When my fiancé Joseph and I moved into my mom’s house, we thought it was a smart, short-term plan to save for our own place. At first, it worked: Mom was generous, cooked for us, did our laundry, and made space in her cozy three-bedroom home.

But tension crept in. Joseph, usually reserved and observant, began noticing money missing from his wallet. He mentioned it during dinner one night, and Mom’s over-the-top reaction set off quiet alarms in both our heads. Still, we stayed — until I caught her in the act.

One night at 2 a.m., I got up for water and found her in the kitchen, calmly slipping $200 from Joseph’s wallet. She didn’t deny it. In fact, she told me she was taking “a small rent fee” — because we never offered, she said, and she was tired of being taken for granted.

We left three days later, quietly and without confrontation. A tiny, imperfect apartment became our sanctuary. It took weeks before she called to apologize. I forgave her, but we kept our distance. Now, we see each other occasionally — with boundaries. And she never touches Joseph’s wallet again.