“My sister stays and you pay… or you leave”: I lived for two years with the man who said he loved me, until one morning he tried to kick me out of my own home and forgot one detail that destroyed his life.

“Either you support my sister or you get out of this apartment.”

That was the first thing I heard that Sunday morning before I had even finished my first cup of coffee. Mornings in my Germantown loft in Nashville were usually filled with the scent of fresh espresso and the sound of soft jazz.

But that day felt different as the sound of heavy suitcases banging against my hardwood floors echoed through the hallway. The first bag made the entryway table shake, and by the third one, I was standing in the kitchen doorway with my mug in hand.

Spencer was standing there with his arms crossed, looking at me with the smug confidence of a man who thought he had already won. “My sister is coming to live with us, and it is official,” he announced as if he were just giving me a weather report.

He did not ask for my opinion or even try to have a conversation about it first. I carefully set my coffee cup down on the marble counter to keep my hands from shaking.

“Excuse me?” I asked him while trying to stay calm. “Where exactly does your sister plan on living permanently?”

Spencer looked around the expensive apartment I had been paying for since long before I ever met him. “Right here, Mallory,” he said as if the answer should have been obvious to me.

I had worked for years to afford this place and furnished every corner of it with my own hard earned money. Spencer had been living with me for two years without contributing a single cent to the rent or the utilities.

I did not even have a chance to respond before the front door swung open without a knock. A woman named Paige walked in wearing designer sunglasses and a tan trench coat while dragging two more matching suitcases behind her.