I remember the day my husband and I got divorced, thinking life would become simpler once he left the house. The truth was quite different. My two children stayed with me, but all responsibilities fell on my shoulders. My fifteen-year-old daughter, Claire, made it clear she wanted no part in taking care of the home or helping with her younger brother, Max, who is nine.

Every morning, I woke up early to pack Max’s lunch, prepare a quick breakfast for Claire (even though she often refused it), and rush off to my full-time job. When I got home, I had to clean the kitchen, do laundry, vacuum the living room, and still manage to cook dinner. Claire would either be in her room blasting music, texting her friends, or lounging on the couch watching TV. Whenever I asked her to help—maybe take out the trash or peel some potatoes—she rolled her eyes and gave me attitude.

At first, I tried to stay calm. She was going through teenage changes, and the divorce must have hit her hard. I attempted gentle talks: “Claire, we’re a family. We need to support each other.” She would shrug or mutter something like, “I didn’t ask for any of this. You handle it.” That response stung. I felt alone in my own home.

The final straw came one evening after I had spent two hours scrubbing dishes, wiping counters, and folding laundry. I found Claire in her room, lying on her bed scrolling through her phone. Clothes were scattered on the floor, and an empty bag of chips sat on her desk. I asked politely if she could pick up her clothes and at least do her own laundry. She glared at me and said, “Why should I? You’re the mom, that’s your job.”

My hands shook with anger, but I tried to remain steady. “It’s not just my job, Claire. You live here, and we have to share responsibilities.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes again, and went back to her phone. I left the room, tears of frustration burning my eyes. That night, I came up with a new plan: If she refused to do chores, then she would pay rent, as if she were an adult choosing not to help with the house. I hated the idea, but I was out of options.

The next morning, while she was spooning cereal in front of the TV, I laid down the new rule. “Claire,” I said, trying to sound firm but not harsh, “from now on, if you won’t help around the house, you’ll need to pay rent. We all work here or contribute somehow. If you want to act like you’re above it, you’ll pay to live here.”

She nearly choked on her cereal. “Pay rent? Are you crazy?” she shouted. “I’m only fifteen!”

I folded my arms. “Yes, fifteen, old enough to help your family. If you won’t do chores, you’ll act like a renter. I’ll make a list of costs and hand it to you by tomorrow.”

She stomped off to her room, slamming the door. I felt my heart pounding, unsure if I was doing the right thing. But I also felt a bit hopeful this might shake her out of her lazy routine.

The following afternoon, after I got home from work, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see Claire standing there with her father, my ex-husband, at her side. He looked furious. Claire had a slight smirk on her face, like she had orchestrated something big. She folded her arms, waiting.

“How dare you?” my ex-husband shouted, stepping inside. “She’s a child, not a tenant! You have no right to charge your own daughter rent.”

I glanced at Claire. She wore a self-satisfied expression, as if she had just won a battle. It suddenly dawned on me that this confrontation was exactly what she wanted. I noticed the smirk, and it made me realize my plan was actually working. She had run to her father for help, which meant she was rattled. Maybe now she’d finally see consequences for her actions.

Staying calm, I said, “Come in. Let’s talk this through.” My ex-husband began ranting about how I was being cruel. Claire nodded along, enjoying every word. He said I was creating a stressful environment and punishing Claire unfairly. I listened, letting him blow off steam. Finally, I spoke up.

“She refuses to help with anything, not even the smallest chores. We all live here, and she’s almost an adult. If she doesn’t want to help, then she can treat it like she’s renting a room. I’m not asking for a fortune, just enough to show that living here for free isn’t a right if she won’t pitch in.”

My ex scoffed. “This is ridiculous. She’s a minor. She has no income. How do you expect her to pay?”

Claire’s smirk grew, as if she thought she had me cornered. I took a deep breath. “There are ways she can earn a little money: babysitting Max, mowing lawns, or doing odd jobs in the neighborhood. If she wants that freedom, she can find a way. Otherwise, she can do her share of chores like any other family member.”

For a moment, there was silence. My ex looked uncertain, but he held his ground. “I won’t allow it,” he declared. “I’ll take her to my place if you keep this up.”

I nodded slowly. “I understand. But are you going to do all her chores for her, too? Are you just going to let her do nothing?” He hesitated, not sure how to reply. I continued, “Look, if she doesn’t want to pay rent, she can simply help with the dishes or cook dinner once a week or vacuum the living room. This isn’t about money—it’s about teaching responsibility.”

Claire’s smirk faded slightly as she realized this wasn’t just me being mean; it was a set of rules to make her take part in the home. My ex-husband, sensing her change, turned and said in a gentler tone, “You really think this will help her learn?”

I nodded. “She’s growing up. She needs to understand that in a family, people work together. She can’t just watch TV all day while I juggle everything.”

There was a long pause. Then my ex sighed, rubbing his temples as if exhausted. “Fine. Let’s see if she’s willing to do a small chore.” Claire’s face turned red, and she stared at the floor, muttering something under her breath. Slowly, she shrugged.

I pointed at the kitchen sink, piled with dishes. “How about we start with washing those dishes, Claire? If you do it, we won’t talk about rent today.” She looked reluctant but finally said, “Fine,” in a grudging tone. She pulled on a pair of gloves and went to the sink.

My ex shook his head, then walked out, saying he’d call Claire later to check on her. She looked at me, rolling her eyes. “This is stupid,” she mumbled, but turned on the water and began scrubbing. I watched with a heavy but hopeful heart. Maybe this was the first step.

Now here is my question: if your teenager refused to do any chores at all, would you ask them to pay rent, or would you try a different way to teach them responsibility?