“My husband and his family kicked me and my child out, calling us parasites.” A year later, they wished they hadn’t done it.
“Poor parasites, how will you live without me?”
My husband, Ethan Reynolds, shouted it to me and then slammed the door in my face. It was pouring rain in Dallas, Texas, that night, and I was holding my three-year-old son Noah in my shivering arms. Margaret, his mother, appeared on the porch with a smug look on her face. The rain didn’t get on her silk robe.
“Go back to where you came from, Lily,” she added with a snarl. “We don’t need people like you to ruin this family.”
The type of people you are. She always stated that. Ethan’s parents constantly made sure I knew I came from a working-class family.
When we first met, Ethan was lovely. He was incredibly motivated and had big dreams. But when his dad made him the regional director of the family business, he changed. He started to look down on me, the woman who worked two jobs so he could get his MBA.
I had a suitcase, my child, and $300 in the bank. I was standing in the rain. I quit my job years ago to look after Noah. Ethan had taken the car back, saying it was in his name.
I stayed in a cheap motel for the first few nights and fed Noah gas station milk and fast noodles. Every time I looked at his cute face, I promised myself that no one would ever call us parasites again.
The next morning, I went to an employment center in my area and begged for any work. Ms. Parker, who was at the desk, smiled as she read my résumé.
“You have a lot of promise, sweetheart.” You only need to get started.
I got a job as a receptionist at a small real estate company. It wasn’t fancy, but it gave me financial security. I worked hard, sometimes for twelve hours a day, and learned as much as I could about real estate. After Noah went to bed, I stayed up studying online courses about property management and marketing.
I was tired, broke, and heartbroken, but I was determined. That stormy night outside Ethan’s house changed everything for me.
After six months, I was made an assistant agent. I helped complete transactions and made money. My supervisor, James Dalton, observed how hard I worked.
“You have the instincts of a real agent, Lily,” he said. “Have you ever thought about getting a license?”
I chuckled in a way that was mean. “James, I can barely afford to pay my rent.” How would I pay for the costs?
He smiled. “Think of it as an investment.” You are worth it.
James provided me the money I needed to pay for the test to get my license. I passed on the first try. I cried that day, not because I was sad, but because I felt like I could do things again after a long time.
I immediately started making actual money. I became known for helping families who were having problems locate homes they could afford. The generosity that Ethan’s family made fun of became my greatest strength. Within a year, I was one of the greatest agents in Dallas.
Then something great happened: James decided to retire and asked me if I wanted to buy half of the business.
“I don’t have that much money,” I told him.
He grinned. “You’ve put in a lot of effort, Lily. And I think you will help it grow.
I jumped in. I received a small business loan, used the money, and bought 40% of the business. We renamed it Noah & Co. Realty after my son.
The business did fairly nicely. People enjoyed my narrative, and soon the news in my neighborhood branded me a “single mother turned real estate entrepreneur.”
What was the best part? I bought my first house, a beautiful two-story home with a yard for Noah. We painted it ourselves one weekend, and we laughed so hard that our hands became coated in blue paint.
I stood on my porch with the keys in my hand a year after Ethan kicked us out.
I had done it without him, his family, or their cash.
I assumed that was the end of our story. But fate had other plans.
A year later, the Reynolds family business went down. Their reputation took a big hit because of a controversy involving tax fraud and bad management. Ethan’s father died not long after that, and Ethan was in a bad spot—he had to sell his things to stay alive.
Then, one morning, I got an email from the bank that said, “Reynolds Estate: Foreclosure Opportunity.”
I paused.
That was where they lived.
The next day, I went to the bank feeling more sure of myself than I ever had before. I wasn’t the woman crying in the rain anymore. My hair looked great, and my suit was ironed.
I signed the papers with my name. The Reynolds mansion, where they had kicked me out, became mine in less than a week.
A month later, Ethan called. His voice shook.
“Lily, I heard you bought the house where we live. Is that true?
I said “yes” in a calm voice. “The parasite bought it.”
Shut up. Then he replied in a quiet voice, “We can’t go anywhere else.” Can we borrow it from you? “Only for a little while?”
I smiled. “Of course.” I’ll send you the lease. But Ethan, the rent isn’t cheap.
Ethan, his mom, and his sister lived there for six months and paid me rent.
I remembered the night when it rained every month when the payments came in.
In the end, they couldn’t keep up with them. They departed without saying anything, feeling bad about it. The neighbors spoke about me behind my back, but I didn’t want to lash back at them anymore.
It was important to show Noah that we could start over and that courage and dignity were stronger than privilege and cruelty.
One Sunday, I went back to that mansion with Noah. We walked through the empty halls, and the sun shined through the windows. “Mommy, is this our new house?” he asked as he glanced up.
I smiled. “No, baby. This episode shows that we can get anywhere we want as long as we don’t give up.
A few years later, while my business was growing across Texas, a conference for women looking for strength asked me to speak. I shared my story on stage: how I was kicked out, rebuilt, and purchased back the house that broke me.
The people in the crowd stood up and clapped. And at that point, I realized that the best way to get back at someone is to be successful, not to humiliate them.
Ethan was wrong.
We weren’t bloodsuckers.
We made it through and did well.
