loyalties.

The situation escalated to the point where our visits to the apartment ceased, replaced by formal communications through our respective lawyers. The vibrant family gatherings we used to host were now just a memory, replaced by a thick folder of legal documents and a lingering sense of betrayal.

Months dragged on with no resolution in sight. The legal fees were mounting, and the emotional toll was even greater. Dylan and I watched helplessly as our relationship with our son and his wife unraveled over what was supposed to be a temporary living arrangement.

In the end, the battle to reclaim our property cost us far more than just money; it cost us our family. Roger and Savannah eventually moved out, but the warmth and trust that once defined our relationship had been evicted along with them. We were left with an empty apartment and heavier hearts, a constant reminder of the year that turned our family upside down.