After 20 years abroad, I returned to my sister’s house, the one I’d once given her, and found her lying on the doormat by the front door. 😱😨 My only son laughed at her and told guests, “Don’t pay any attention, she’s our crazy maid.” I walked into the house and taught them a lesson they’ll never forget. 😢

“Are you sure you’re here?” the taxi driver asked, pulling up at the tall gate. “The house looks expensive. Are you sure they’re waiting for you?”

I nodded. I was wearing a simple gray coat and worn-out boots. It was the look of someone returning home after 20 years, the only warm clothes they had were the ones they bought many years ago in their hometown.

I lived abroad for 20 years, worked for 20 years so my family could have a home and enough money to live on.

The house stood at the back of the garden—large, well-kept, with a wide porch. I walked along the path, carrying a small bag.

The front door was open. Music and voices drifted from inside. The house was festive.

I entered quietly. Guests stood in the spacious hallway—expensive suits, dresses, and glasses. No one paid any attention to me. I remained by the wall.

And only then did I look down.

Near the door, curled up on the rug, a woman slept. In old clothes, covered with a thin blanket. She lay there as if this was her natural state. I realized with horror that this woman was my sister. The same sister to whom I had given this house, and now she was sleeping on the porch of her own house, wearing old clothes and shivering from the cold.

At that moment, a man emerged from the depths of the house, holding a glass. My son. He laughed loudly, said something to the guests, and, as he passed, wiped his feet on a figure lying by the door.

“Don’t pay any attention,” he said with a grin. “That’s our crazy maid.”

The guests laughed awkwardly.

My whole world collapsed at that moment. I realized with horror that they were treating my sister so terribly in this house.

And then I did something that made everyone freeze in horror. 😱😨 

I stopped in the center of the hallway. I didn’t have to speak loudly—the silence was already complete.

“My sister is not a doormat,” I said calmly.

My son turned around. First with bewilderment, then with irritation.

“Mom,” he chuckled. “We’re busy right now. Sorry.”

I didn’t answer right away. I leaned over and gently helped my sister sit up. She opened her eyes and looked at me as if she’d known I’d be coming today.

Only then did I straighten up.

“We can conclude the reception,” I said. “This house is no longer yours.”

Someone in the hallway laughed nervously, thinking it was a joke. I took a thin folder from my bag and placed it on the table by the wall.

“Twenty years ago, I deeded this house as a gift. With the right of withdrawal. The condition was simple—that whoever lives here be treated with dignity. That condition has been violated.”

He turned pale.

“That’s impossible…” he began, but I was already continuing.

“All the documents have been signed. The notice has been registered. From now on, you are here without legal grounds.”

Someone set down a glass. The music suddenly seemed out of place.

“The police will be here within the hour,” I added. “You have time to gather your personal belongings and leave the house.”

My son looked at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. In the house he considered his own.