I let my sister-in-law use my pool every summer for her kids’ parties. When I asked to borrow her tent for camping, she sneered: “Get your own stuff—you’re so pathetic.” My mother-in-law chuckled: “You shouldn’t expect too much if you’re always asking.” My husband added: “Stop being such a freeloader.” I came back from my trip to find my pool drained and damaged. Her note read: “Pool parties are over—maybe this will teach you not to rely on others.” I stayed silent, but what I did next left them speechless…..
My name is Alisa, and for three months, I was the family pushover. For four years, my backyard was my sister-in-law, Cassidy’s, personal country club. Every weekend, she’d arrive unannounced with her kids, their friends, and an air of breezy entitlement. “It’s just a pool, Alisa,” she’d sigh. “It’s family,” my husband, David, would shrug.
The breaking point came this past July. David and I were planning a camping trip. I remembered Cassidy had bought a beautiful, expensive four-person tent. I figured she’d be happy to lend it to us, a small return for four years of unlimited pool access.
I called her. The silence on the other end was my first clue.
“Let me get this straight,” she finally said, her voice laced with disbelief. “You’re asking to borrow my brand-new, four-hundred-dollar tent?”
“Cassidy, you’ve used our forty-thousand-dollar pool every weekend for four years.”
“That’s different. The pool is just there. You’re asking me to trust you with my actual property. No. Get your own stuff. Honestly, the fact that you have to ask is pathetic.” Click.
When David got home, his reaction was even worse. “You’re embarrassing me, Alisa. We don’t just ask family for things like that.”
The next day, my mother-in-law, Patricia, called. “Alisa, dear. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
I wanted to scream. Instead, I was silent.
Our trip was a much-needed reprieve. When we pulled into our driveway, tired but happy, that mood lasted exactly thirty seconds.
Our pool was empty. The beautiful blue liner was deliberately torn. Our furniture was scattered. On the patio table, tucked under a rock, was a folded note in Cassidy’s distinctive handwriting.
Alisa,
Pool parties are over. Maybe this will teach you not to be such a worthless leech. You want to use people and never give anything back? Well, now you know how it feels to have something you care about taken away.
Cassidy
David read it over my shoulder, his face growing pale. “She couldn’t have,” he whispered.
But the pool technician confirmed it the next morning. “This wasn’t an accident. This was deliberate. You’re looking at about $15,000 in repairs.”
For three days, I was silent. I didn’t answer their calls. I let David’s frantic, unanswered voicemails to his sister become the soundtrack to my cold, quiet rage.
On the fourth day, I walked into my home office. David thought our biggest asset was the house. Cassidy thought it was the pool. They were both wrong.
My biggest asset was the meticulously kept journal from the past four years, detailing every uninvited party, every broken rule, every passive-aggressive text. And the security camera footage from our back deck, footage I had started saving a year ago when I first suspected Cassidy’s entitlement was curdling into something more dangerous. Watch: [in comment] – Made with AI