Reddit Stories - Admitted to the hospital for eight weeks FOLLOWING a vehicle COLLISION, I PERMITTED...

Episode Date: December 10, 2025

Summary: After a severe vehicle collision, I was admitted to the hospital for eight weeks. The experience was challenging, filled with pain and recovery. I learned valuable lessons about resilience and the importance of support from family and friends during difficult times. It changed my perspective on life significantly.

I hope you enjoy this story. Admitted to the hospital for eight weeks following a vehicle collision, I permitted my sister to remain at my residence to assist me, yet she began hosting gatherings with unfamiliar people rather than coming to see me. Now she's refusing to pay the $3,000 cleaning brother-in-law. Not too long ago, I was in a terrible car accident. It was just a normal day, and my friend and I were driving along, talking about something random when, out of nowhere, a drunk driver crashed into us. There was no warning no time to

react, no chance to swerve out of the way. One moment, everything was fine, and the next, it was complete chaos. The impact was so violent that my friend was thrown from the car. He didn't survive. He died right there on the scene. I, on the other hand, was trapped in the wreckage, barely conscious, with broken bones and serious injuries. It felt like a nightmare, except I wasn't asleep I was living it. For the past two months, I've been in the hospital, trying to recover from everything. It hasn't been easy. There have been times when I wasn't sure if I would make it, moments where things got really bad, where the doctors were worried, and I could feel how close I was to slipping away. The pain, both physical and emotional, has been

overwhelming. Losing my friend, dealing with my injuries, and trying to process everything that happened. It's been one of the hardest things I've ever been through. My parents live two states away, and as soon as they heard about the accident, they rushed to the hospital along with my sister. They were there when I needed them the most, sitting by my side, making sure I wasn't alone. But both of my parents have demanding jobs jobs that require them to be present, no matter how much they wish they could stay. Eventually, they had to go back home. My sister, though, wanted to be there for me, to help me get back on my feet, to make sure I had someone to rely on.

That's why I let her stay in my home while I was still at the hospital. At first, my sister was there whenever I called, checked in on me often, and made sure I didn't feel alone. It felt like she really understood how difficult this was for me and wanted to support me in every way she could. But after that first week, things started to change. By the second week, she began going out on dates and making new friends. This didn't surprise me it's just who she is. My sister has always been an extremely social person. Unlike me, she enjoys being surrounded by strangers.

That, in itself, wasn't the problem. I expected her to go out and have fun. But what I didn't expect what really blindsided me was that she still. started bringing those people back to my home. Without asking me, she started throwing parties at my place, inviting people I didn't know, and turning my space upside down. For me, my home is my sanctuary, the one place where I feel completely safe and in control. I don't invite strangers into it, ever.

So imagine my shock when I checked upon my sister's stories on social media, and saw multiple videos of her partying in my home with people I had never seen before. Loud music, drinks, groups of strangers laughing and making themselves comfortable around my space. And to make it worse, my sister hadn't even come to see me that day. Instead of checking in on me, instead of being the support she promised to be, she was at my house, throwing a party like I didn't exist. When I called her to confront her about it, I expected some kind of apology or at least an acknowledgement that what she did was wrong. But instead, she got angry really angry. She acted like I had no right to question her as if I was overreacting for even bringing it up.

She snapped at me, saying it wasn't a big deal to have people over and that I was being dramatic for making it one. According to her, she was just trying to have some fun, and I was the one making a problem out of nothing. She even went as far as to say that staying at my home was boring that she couldn't just sit around doing nothing all day. That hit me hard. I had let her stay at my place because I thought she wanted to do.

be there for me. I thought she understood that I was still recovering, both physically and emotionally, and that I needed some kind of family support. But instead of being there, she was off partying and acting like my home was some kind of entertainment space for her and her new friends. Anyway, I apologized to her because I didn't want to fight. I was still worried about my house as I didn't know how wild her parties had gotten, and the last thing I wanted was to come home to a trash department. So I asked her point-blank if my house was okay. She didn't really give me a straight answer.

She brushed it off and reassured me that everything was fine, but she didn't elaborate. That only made me more anxious. I knew my sister well enough to recognize when she was downplaying something. And the fact that she was being so vague about her parties made me feel like there was more to it something she wasn't telling me. This week, I was finally discharged from the hospital. After too long, painful months, I was finally going home where I thought I could finally have some peace. But the moment I walked through the door, my heart sank. My entire house looked like it had been hit by a tornado.

The curtains were ripped down, hanging unevenly like someone had yanked them too hard. My sofa once clean and well kept was covered in strange yellow and green stains that I had never seen before. I had no idea what they were. The kitchen was a disaster. Dirty dishes were piled up high, stacked on every available surface, some of them with dried up food crusted onto them. There were empty glasses and alcohol bottles everywhere, which I guess her friends must have left behind. The floor was sticky under my feet, and the whole place smelled stale, like something rotten. One of my favorite vases, something I had brought back from one of my travels, was shattered in

to pieces on the floor. I really loved the vase and it really pissed me off that someone had carelessly broken it. When I made my way upstairs to the bedrooms, it was even worse. Her dirty laundry was everywhere piles of clothes thrown across the room, some of them smelling awful like they had been sitting there for weeks. My bed, the one place I had been dreaming of resting in, was completely filthy. My once clean bed sheets were covered in stains and looked like they hadn't been changed since the day I left. I didn't even want to imagine who had been sleeping there or what had happened in my own bed. And then, the worst part one walked into my bathroom and was immediately hit with the overwhelming stench of vomit.

Someone had thrown up in my washroom and hadn't even bothered to clean it up. Can you believe that? It was still there, dried up and reeking. That was the final straw. I was already in pain, still recovering for my injuries, and now, instead of resting, I had to clean up after someone else's mess. I turned to my sister, my voice shaking with anger and disbelief, and asked her what the hell had happened at my house. She just shrugged, and casually told me she was going to be cleaning up later. That was it. No apology, or no explanation, like it wasn't something she needed to take responsibility for. That's when I lost it. Everything had built up my exhaustion, my disappointment, the physical pain I was still in, and most

of all, the sheer betrayal I felt. I pointed out to her, loud and clear, that she was the one who had insisted on staying for me. I hadn't asked her to. She had made that choice herself. She had looked me in the eye and told me she wanted to be there to support me, that she wanted to help while I recovered. But now, after just one week, she had barely even visited me in the hospital. While I had been lying there in pain, dealing with everything alone, she had been out having fun, going on dates, and making new friends completely forgetting the whole reason she was even staying at my place in the first place. And even if she didn't want to visit me that often, even if she got caught up in her own life, fine. But the least she could have done was

take care of my home while she was living here. I had given her a roof over her head, free of charge. I had trusted her with my space. It wasn't too much to ask for her to keep it clean, to respect it, to treat it like a home and not some party house for her random friends. Instead, she had done the complete opposite. She had wrecked it. She had turned my sanctuary into a chaotic, disgusting mess. I had let her stay here because I trusted her, because I thought she wanted to help me, and this this was how she repaid me. by turning my home into some kind of a party house.

I couldn't believe it. I was exhausted, frustrated, and hurt all at once. Instead of acknowledging what she had done or even pretending to feel guilty, my sister immediately got defensive like she was the victim in all of this. She rolled her eyes and with a mocking laugh, she said, Oh my God, you are being so dramatic right now. You're acting like I burned the house down or something. Then, as if that wasn't enough, she scoffed and added, seriously, what is your problem?

You've been in a hospital bed for two months, and now you think you get to come back and start barking orders at me? I was the one staying here, not you. Maybe if you were actually around, you wouldn't be so shocked by how things are. I stood there, completely stunned. Was she seriously blaming me for not being home to stop her from destroying my own house? As if I had chosen to be hospitalized, fighting through recovery. As if I had asked for any of this, she let out a deep, exaggerated sigh and shook her head like I was exhausting her like I was the one being unreasonable. Look, just calm down, she said, her tone dripping with irritation.

You just got back, and I really don't need you freaking out over every little thing. Just go lie down or something. You're clearly too stressed out. I'll get to it later. Then she had the audacity to walk over and try to guide me toward the stairs like I was a toddler throwing a tantrum. Come on, you need to rest. I'll take you to bed and start working on cleaning this place up, she said, her voice so fake and condescending that it made my skin crawl. As if that was supposed to fix everything.

It was as if just promising to maybe clean later was enough to undo the complete disregard she had shown for my home, my trust, and my boundaries. As if all I needed was a nap and I'd magically stopped caring that she had turned my house into a filthy, unrecognizable disaster. Frustrated and exhausted, even though I hadn't fully recovered, I had no choice but to start cleaning my own bedroom at least. The doctor had specifically recommended bed rest, but how was I supposed to rest in a place or sleep on my bed when it was this disgusting? Lying down in dirty sheets, surrounded by someone else's mess, was out of the question. I could feel how much my body needed rest, but my mind wouldn't let me relax until my space was at least somewhat livable. So, despite the pain and exhaustion, I forced myself to clean my bedroom and bathroom. Every movement hurt, but I pushed through it because I had two.

After I finished, I asked my sister to clean up the rest of the house. It was the least she could do after everything. I thought that by the time I rested and then came back downstairs, She would already be cleaning maybe scrubbing the floors or at least picking up some of the mess. But no, this girl was just sitting on the couch, watching TV, like nothing was wrong like she had absolutely nothing better to do. I couldn't believe it. After everything, after seeing how upset I was, she was just relaxing like my home wasn't

in complete shambles. I asked her again, as calmly as I could, when she was planning to start cleaning because, at that point, I was starving. I didn't even want to step into the kitchen because it was that disgusting. Piles of dirty dishes, sticky counters, trash everywhere it wasn't just messy, it was unhygienic. My sister started yelling at me that I needed to stop acting like mom. As if expecting basic respect for my home somehow made me bossier or unreasonable. She went on to call me up tight, telling me I didn't know how to relax, throwing in a cruel comment

about how it was no surprise that this is why I didn't have many friends. That one hit deep. She knew I wasn't a social butterfly like her, that I preferred my space and valued peace. Instead of acknowledging my boundaries, she was using them against me, as if something was wrong with me. I almost had tears in my eyes because I just couldn't understand why she couldn't see how affected I was by the disgusting living space. She was refusing to acknowledge how I had just wanted to come back home and feel safe after spending two months in the hospital where I had no privacy. To top it all off, she scoffed and told me to stop whining, saying that if I was so miserable, I should just order a pizza and stop complaining.

At that point, I felt completely drained. I was still recovering, my body ached, and my mind was overwhelmed by everything that had happened. Arguing with her felt pointless. No matter what I said, she wasn't going to see reason. So, I gave in. I ordered a pizza for both of us, ate in silence, and then went straight to bed. Before I went upstairs, my sister reassured me that by morning, my house would be spotless. She promised, and at that moment, I wanted so badly to believe her.

But when I woke up the next morning, expecting to finally see my house clean just as my sister had promised I found everything in the exact. same disgusting state. Nothing had been touched. The dirty dishes were still piled up, the floor was still sticky, and the awful smell still lingered in the air. It was like she hadn't even tried. I looked around for her and called out her name, but she was nowhere to be found. At first, I thought maybe she had stepped out for something maybe she had gone to get cleaning supplies or food. But as the minutes passed and she was nowhere to be found, I started to get worried. I called her multiple times, but she didn't answer. That's when I noticed a small note stuck to the fridge. It was written in her handwriting, casual and carefree like

she hadn't just abandoned me in a complete disaster. The note read, caught a bus back home. See ya. That was it. No apology. No explanation. No nothing. She was just gone. I stood there, re-reading those words, trying to process what I was looking at. My sister had actually left. She had packed up and gone back home, leaving me still injured, still recovering to deal with the mess she and her friends had created at my house. I called her again, and again. But she didn't pick up. I texted her, hoping maybe she was pranking me, but there was no response.

She had knowingly left while I was still a second. sleep, washing her hands of the whole thing, as if none of it had ever been her responsibility in the first place. I am beyond taken aback. I feel betrayed. She had promised to be here for me, to support me, to take care of things while I was still healing. And instead, she has disrespected my home, ignored my boundaries, broken my trust, and then ran away when it was her time to take some responsibility. Since I'm on a lot of medication, I just wanted to be sure if I'm genuinely overreacting or if this is something that actually warrants my anger. Ida for being pissed at my sister for thrashing my home and leaving behind all this mess.

Update 1. I've been second-guessing myself, wondering if maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe it's the medication making me more emotional, or maybe I'm just exhausted. But, thank you to everyone in the comments for validating my feelings. Because I have said this multiple times but people still keep asking, I just want to clarify for once and for all. My sister was the one who insisted on staying to help me, yet she barely visited when I needed her most. Instead of being there for me, she spent her time doing her own thing. That alone hurt, but I tried to be understanding. What I can't excuse is what she did to my home. She threw parties without my permission, brought in strangers, and treated my space

like a trash heap. And the worst part? She keeps denying taking any accountability. Whenever I confronted her, she acted like I was the problem. She called me dramatic, rolled her eyes at me, and made me feel like I was crazy for expecting even the most basic respect. Then, after promising to fix it, she just left, abandoning me to deal with the mess while I was still recovering. I'm not the one in the wrong here. I didn't ask to be in a car accident. I didn't ask to spend months in a hospital, struggling to recover. And I definitely didn't ask her to trash my home and then gaslight me into thinking I was being unreasonable for being upset.

If anything, I've been too patient with her. I've let so much slide over the years because that's what I've always done when it comes to her. She's my younger sister, and for as long as I can remember, she's been babied by everyone around her. Our parents were always a little more lenient with her, always more forgiving of her mistakes, and always quick to brush things off as just her personality instead of holding her accountable. And I followed that same pattern. I was always there for her, always the one picking up the pieces when she messed up, always the one being the responsible older sibling, the one she could fall back on when she needed something. And maybe that's part of the problem. Maybe she's so used to

getting away with everything that she genuinely doesn't see how badly she's messed up this time. She's never had to deal with real consequences, never had to face the fact that her actions affect other people in ways that aren't just minor inconveniences. But this isn't something small. She knowingly disrespected me, my home, and my boundaries. She took advantage of my absence, of my trust, and then had the nerve to gaslight me into thinking I was the problem for being upset about it. The worst part is that I would have never done this to her.

If the roles were reversed, if she were the one recovering from an accident, I would have moved heaven and earth to make sure she was comfortable, to make sure her space was taken care of. I wouldn't have turned her home into a disaster zone. I wouldn't have ignored her when she needed me. I wouldn't have abandoned her when she was still struggling to get back on her feet. But she did all of that to me without a second thought, and now she expects me to just get over it. I'm done being the one who always has to be the bigger person. This time, I'm going to teach her a lesson. She was selfish and crossed a line. And whether she acknowledges it or not, I refuse to let her make me feel like my anger isn't justified. Because it is.

Update two thanks to everyone's advice, I did end up calling a professional cleaning service. I am still in pain, and yet, I had no choice but to figure out how to clean up the disaster she left behind. But looking around at the sheer state of my home, I knew there was no way I could physically handle this by myself. I explained the situation to them, feeling both embarrassed and frustrated as I described the mess. Thankfully, they were understanding and managed to send a team over that same day. When they arrived, I could tell by their expressions that they were just as horrified as I was. They got to work immediately, scrubbing the floors, washing the dishes, deep cleaning the furniture, and even airing out the house to get rid of that awful smell that had settled in. I had to stay out of their way for the most part.

I sat in a corner of the house, watching as they slowly restored my home to what it once was. It took hours, but little by the chaos disappeared. The sticky floors became clean again, the kitchen was finally usable, my sofa no longer had those mysterious things. and the bedrooms were back to being livable. When they were done, I nearly cried from relief. My house finally felt like my home once again. I could finally breathe. I could rest in peace. Once everything was finally cleaned and back in order, I took a deep breath, snapped a picture of my spotless home, and sent it to my sister. Along with the photo, I typed out a message, I had to hire professionals to fix the mess you left behind.

It cost me $3,000. I hope whatever fun you had was worth ruining my trust and further draining my bank account. You know I'm not even earning right now. Don't bother coming back. I didn't expect an apology at this point. I wasn't sure she was even capable of one but I did expect some kind of acknowledgement. Maybe guilt. Maybe even a hint of regret.

Instead, what I got was a cold and infuriating response that my blood boiled the moment I read it. Oh, please, get over yourself. It's just money. Stop playing the victim all the time. This is why I left. By I could hardly believe what I was reading. Her words were extremely cruel. So, I snapped. I had officially reached my breaking point. I immediately sent her the $3,000 invoice for the professional cleaners, attaching a short but firm message. You are right, I don't want to play a victim in this situation. Since this entire mess was your fault, I expect you to pay for it. I shouldn't have to suffer financially for your recklessness.

Pay me back ASAP. I barely had time to breathe before her response came flying in. First, it was a string of angry texts, each one more dismissive than the last. She outright refused, saying I was being ridiculous and money-obsessed, acting as she should not be held accountable for the damages she caused. My sister kept trying to shift the blame, claiming that I should have just cleaned it up myself instead of wasting money on professionals. As if I wasn't still recovering from my injuries. As if it wasn't her responsibility in the first place. She thought she could just argue her way out of this, but I wasn't backing down.

So, I made it clear, if she refused to pay, I would take her to small claims court. I wasn't bluffing. If she wanted to act like this was all some big joke, she could explain herself in front of a judge. That set her off because, minutes later, my phone started ringing nonstop. When I didn't pick up, she left a series of furious voicemails. In each one, she was screaming with full-on rage. She called me a cheapskate, a pathetic control freak, and even spat out a few choice words that made it crystal clear she had never planned on taking responsibility. According to her, I was money-hungry, obsessed with being right, and ruining our sibling relationship over something as stupid as a little mess. A little mess.

$3,000 worth of damage, broken belongings, a home I barely recognized when I walked in and she still thought this was nothing. The entitlement in her voice made my skin crawl. Not once did she acknowledge what she had done. Not once did she even pretend to feel guilty. Instead, she continued to act like I was the bad guy for expecting basic accountability. Update 3. Just when I thought the whole situation couldn't get any worse, my parents have now gotten involved. After I sent my sister the invoice and she refused to pay, the next thing I knew, my parents were calling me, furious. Why would you send your own sister a brother-in-law?

My dad demanded, You know she doesn't have that kind of money. Why are you doing this to her? As if I was the one who had done something wrong. As if I had thrown the parties, trashed my own house, and then abandoned a recovering sibling. Then came the real kicker. You never should have left her alone. My mom added, her voice full of disappointment.

You know how she is. You should have kept an eye on her. That's when I realized they weren't mad at her for what she did. They were mad at me for expecting my younger sister to be responsible in the first place. Somehow, in their eyes, this was all my fault. I was in the hospital yet I should have been watching her. I should have managed her. I should have known she would act this way.

It was as if she was some helpless child who couldn't be held accountable for her own actions and I was the bad guy for expecting otherwise. I tried to explain my side. I told them how she promised to be there for me, how she was supposed to help me, not turn my home into a party house. I told them how I had no choice but to pay for professional cleaners because the house was completely unlivable. But none of it mattered. She's young, she makes mistakes, my mom argued. Family shouldn't do this to each other, my dad added.

I am deeply hurt by my parents' reaction. I don't even know how to put it into words. Maybe a part of me always knew that my sister was their favorite, but I never truly acknowledged it until now. And now that I have, it feels like a punch to the gut. I don't have the energy to fight anymore to fight with my family. So, for now, I'm stepping away. I need a break from all of them, my parents, my sister, everything. Because right now, I just can't deal with this anymore.

Update 4. It's been two months since my last update, and a lot has happened. I did end up taking my sister to small claims court, and I won. She had no choice but to pay me the $3,000 she owed for the professional cleaners. I think she thought I was bluffing, that I wouldn't actually go through with it, but I did. And when she realized she couldn't just manipulate or scream her way out of this, she had no choice but to face the consequences for once in her life. Of Of course, she was furious. She acted like I had committed some unforgivable betrayal by making her take responsibility for her own actions. She tried to paint me as the villain, claiming I was heartless for dragging my own sister to court over a little mess. But the law doesn't work on

favoritism and excuses. And the fact was, she had destroyed my home, refused to clean up after herself, and left me with an outrageous brother-in-law while I was still recovering from my injuries. Now coming to my parents, at first, they were just as furious as she was. They acted like I had gone too far, like I should have just let it go for the sake of keeping the peace. So, I sent them the pictures of my house from the day I came home. The real damage. The filth, the stains, the shattered belongings, the literal puke left behind in my bathroom. They had never actually seen the mess before, only heard my sister's downplayed, sugar-cour

coded version of events. After that, their tone changed. They finally understood why I had no choice. They stopped pushing me to forgive and forget so quickly, and for the first time, I think they actually saw how much she had taken advantage of me. As for my sister, she's still pissed at me. She barely speaks to me now, which, honestly, is more of a relief than anything. If she wants to stay mad because she finally had to deal with real consequences, that's her problem not mine.