It’s been two months since my 26 year old sister-in-law moved in with us, after she broke up with her boyfriend. Me 29 and my husband 30 offered to let him live in the guest room temporarily, for free, while he sorted himself out.

But before he entered the house, the conversation was clear. There are three simple rules:

1. There are no strong perfumes in the house because my sinuses are sensitive.

2. No loud music, especially at night.

3. Clean up your mess.

He readily agreed. There were no complaints. But on the very first day—he had ruined it all.

Every time he used perfume in the bathroom, the smell spread down the hallway and seemed to be inhaling the air. Her Bluetooth speaker would go on every night, sometimes at 12:00 p.m., and we’d say a few more times before she turned it off. And even though he was at home all day, we were greeted with lavender plates in the sink. At the end of the day, I’m still the one doing the laundry just so we can cook dinner.

I chose to keep my mouth shut. I didn’t want to make a fuss, and my husband just kept saying: “Give me some time. It’s still adjusting.”

But the last drop came.

One day I came from the grocery store. When I walked into the living room, I was a little stunned. Her ex-boyfriend was there—yes, the guy she had been crying with all night when she first came to us. Sitting on the couch, eating my food, with my plate, my feet still on the carpet with just slippers on. My sister-in-law, smiling, and seemed to be nothing.

My head was heating up but I didn’t go away. I walked straight through and entered the room. But in my mind, the decision is clear: it cannot be continued.

The next day the lesson began.

I have changed the Wi-Fi password.

Is that the one in the washing machine? I left wet and wrinkled.

She was used to having breakfast with me because I was always cooking too much. But that morning, I just cooked for myself and my wife—and hid the food right before she left the bedroom.

To make sure he understood, I locked the guest bathroom from the outside. I said to myself: If he can’t respect the house, he doesn’t have “special access” to it.

The first thing he noticed was the Wi-Fi. He approached me to ask for a password. I said I’d only give it up once we had a good discussion about the house rules–because I’ve been begging for weeks but haven’t been listened to over and over again.

We continued the conversation. He, he doesn’t.

She went straight to my husband, saying that I had no “sympathy” for what he was going through. My husband admitted that he had a really bad headache with his brother too, but he said I should have given him one last reminder before I cut him off from everything.

But I reminded him: we promised only accommodation—not full service. Everything else, just bonuses and kindness. My husband was in a coma and he told his brother about it.

After a full day of frowning and locking up in the bedroom, he also came out and said he was ready to “work” his privileges at home again.

I calmly repeated the three old rules. He shook his head and shook his head, but didn’t protest.

And that’s when the air in the house began to change. Gradually, he followed the rules—not perfect, but it changed dramatically. The hallway no longer smells of perfume, there are no more midnight concerts, and I am no longer shocked by the laundry detergents.

I felt like my home was my home again. And most importantly, he learned that kindness is not a license to abuse the person who helped you—especially if you’re just living with him.