After years of hard work, I was able to purchase a penthouse, and it was the best decision I’ve ever made. Honestly, I didn’t only buy a home, but freedom and independence. However, my family tried to ruin everything I’ve ever worked for.
For context, I’m 33F, and I’ve spent my entire adult life working my way up in pharmaceutical sales. Long hours, lots of travel, always being “on” for doctors and hospital staff. Over the years I slowly climbed the ladder. More responsibility, more territory, bigger bonuses. I lived pretty basic for someone in my position and invested most of what I earned.
Fast-forward to this year, I had enough to buy a gorgeous penthouse in Chicago’s Gold Coast. Floor 42, insane lake views, the kind of place I used to look at online just to torture myself. I bought it outright. No mortgage. And I didn’t tell a single person in my family.
Some may find this decision odd, but not if you’d known what my family has been like. Truth is, I have a younger sister, Bethany, who tried three different colleges but no degree. She’s had a bunch of retail jobs she quits as soon as someone criticizes her. She lives in my parents’ basement and is trying to be an “influencer,” and when I say “influencer,” I mean she does sponsored posts for protein bars and cheap jewelry companies and gets paid in “exposure” and maybe $100 if she’s lucky. My parents have basically funded her entire adult life: BMW lease, credit cards, gym membership, everything. And somehow, in their eyes, our accomplishments are always “equally impressive.”
When I graduated at the top of my class, the celebration dinner turned into a discussion about Bethany finally passing her driving test. When I got my first real promotion, my dad’s response was: “Maybe you can help Bethany get hired there.”
So yeah, when I bought the penthouse, I kept it a secret.
The place became my sanctuary. I decorated it exactly how I wanted, set up a gorgeous home office with lake views, and finally felt like I was living the life I worked for.
Then came the lunch invitation.
My mom, dad, and Bethany showed up at a fancy restaurant, and the moment we sat down, I knew something was coming. They made small talk, asked about work, and then finally, my mom said, “We know about your new apartment.”
Apparently someone at her country club heard about a sale in my building and mentioned it. My parents were “embarrassed” that they heard it through gossip.
Then they launched into the real reason for the lunch: they wanted Bethany to move into my penthouse.
Not temporarily or as a paying tenant. They genuinely expected me to hand over my spare bedroom so she could “grow her influencer brand.” My mother even suggested I move my home office to the dining area so Bethany could have the better room “for filming.”
I said no.
They pushed harder. My parents accused me of being selfish. My dad lectured me about “family responsibility” while my mom insisted that Bethany “deserved a chance to live independently,” ignoring that independence doesn’t usually involve moving into a sister’s multimillion-dollar condo for free.
I stood up, paid for my food, and left. And honestly, I hoped that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t.
For the next few days, I got nonstop messages saying I was cruel, ungrateful, disrespectful, etc. Then came the text that told me everything:
“We’re coming over tomorrow at 10 to discuss this properly.”
Not asking. Not checking if I’d be home.
Coming over.
That sealed it. They believed they had rights to my property.
So I upgraded my entire security system that night. It included biometric locks, high-end cameras, a private security service, everything. I even filed a formal trespass notice with the police, specifically naming my parents and sister as people who were not allowed into my unit without permission. It felt dramatic, but something in me knew I’d need it.
The next morning, I checked into a hotel and went to a work meeting.
And right on schedule, my smartwatch started blowing up with alerts:
“Motion detected at your front door.”
“Unauthorized attempt to access residence.”
When I checked the footage, my family was standing outside, ringing the bell repeatedly. After a few minutes, my mom pulled out a key they shouldn’t even have.
She tried to unlock the door and when the system rejected it, she tried again. Then my dad tried, but it didn’t work.
They even called a family friend who’s a locksmith and asked him to break in, but as soon as he realized they weren’t the owners, he grabbed his tools and left the place.
Building security arrived and told them to leave. They refused.
Police arrived. My mother started kicking door and yelling my name. She refused all police instructions, so she got arrested, and when my dad tried to interfere, he got arrested, too.
Later, my sister texted me: “They’re being charged. Trespassing, disorderly conduct, resisting. They’re devastated.”
At first, I felt guilt, but I soon realized that it was something that simply needed to be done for my own sake.
A couple of weeks later, I finally answered their calls and we met for lunch. This time, they weren’t mad at me, on the contrary, they told me they’ve been talking to a therapist who made them realize how wrong they were. They apologized for everything, and I accepted their apologies, but I was clear that they could never come to my home announced or have a key.
My penthouse remained my sanctuary, and I still see my parents and my sister, but not as often as they’d like to.
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Bored Daddy
Love and Peace
