When I returned to my sister’s home, which I had once given her, after 20 years overseas, I found her laying on the doormat by the front entrance 
“Don’t pay attention, that’s our crazy maid,” my only kid told the guests as he laughed at her. They will never forget the lesson I imparted to them when I entered the house 
“Are you certain that this is the location?” As he slowed down in front of a huge fence, the cabbie questioned. “The residence appears to be pricey. Are you positive they’re anticipating you?
I gave a nod. I was dressed in old boots and a plain gray coat. When someone returns home after twenty years, they look like that, and the only warm clothing they own is what they bought in their hometown many years ago.
In order to provide my family with a home and income, I worked for 20 years and lived overseas for 20 years.
The house was big, clean, and had a spacious porch; it stood deep in the garden. I carried a tiny satchel as I strolled along the route.
The entrance door stood open. Voices and music floated out from within. The residence was the scene of a celebration.
Silently, I went in. In the large lobby, guests stood with costly suits, exquisite outfits, and glasses in their hands. I got no attention at all. I remained close to the wall.
I didn’t glance down till then.
A woman lay curled up, sleeping, on the doormat at the door. Wearing shabby clothes and a flimsy blanket. She laid there as though it had never happened to her before. The realization that this woman was my sister horrified me. The sister I had given this house to was now sleeping on the porch of her own house, trembling from the cold and wearing tattered clothes.
A man with a glass in his hand emerged from farther inside the home at that very moment. My son. He wiped his feet on the figure beside the door as he went past, laughing heartily and speaking to the visitors.
He smirked and said, “Don’t listen.” “Our crazy maid is that.”
The guests chuckled uncomfortably.
My whole world fell apart at that instant. I was horrified to learn that my sister was being mistreated in that home.
And then I did something that made everyone freeze in fear
I came to a standstill in the center of the entryway. The silence was perfect, so there was no need to shout loudly.
Calmly, I stated, “My sister is not a doormat.”
My son pivoted. Confusion at first, then annoyance.
“Mom,” he scoffed. We’re occupied at the moment. I apologize.
I took a while to respond. I knelt down and carefully assisted my sister in sitting up. She opened her eyes and gave me a look as though she had anticipated my arrival for a long time.
I only straightened up after that.
I answered, “The reception can end.” “You no longer own this house.”
Thinking it was a joke, someone in the entryway chuckled uneasily. I pulled a slim folder from my purse and set it down on the wall-mounted small table.
“I gave this house as a gift twenty years ago. with the ability to revoke. The requirement was straightforward: the resident must be treated with dignity. That requirement has been broken.
He turned pale.
He started to say, “That’s impossible,” but I went on.
Every document has a signature. The notification has been filed. You have no legal justification for being here as of right now.
One of the visitors put down their glass. Suddenly, the music didn’t fit.
I also said, “The police will arrive in an hour.” “You have time to collect your personal items and head out of the house.”
My son gave me a look that suggested he was seeing me for the first time. In the home he thought was his.
