Kicked Out For My Sister’s Baby I Returned Rich Chapter 02
The Novels Starts From Here
Chapter 1
My sister was carrying my boyfriend’s baby. My boyfriend of eight years. And my family had given me thirty days to clear out.
The most absurd part: I was the one who’d thrown the baby shower that dragged it all into the light.
She’d always told me the father had walked out on her long ago.
In a rare moment of softness, I’d taken care of the whole thing, from the catering down to the decorations. I’d even rigged up the livestream for her.
It never crossed my mind that the ultrasound photo filling the big screen at the end would carry the caption “Baby Draper.”
Draper was my boyfriend’s last name.
A heartbeat later, Trent emerged from the crowd, slid his arm around my sister, Regina, and kissed her in front of everyone.
She didn’t flinch away. She smiled, in fact, and leaned into him.
Cheers and applause broke out around us, as though the whole room had been holding its breath for this exact moment.
I was the only person there who hadn’t known my boyfriend fathered my sister’s child.
And the only one who hadn’t known they’d already carved up my apartment.
Someone pressed a slip of paper into my palm.
Thirty days to move out of the downstairs unit I’d lived in for years, so they could clear space for the baby.
Except I was the one who’d paid every utility bill and every repair on that place.
Now my sister had my boyfriend and my home both.
I’d always been the one who paid, who worked, who tidied up after all of them. And I was the one being thrown out.
My family lifted their glasses, toasting the bright new life ahead of them.
In a room brimming with applause, not one person said a word for me.
So the party had never been a surprise at all.
It was a staged ambush, built to push me out the door.
They were waiting for me to cry, to beg, to hang back and mop up their mess the way I always had.
Instead I only closed my hand harder around that slip of paper.
I wasn’t about to fight over a man, and I wasn’t about to fight over a house.
I was simply going to stop handing this family everything.
They believed they were only evicting a spare daughter.
What they hadn’t worked out was how long this family could actually last without me.
…
I turned and walked out of the backyard without a backward glance.
Behind me, Trent was coaxing Regina toward the cake. She smiled and asked whether he wanted a boy or a girl.
Trent said that as long as the baby was hers, he’d love it either way.
Another wave of cheering went up.
I let myself into my apartment, laid the thirty-day notice on the table, opened my laptop, and signed in to my bank account.
Fingerprint verified.
The page reloaded. For a second I was sure my eyes were playing tricks on me.
The page reloaded. For a second I was sure my eyes were playing tricks on me.
Joint Savings Account Balance: $0.00.
That was the money Trent and I had been setting aside for a house.
For eight years I’d moved money into that account like clockwork after every payday. He always claimed his freelance income was too unsteady, that he’d put in less for now and even it out down the road.
I’d taken him at his word.
I’d already run the numbers. Eighteen more months and we’d have had enough for a down payment on a small house.
Now there wasn’t a cent left.
I opened the transaction history.
The first transfer was dated a month ago. The recipient: Regina’s credit card company.
Then the second. The third.
Overdue balances. Cash advances. Interest charges.
The last handful of transactions came from an upscale baby boutique: a crib, a changing table, a smart monitor, and a stroller that cost two months’ rent.
None of this had been decided on a whim.
They’d been plotting it for a long time.
While he was talking mortgage rates with me, he was spending our down payment to wipe out Regina’s debt and stock up for their baby.
I lifted my head slowly and looked toward the living room.
A few unopened boxes were stacked in the corner.
For days now, Trent had claimed they belonged to a coworker who needed somewhere to store a few things. I’d been so buried in the party planning that I’d never once glanced at the labels.
I read them now.
Every package was addressed to Trent Draper.
Photos of a crib and a changing table were printed along the sides.
They were parked in the exact spot where we’d planned to set our dining table.
Trent had said that once we bought a house, we’d choose furniture together, tour model homes, build a life of our own.
It turned out he had been planning for the future all along.
I just wasn’t part of it.
My phone rang.
Marlene. My mother.
The instant I answered, she went at me. “Why did you leave so early? Today was important for Regina. Who was that sour face for?”
I stared at the screen, at the zero balance.
“Did you know Trent emptied our joint account?”
A short silence.
Then Marlene said briskly, “Regina’s pregnant and buried in credit card debt. We couldn’t just let collection agencies keep hounding her. Trent wanted to help. It shows he’s responsible.”
“So you knew.”
“Thea, don’t make this ugly. You can always earn more money. A baby can’t wait.”
I let out a short, sharp laugh.
Most of that money had been mine.
But to hear her tell it, if Regina wanted something, then my money, my boyfriend, and my home were all simply hers to take.
There was a rustle, and my father took the phone.
There was a rustle, and my father took the phone.
“That’s enough,” Gordon said, his voice cold. “That money is for my grandchild. Your sister is about to give birth. This is not the time to be petty.”
“That was my house fund.”
“Trent’s name was on the account. He had every right to use it. Don’t you dare make a scene and ruin things for everyone.”
He paused, then added, “You got the notice. Be out in thirty days. No delays. We need to convert the downstairs into a nursery as soon as possible.”
The call ended.
No explanation. No apology. Only a warning.
As I set my phone down, an Instagram notification surfaced.
Regina had just posted a nine-photo carousel from the party.
In the first shot, Trent knelt before her, arms circling her waist as he kissed her swollen belly. She gazed down at him, her fingers laced through his hair, a smile of pure happiness and triumph on her face.
The caption was a single line.
A new life begins.
Marlene was the first to like it.
One of Trent’s friends left a comment below: Congrats, man. Finally ditched that boring deadweight.
A few minutes later, Trent replied: Thanks, man.
He didn’t deny it.
To his friend, our eight years together were deadweight, and two words were all he could be bothered to give in return.
I didn’t hurl my phone. I didn’t storm back to the party demanding an explanation.
I didn’t hurl my phone. I didn’t storm back to the party demanding an explanation.
I screenshotted every photo, the caption, the comments, and their timestamps. Then I downloaded the past year of bank statements.
After that, I pulled out a blank sheet of paper and began a list.
Electricity. Gas. Water. Internet. Homeowners insurance. Property tax reminders. Repair companies. The family cell phone plan.
Over the years I’d put all of it in my name, with every bill on auto-pay from my card. My father had no idea when the boiler needed its annual service; my mother had no idea when the insurance renewed.
All they knew was that if something broke, they called me. If a bill arrived, they handed it off to me.
I wrote down every account number, customer service line, due date, and transfer procedure. I noted plainly that every service under my name would be shut off on my move-out date.
Then I sent certified emails to both my father and Trent with the household account handoff list attached, requesting delivery receipts.
The screen flashed: Sent.
I revoked my access to the family’s shared calendar, removed myself as an authorized user on my father’s accounts, and backed up every financial record to a secure cloud drive.
Finally, I opened an airline’s website.
In the destination field I typed: Minneapolis.
One-way.
No checked bags.
Confirm payment.
They’d given me thirty days.
I had no intention of letting them steal a single one of them.
Chapter 2
The next morning, I was cramming the last of my clothes into a suitcase when the lock clicked.
Trent let himself in with his key.
Behind him came Regina, my father, and Marlene. They were carrying leftover cake, salad, and champagne from the party, as though it were all still going on.
No one had bothered to ask whether they could come in.
Marlene set the containers on the table and took stock of the living room.
“The crib should go by the window. The light is better there. And that wall should be painted a pale green. It’ll work for a boy or a girl.”
Regina rubbed her stomach and frowned at the corner.
“This place is too small, though. The couch and the bookcase have to go, or there won’t be room for the changing table.”
I’d spent three weekends putting that bookcase together by hand.
My father nodded. “Once Thea is out, clear it all away. Old junk just takes up space.”
Trent stood by the dining table with a tape measure, checking the width of the wall.
Marlene smiled. “You two really do look right together. Regina is gentle. She knows how to lean on a man. Unlike some women, who have to control everything. Men get tired of living like that.”
“Mom, don’t say that,” Regina said, though the corners of her mouth curved up. “My sister’s just… intense.”
There they stood, in my living room, deciding how to get rid of my things.
As if I’d already moved out.
As if I’d already moved out.
As if I were nothing more than the previous tenant.
I zipped my suitcase shut, picked up the printed bank statements, and crossed the room to them.
I slapped the papers down on the table.
The sharp crack made Trent go still, tape measure in hand.
Marlene glanced at them and snorted. “So what? A little money was used. You already made a scene last night. Are you really going to drag this out?”
“A little money?”
I flipped to the summary page and shoved it in front of Trent.
“Eighty-two percent of the funds in that account were my deposits. You used it to pay off her credit cards and buy a crib and a stroller. In total, you transferred sixty-four thousand, three hundred dollars.”
Trent wouldn’t meet my eyes.
I kept staring at him.
“If you wanted to bankroll your new family, you could have said so to my face.”
“Why were you talking to me about buying a house while you were secretly draining our savings?”
“It’s not stealing!” Trent finally looked up, color rising in his face. “My name was on the account. I had the right to use it.”
“How much you contributed is right there in black and white.”
His face went beet red.
Before he could get another word out, Regina clutched his arm.
“Please, stop fighting. Please don’t fight.”
Her eyes reddened at once, her voice quivering.
Her eyes reddened at once, her voice quivering.
“This is all my fault. I was under so much pressure. The collection calls were coming every day. I was scared my baby would be born with nothing, so I asked Trent for help.”
As she spoke, she doubled over, a hand over her mouth as she retched.
Trent steadied her instantly.
“Easy. Just breathe.”
Regina sagged against him, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Sis, if you want to blame someone, blame me. But the baby is innocent…”
“Are you satisfied now, Thea?” Trent suddenly shouted at me. “She’s pregnant, for God’s sake. Did you have to shove bank statements in her face? Have you no compassion?”
Marlene rushed to rub Regina’s back, then leveled a finger at me.
“You’ve been jealous of her since you were kids! The second she had anything good, you’d pull that face. Now she has a child and a man who loves her, and you’re using these bank statements to blackmail us? Do we have to pay you off before you’ll stop?”
“Blackmail?”
I looked at them, half wondering whether I’d misheard.
Asking for my own money back was blackmail now.
Regina had taken my boyfriend and my savings, and somehow she was the pregnant victim and I was the one tormenting her.
My father passed her a tissue. Trent held her, murmuring comfort. Marlene kept saying, “Don’t be afraid. Mom’s here.”
They all closed ranks around her.
When their eyes turned to me, there was nothing in them but hostility, as if I were the intruder in my own home.
When their eyes turned to me, there was nothing in them but hostility, as if I were the intruder in my own home.
I’d kept myself together all night, but in that instant something inside me gave way.
“Who covered the property taxes all these years? Who renewed the insurance? When the boiler broke or the pipes leaked, who paid the repair bills?”
I pointed at the floor beneath our feet.
“I paid the bills for this house. I managed the accounts. I scheduled the repairs. You told me over and over that this apartment would be mine someday, so I kept pouring my own money into it.”
“Now you’ve taken my savings, taken my home, and you still expect me to keep paying your bills.”
“Why?”
The living room went quiet.
My father didn’t slam the table the way he usually did. He didn’t call me immature. He only looked at me with cold, hard eyes.
“The property tax account is still in your name.”
I froze.
He went on, “Next quarter’s tax bill is due soon. If you default, the overdue notices and the hit to your credit score will be in your name. When you try to rent or get a loan later, you’ll have to explain that.”
That was the true reason he’d marched them all here today.
Not to talk.
Not to apologize.
To remind me that even once they’d thrown me out, I was still expected to foot the bill.
They didn’t only want my money. They wanted the liability to stay in my name.
That was the true reason he’d marched them all here today.
Not to talk.
Not to apologize.
To remind me that even once they’d thrown me out, I was still expected to foot the bill.
They didn’t only want my money. They wanted the liability to stay in my name.
I looked at my father and, without meaning to, laughed.
Marlene frowned. “What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing.”
I collected the statements one by one and slid them back into the folder.
“This is all my fault.”
Their expressions eased a little, as though they thought I’d finally caved.
I snapped the folder shut and raised my eyes.
“My mistake was believing that after paying this household’s bills for so many years, I was part of the family.”
“My mistake was believing that when you said, ‘Someday this place will be yours,’ you weren’t just manipulating me into paying the bills.”
I pulled my suitcase to the door and opened it.
“If that’s the way it is, I’m done.”