When I returned from my trip, my belongings were strewn across the lawn with a note: “If you want to stay, live in the basement.”

When I get back from my trip, my belongings lie on the lawn with a note: If you want to stay, youll have to live in the cellar. My name is Sophie, Im 29, and two years ago my life takes a turn I never saw coming. Im renting a flat in London, working as a software developer, earning a decent salary and relishing my independence. Then my parents call for that dreaded conversation nobody wants to have.

​Sophie, we need to talk, my mother says over the phone, voice tense and weary. Can you come over tonight?

I arrive at their semidetached house in Manchester. Dad sits at the kitchen table surrounded by piles of paperwork; he looks older than his 58 years, and Mum twists her hands the way she always does when shes stressed.

Whats going on? I ask, taking a seat opposite them.

Dad clears his throat. I had to quit my job last month. My back pain got worse and I cant do construction work any more. Ive been looking for something else, but nothing pays enough.

A knot tightens in my stomach. I knew Dads health was fragile, but I hadnt realised how bad it was.

We cant afford the mortgage, Mum continues, voice trembling slightly. Im still working parttime at the local supermarket. Together we bring in about £940 a month, and the mortgage alone is £1,400.

Thats when they ask me to move back in and help with the bills. They dont want to lose the house theyve lived in for twenty years. I glance around the kitchen where I ate my first breakfasts, the living room where we watched films together, the back garden where Dad taught me to ride a bike.

Of course I say yes. Ill help.

So I leave my flat and return to my childhood bedroom. It feels odd at first, but I set up my laptop, get a solid broadband connection and keep working remotely. The arrangement works better than I expected. I earn about £66,000 a year, but most of my real cash comes from bonuses. Whenever one of my programmes sells to a big tech firm, I get a percentage. Some months I pull an extra £8,000 or £12,000.

I use my regular salary to cover the mortgage, utilities, food, car insurance and other household costs. It isnt a strain. What my family doesnt know is that I stash every bonus in a separate savings account. I never tell anyonenot my parents, not my older brother Marcus, who lives on the other side of the city with his wife Sandra and their two kids. I love my family, but I know what would happen if they discovered my true earnings. They would find ways to drain them. Marcus is always asking for money.

Hey Sophie, can you lend me £500? Tommy needs new football boots.

Sandras mother needs surgery and were short on medical bills.

I help when I can with my regular pay, but I keep silent about the bonuses. In two years Ive saved almost £180,000 and Im planning to buy my own house soon.

Everything is fine except for the family dinners. Marcus and Sandra turn up every Sunday, and those meals feel like torture. Sandra has never liked me and makes sure I know it.

Sophie, whats with that shirt? You look like youve just walked out of a school uniform shop. Do you even care about how you dress?

Marcus chuckles. Sandras just trying to help, little sister. She knows about fashion.

The worst part is watching Sandra flaunt clothes bought with the money Marcus borrowed from me. She parades in a new designer dress, lecturing us about investing in quality pieces.

Usually I flee to my room as soon as I can, claiming I have work to do. I hear Sandras voice drifting up the stairs: There she goes again, running to hide in her little bubble. Shell never grow up if she keeps avoiding real life.

I keep my mouth shut and keep saving. Soon I wont have to put up with this any longer.

I decide to take a muchneeded break and spend the weekend at my friend Jessicas cottage in the Cotswolds. When I get back on Sunday night I see too many cars in the driveway and lights on in every room. I walk to the front door and see toys scattered across the porch. I open the door to a scene of chaos.

Tommy and Emma are racing around the living room, Marcus is hauling boxes up the stairs, and Sandra is directing everything like the owner of the house.

Whats happening? I ask, standing in the doorway with my travel bag.

Everyone stops and looks at me. My parents emerge from the kitchen, looking guilty.

Marcus drops a box on the floor. Hey, little sis. Plans have changed. I lost my job and we cant afford the rent.

I glance at the piles of boxes and furniture. So youre staying here?

Just temporarily, Marcus says. Until I find something new.

Sandra steps forward with a strained smile. We really appreciate you letting us stay. Of course well have to make some adjustments. Your bedroom would be perfect for the kids. You could move into the small room at the end of the hallway.

Im not moving out of my room, I say firmly. I work from home. I need my desk and a good internet connection.

Sandras smile fades. Well, the childrens needs come first.

And Im the one paying the mortgage and the bills, I snap.

Sandra crosses her arms. That doesnt give you a licence to be selfish. Were family.

Family that never asked if they could crash on my couch, I retort.

Fine, Sandra says when I refuse to give up my room. Keep your precious bedroom. Just dont expect us to be grateful when you cant even be considerate to a family in need.

I head upstairs and shut the door. Thats where the nightmare truly begins.

The house is constantly noisy. Marcus spends his days on the sofa, making halfhearted phone calls about jobs that never materialise. Sandra acts as if shes doing us a favour. The worst part is trying to work. The kids bang on my door and interrupt my video calls.

Could you please keep the children quieter during my working hours? I ask Marcus one morning.

Theyre just children, he says without looking up from his phone. You wouldnt understand because you dont have any.

Two months later the tipping point arrives. I come back from a grocery run to find my internet dead. I check the router and see the Ethernet cable cleanly cut in two.

Im furious. I rush downstairs, cable in hand. Who did this?

Sandra is on the sofa, painting her nails. She looks at the severed cable and laughs. Oh, that. Tommy was playing with scissors and must have wandered into your room. Kidsstuff.

Thats not funny! I have a deadline tomorrow! I shout.

Maybe you should lock your door if youre so protective of your precious computer gear, she shrugs.

Maybe you should watch your son and teach him not to destroy other peoples property! I snap back.

The fake sweetness disappears from Sandras face. Dont tell me how to raise my children! You have no idea what being a mother is like.

I know what respect for other peoples stuff looks like, I retort.

When I explain what happened to my parents and Marcus, I expect their support. Instead they side with Sandra.

Youre being too hard on her, Sophie, Dad says. Its just a cable. You can buy a new one.

I cant believe it. Im the one paying for the roof over their heads, and theyre defending her. The house feels cold and hostile from then on.

Then my longawaited bonus arrives. One of my programmes sells and the payout is huge: nearly £60,000. My total savings jump to almost £240,000.

Ive been quietly working with a property agent, an old university friend named Dave. Three weeks after the bonus lands, he calls. I think Ive found it. A twobedroom flat in the city centre. Great building, perfect for someone who works from home.

The flat is everything Ive dreamed of: floortoceiling windows, wooden floors, a separate office space.

Im taking it, I tell Dave before we even finish the viewing.

In two weeks Im signing the final papers. Im officially a homeowner, keys in hand, though I keep the news from my family. Then my boss calls with an opportunity: a twoweek developers conference in Edinburgh, all expenses paid. Two weeks away from that house sounds like heaven.

Im in, I reply.

When I tell my family Im leaving, they barely react. The conference is fantastic. I dont call home once, and, surprisingly, no one calls me either.

When my flight lands, I take a taxi back home. As the cab pulls into the driveway I realise something is wrong. My stuffclothes, books, personal itemsare packed into black garbage bags and strewn on the lawn.

I walk to the front door and ring the bell. My parents, Marcus and Sandra are all there.

Whats this? I ask, pointing at the bags.

Sandra steps forward with a selfsatisfied grin. Weve made a few changes while you were away. The kids needed more space, so we turned your bedroom into a proper playroom.

We sorted the cellar for you, Mum says, avoiding my eyes. It actually turned out quite nice.

The cellar is dark, damp and smells of mould.

Of course, Sandra adds, beaming, if you dont like the arrangement youre always free to find somewhere else. Youre 29, after all.

I look to my parents for a defense. They stand frozen, refusing to meet my gaze. Then, unexpectedly, I smilegenuine, unforced.

You know what? I say brightly. Youre right, Sandra. I should look for my own place. But Im curious, how exactly do you plan to pay the mortgage without my money?

Marcus straightens up, looking proud. Actually, I found a job last week. Good salary. Well be fine without your help.

Relief floods me. Thats wonderful news! Im really happy for you. So I guess this works out perfectly.

Everyone looks stunned. They expected me to beg or argue. Instead I act as if theyve done me a favour. Sandras smile widens. Good. Its time you learn to fend for yourself.

They retreat, the door slamming shut behind themno goodbye, no good luck, just a slam.

I call a removal company. Two hours later a truck arrives. In under an hour they load everything onto a small van. My whole life in that house fits into that van. I follow it in my car to my bright, peaceful flat. Im finally free.

First thing I do is block all their numbers and cancel every payment Id been making. The months that follow are calm. I get a promotion, my bank balance grows, and I start dating someone. Life feels truly good.

One afternoon the doorbell rings. I peek through the peephole and my stomach drops. Its Mum, Dad, Marcus and Sandra.

I open the door but I dont invite them in. How did you find me?

Jessica told us, Mum says.

Sandra steps inside without waiting. Nice place, she says, eyes scanning with obvious envy. It must have cost a fortune.

What do you want? I ask.

Well, Marcus begins, I lost my job again two months ago.

And were having trouble with the mortgage, Dad adds.

I cant help but laugh. Let me guess. You want me to start paying for you again?

Were family, Mum pleads. We need to help each other.

Help each other? I repeat. When have you ever helped me?

Weve been thinking, Mum continues, and if the house gets repossessed well have to move in with you.

I stare at her. Excuse me?

Where else would we go? Sandra says with that familiar smugness. Were family. You cant just abandon us.

I burst out laughing, a deep, incredulous laugh. Do you really think Ill let you move in after you dumped my things on the lawn and told me to live in the cellar?

That was different, Marcus says weakly.

Youre right, that was different, I say, my voice turning icecold. That was the moment I realised what you all thought of me. You werent grateful; you felt entitled. Theres a difference.

Sandras face twists with anger. Youre a bitter, selfish woman who doesnt understand what family means!

Youre right, I say, walking to the door and swinging it wide open. I dont buy into your version of family where one person does everything and is then treated like trash. I want you all out. Now.

Zoe Marcus starts.

The conversations over, I cut him off. The answer is no. To everything. Im not paying your mortgage. Im not letting you move in. Im not helping any of you, ever again.

But were family! Mum shouts.

Family isnt how you treated me, I reply. Now leave.

They shuffle out while Sandra hurls insults down the hallway. I shut the door and bolt the lock.

Three months later I hear the house has been repossessed. My parents move into a tiny flat, and Marcus and Sandra end up staying with Sandras parents. I feel nothingno guilt, no sadnessjust relief.

My life keeps getting better. I finally understand what a healthy relationship looks like. Sometimes I wonder if my family ever thinks about how different things might have been if theyd shown me a little respect. Then I remember Im far better off without them. Some people will take everything you give them and still demand more. Some see kindness as weakness and generosity as an obligation. Im done being obligated to anyone who wouldnt lift a finger for me.