I thought I was surprising my parents for Easter with flowers and chocolate—what I found instead shocked me to my core. My sister had taken over their house and left them living in the garage like guests in their own life. I live five hours away and talk to my mom almost every day. She always said they were fine, so I believed her. We were a close family growing up. My dad built our house by hand, and my mom made it warm and cozy. But my sister Cassandra, always loud and dramatic, was nothing like that. Still, she could charm anyone, even if it meant hurting people in the process. This Easter, I decided to surprise my parents. I grabbed chocolate eggs, tulips, and drove to their house, imagining their happy reactions. But when I arrived, everything was off. The house was cold, modern, and unfamiliar—nothing like the home I remembered. The furniture had changed, and family photos were gone, replaced with abstract art. I knocked, but no one answered. I used my old key and walked in. Then I heard Cassandra’s voice. “Wait, you didn’t tell me your sister was coming.” And someone laughed, “What, the golden goose? She’ll be gone by morning.” Confused, I walked around to the garage, where I found my parents—my dad sitting on a stool working on a cabinet, my mom bundled up in a coat. They were living in the garage, with just a cot and a camping stove. My mom explained that it was temporary, but I didn’t believe her. I told them to pack their bags, that they weren’t staying in the garage another night. I checked them into a hotel with a real bed, heat, and comfort, and then I took matters into my own hands. I’m a contracts manager, and I knew exactly what to do. I went through our family’s files and found the house deed—my sister’s name wasn’t on it. She was a guest in their house, and guests could be evicted. I texted Cassandra, pretending everything was fine, and arranged to meet her at a café. She acted like everything was normal, but I had a plan. Over lunch, I told her that selling the house to help with my parents’ care might be a good idea. She agreed, thinking she was winning, but then I told her I had recorded the conversation. Three days later, I showed up with an eviction notice and a police escort. Cassandra and her boyfriend Nathan were shocked, especially when they realized they had no legal right to stay. Within a week, my parents were back in their home, and it felt like everything was right again. My dad gave me the house deed, saying it would be mine if anything happened to them. Meanwhile, Cassandra’s been couch-surfing, spreading lies about us, claiming we betrayed her. Nathan left, and we haven’t heard from him since. For Easter, my parents were back where they belonged—in their home, no more camping stove, no more garage. The house felt like a home again, with steaks on the grill, tulips on the table, and laughter filling the air. It was the way it should always be