When Leah and Liam suggested I go for a check-up, I was reluctant but finally agreed. “You should,” Liz insisted over smoothies. “If there’s something wrong, it’s better to know.” After the check-up, the doctor recommended a CT scan. As I settled into the hospital, I received shocking news from Liz: my house was listed on Airbnb for the week.

Furious, I confided in Liz, who suggested a plan. “Tell Denise to book the place,” Liz said. “She can create a new account to keep it under the radar.” I agreed, feeling a mix of betrayal and resolve. My kids had clearly overstepped, and I wanted them to face the consequences of their actions.

The next morning, I was discharged with a clean bill of health and drove to Liz’s house. “Are you sure about this?” Liz asked, handing me tea. “Yes,” I said, determined. Back home, the house smelled different, hinting that someone had been there. I showered and went to bed, preparing for the next day’s plans.

The following morning, I packed away most of my appliances, leaving only a few essentials. Liz helped me store the items in my car and garage. I stayed with Liz until Friday, then drove back home to a surprising sight. Leah greeted me excitedly, but my kitchen was filled with new appliances.

“What’s all this?” I asked, feigning shock. Leah and Liam had replaced everything, apologizing profusely. “We thought you deserved new things,” Leah said, looking down. “We didn’t think you’d find out.”

“I know,” I said firmly. “I took everything to show you how wrong it was to rent out my house without asking.” Leah looked remorseful, and I softened. “If you need money, talk to me first. Don’t do things like this.”

Leah hugged me and offered to return the items and give me the rental money. I appreciated the gesture but hoped the lesson would stick. Trust, after all, was more valuable than any amount of money.