His cousin chimed in, insisting that family helps family. But Mark shut it down fast.
“Family doesn’t throw out things that don’t belong to them,” he replied. “They knew the rules.
They broke them. End of story.”
That was that. Greg and Laura moved on to their next couch to crash on, and we were left to deal with the damage.
That same night, Mark and I sat together at the kitchen table, scrolling through listings for replacement beds.
We didn’t hesitate, didn’t second-guess. We had worked too hard to build that room, and we wouldn’t let selfishness destroy it. By morning, we had two new twin beds on the way.
Still, the loss stung.
It wasn’t about the money.
It was the principle. The betrayal. The way Greg and Laura had dismissed something that meant so much to us, treating it like an inconvenience instead of the lifeline it was meant to be.
But as the days passed, that sting softened into something else—validation.
We had stood our ground, protected our home, and upheld the purpose of that space. And we didn’t owe anyone an apology for that.
One week later, the call came.
A caseworker needed an emergency placement for two siblings—a seven-year-old girl and her five-year-old brother.
When they arrived, nervous and clutching their small backpacks, I led them into the guest room.
Their eyes lit up the moment they saw the beds.
“Whoa,” the little boy whispered. “We each get our own bed?”
The girl ran her fingers over the soft quilt.
“This is so cool,” she said, a small, shy smile creeping onto her face.
I felt something settle inside me, something deep and right.
“Yes,” I said softly. “This is your space now.”
And in that moment, I knew: We had made the right decision.
