As one of Hollywood’s hottest young stars of the 1990s, Jennifer Love Hewitt was poised to become a celebrated actor with respectable adult performances for decades to come.
But in 2015, the star of the hit TV show Ghost Whisperer, the “it girl” who tabloids loved, ghosted Hollywood, leaving fans speculating on the reason behind her disappearance.
It is not an exaggeration to say that Jennifer Love Hewitt was one of the biggest teen stars of the nineties. I mean, who didn’t fall for Jennifer Love’s Hewitt?
According to me, she possessed the most captivating smile, and there was something truly heartwarming and genuine about her presence.
After appearing in several TV commercials, Hewitt, now 44, had her big break when she was only 10 with the Disney Channel’s Kids Incorporated (1989 to 1991).
The show, about young people who perform in a rock band, served as a launching pad for many celebrities, like Fergie of the Grammy-winning band Black Eyed Peas, Mario Lopez, of Saved by the Bell and Access Hollywood, And Eric Balfour who had starring roles in 24 and Haven.
Of course, also Hewitt, who was later cast as a regular on the popular TV drama Party of Five, where she starred with an ensemble cast of Scott Wolf, Matthew Fox, Neve Campbell, and Lacy Chabert.
When Party of Five ended after six seasons in 1999, Hewitt then went on to star in touchstone films of the 1990s like the teen horror franchise I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997 and 1998) and the teen drama Can’t Hardly Wait (1998).
In 2001, Hewitt starred as the daughter of Sigourney Weaver’s character in the film Heartbreakers, an appearance that Roger Ebert critiqued in his review as Hewitt spending “the entire film with her treasures on display, maybe as product placement for the Wonderbra.”
Hewitt, who’s had a turbulent relationship with the media since she started filling out as a woman, said in a 2018 interview with LA Times, “It wasn’t actually until later, in the time when I took the step back, that I went “ugh.” It’s the worst–that’s not what I want to be remembered for.” She continued, “I don’t want my kid to Google me one day and see ‘She looks terrible’ or ‘She has big boobs and she’s hot.’ I don’t want that to be who I am.”
In 2002, she co-starred with Jackie Chan in the spy parody Tuxedo, where she was mostly covered up, oftentimes wearing the superpower-holding tuxedo.
Returning to TV in 2005, she played Melinda Gordon, a woman who communicates with the dead, in Ghost Whisperer.
Though the show failed to earn the respect of critics, it still had a loyal following. Hewitt said she was crushed when Ghost Whisperer was abruptly canceled in 2010, leaving viewers hanging.
“For me, it was a total shock… I thought our next season probably would be the last, just because the show had been on for a really long time,” she said. “It’s hard to come up with new things that will keep people intrigued, but I never thought in a million years that was going to have been our last season.”
In 2012, Hewitt earned her first Golden Globe nomination for her starring role in the Client List, where she plays a single mother, who makes a living as an erotic masseuse to support her children.
While filming Client List, Hewitt, also a singer, met her first and only husband, Brian Hallisay, who in the show plays the deadbeat dad to her on-screen children.
In real life, Hallisay is a great husband and father of three. The two married in 2013 and had their first daughter, Autumn, days after they wed. The pair then had Atticus in 2015, and Aiden in 2021.
Having worked tirelessly since she was a child, Hewitt slipped away from the spotlight in 2015, explaining that she needed time to be a wife and mother.
“There was a lot going on in my own life that just felt like I needed some space and some time to kind of be. I’ve really enjoyed the break, and I feel like now, the last few months, having gone back into acting, it’s really done a beautiful thing for me in that it’s made everything that I do in my acting/entertainment life not less important but less like, ‘It’s everything all the time,’ like it used to be.”
In her time away, Hewitt was also trying to heal from the death of her mother, who was 67 when she died of cancer in 2012, a loss she says still “feels very raw.”
During this challenging period in her life, Jennifer made the decision to leave Twitter as well. For some reason, she faced a great deal of hate on the platform.
Being pregnant, she couldn’t handle all the negativity and hostility, so she chose to step away from Twitter, which caused quite a stir.
”Unfortunately with all the negativity people choose to send on twitter as well as threats to their own well being I’m sad to say Twitter is no longer for me,” Jennifer wrote in 2013.
Since starting her career in 1989, Jennifer Love Hewitt has embarked on an incredible transformation journey, both physically and emotionally.
Unfortunately, she has also experienced the downsides of Hollywood, celebrity status, and objectification by tabloids. Some online media outlets went too far and made some really derogatory and harsh comments when bikini photos of Jennifer were leaked, highlighting her weight gain. Some of these outlets commented on her bikini pictures, saying things like “I know what you ate last summer.”
Jennifer could handle the tough comments, but she worried about how the pictures and headlines were impacting other girls struggling with their body image.
In a powerful response, she directed a message to all the ”girls with butts, boobs, hips and a waist” and instructed them to “put on a bikini, put it on, and stay strong”.
The Ghost Whisperer star encouraged them to proudly wear a bikini, stay strong, and embrace themselves as they are. Jennifer has gone through several weight journeys, sought the help of personal trainers, and strives to live a healthy lifestyle.
Today, she “never looks at the scale” and she doesn’t count calories. The 90’s star looks healthier than ever and remains active on social media and regularly shares updates about herself on her Instagram and Facebook accounts.
In 2020, following a three-year hiatus, Hewitt returned to work with “renewed energy and vigor,” appearing in the TV series 9-1-1, that follows the lives of first responders.
Starring as Maddie Buckley, a former nurse turned 911 operator, the show–now in its eighth season–gave Hewitt a platform to develop her profile, from one where she was earlier typecast as a symbol, to a mature, seasoned actor.
“I also feel like I have new things to pull from as an actress that I didn’t have before. I think it’s so odd as actors that we, especially kid actors, which I was, we’re expected to pull from all these life experiences that so many of us haven’t had,” Hewitt told the LA Times. “I feel like I acted for a lot of years from my heart, but not really, truly understanding some of the things that I understand now.”
It’s hard to believe that it’s been almost 25 years since we fell in love with Jennifer Love Hewitt’s infectious smile on Party of Five!
As the mother of three, it’s great she’s found the balance between work and family life, and we look forward to seeing her in even more mature roles in the future!
My MIL Turned My Bathroom Into a Spa Using All My Stuff So I Planned the Perfect Revenge — Story of the Day
I came home to find my MIL soaking in my tub, using my candlelight, my gel, and my towel. That’s when I knew — she hadn’t moved in. She’d taken over. So I smiled… and got creative.
I liked our life.
I really, really did.
There was something deeply satisfying about the way our apartment smelled like vanilla and order. The way the sun hit the kitchen counter at exactly 4 PM.
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The gentle silence after work — no one talking, no TV blaring, just me and the soothing gurgle of my espresso machine. Our space was calm. Predictable. Mine.
Then husband, Daniel walked into the laundry room with that cautious look husbands get when they know they’re about to ruin your day.
I was pulling socks from the dryer, feeling rather proud of my folding technique, when he cleared his throat.
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“Babe… We need to take in my mom for a few days.”
I paused, holding one of his socks.
“She okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. But her building had a pipe burst. Whole apartment’s soaked. Just a week. Maybe less.”
A week.
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I nodded. What else could I do? I wasn’t heartless.
“I’ll survive,” I muttered.
He kissed my cheek.
“You’re the best.”
Turns out, I overestimated myself.
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By day two, our apartment was unrecognizable. And not in a “cute makeover” kind of way.
My framed photos — gone. Just gone. Replaced with my MIL’s Linda sepia-toned portraits of her.
And with her first husband (Daniel’s dad, may he rest in peace). And her friend Carol from the hospital.
And a photo of a Chihuahua I’m 90% sure had been dead since the Clinton administration.
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And the smell. It hit you every time you walked into a room.
I found reed diffusers in the bathroom, little perfume balls on my vanity, and even a small pouch of potpourri in my underwear drawer. My underwear drawer.
Still, I didn’t say anything.
Linda was a guest. Until that night.
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I walked into the bathroom and saw her standing there, rubbing something into her décolletage.
It was MY precious, outrageously expensive, only-on-special-occasions, shipped-from-New-York-like-royalty cream.
“Oh, Emily! This cream! It’s divine. Where did you get it?”
My jaw made a noise but no words followed.
“It’s like silk!” she continued, squeezing out more. “You have such amazing taste.”
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She didn’t ask. She didn’t pause. She just helped herself.
I smiled. Nodded. Said nothing.
This is still tolerable. Barely. As long as she doesn’t cross the line.
***
The following day was brutal. Emails, phone calls, two back-to-back meetings, and a passive-aggressive lunch with my manager.
I just wanted peace at home. A shower. Ten minutes of being alone in my skin. I slipped off my shoes, turned on the kettle, and… froze.
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Singing. High-pitched, cheerful, and distinctly coming from the direction of our bedroom. I followed the sound. The door to our ensuite bathroom was cracked open. A thick curl of steam escaped into the hallway.
The scent hit me instantly — sweet, lush, unmistakably familiar. MY passionfruit bath gel. I pushed the door open, and there she was.
Linda. In MY tub!
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Reclining like she was in a commercial. Surrounded by candles, MY candles. Steam rising dramatically as if the universe was mocking me. She had MY bath brush, MY scrub, and MY purple towel folded nearby like a personal butler had placed it there.
“Emily!” she squealed, completely unbothered. “I thought you were asleep already!”
I just stood there.
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“Linda… this is our private bathroom.”
She waved a hand through the steam like she was shooing a fly.
“Oh, come on. We’re both women. You’re not using it right now, and this tub is perfect. Yours is so much nicer than the guest one.”
She picked up MY rose scrub like we were about to have a spa night together.
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“I didn’t think you’d mind. We girls share everything, right?”
I turned. Walked out.
That evening, I told Daniel — calmly. He slurped his soup and shrugged.
“She probably just needed a moment to herself. You know how she is. Besides, don’t women… do that? Share stuff?”
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I stared at him. Long and hard.
“You think this is normal?”
“It’s not not normal.”
I got up, went to the drawer, and found the old key to our bedroom. I had never used it before — but seemed like the time. Or so I thought.
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Because the following morning, I realized…
Locks mean nothing when the intruder has already decided she owns the place.
***
It was supposed to be my Saturday. My one day. No emails, no meetings, no small talk.
Just me, a yoga mat, lemon water, and my favorite playlist humming soft Tibetan bells. And finally — finally — felt like I could exhale.
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Until I heard it. Loud laughter. Music. Something clinked downstairs. Then footsteps — multiple — in heels.
No. No, no, no. Not today.
I grabbed my hoodie and padded down the stairs, barefoot and still slightly zen. But the moment I turned the corner into the living room, all chakra alignment vanished.
It looked like a senior prom with a dash of bingo night.
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There were at least six people — four older women in glittery tops and way-too-bold lipstick, two silver-haired gentlemen in suspenders sipping wine, and at the center of it all…
Linda! Waltzing.
With a tray of cheese cubes and mini crackers.
And what is she wearing? MY blouse.
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The one I bought three weeks ago to wear to my best friend’s birthday — silky, deep blue, low-cut but elegant.
I hadn’t even taken the tags off until the day before when I gently steamed it and hung it in the hall closet so it wouldn’t wrinkle. I felt my soul briefly leave my body.
“Emily, darling!” Linda beamed, spinning with a giggle. “We started without you! Come, meet everyone!”
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I stood frozen. Hair a mess, and barefoot, in my yoga top. One of the older gentlemen approached me with a charming bow.
“Care for a dance, my lady?”
Before I could respond, he took my hand and spun me once, twice, and I awkwardly stumbled right into a sequin-covered bosom.
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The woman he came with gave me a look that could curdle milk.
“Linda, honey… And who is this? What’s she doing in your house?”
My house?
I pulled away gently and marched Linda into the kitchen, still gripping the lemon water bottle like a weapon.
“What is this?” I hissed.
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“A party! Just a little something to lift the spirits. You weren’t using the living room anyway!”
“In my blouse? In my house?”
She gave me a look — sweet, almost maternal.
“I told them it was my home. Just to… you know, avoid questions. They wouldn’t have come if I’d said I was staying with my son and his wife. I just wanted to feel like a hostess again.”
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“And the blouse?”
“It was just hanging there. I thought, why not?”
“Everyone out. Now.”
She tilted her head.
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“Oh Emily, don’t be dramatic. What will Daniel say? Kicking his poor mother out after she’s had such a rough time?”
Her voice turned syrupy.
“He’ll be so disappointed.”
I stared at her. And smiled.
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“Fine. They can stay.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely,” I said, almost amused. “Make yourselves at home.”
Her face lit up with confusion and something that looked a lot like triumph.
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But inside me, something very different lit up.
Because if Linda thought she knew how to be petty… She hadn’t seen me take the tour group of silver-haired gentlemen through Daniel’s office yet.
Let’s just say…
Some people explore museums. I let them explore our home.
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With subtle suggestions and open doors.
And Linda?
She was about to find out what it felt like when someone touched what was mine.
***
The following morning began with a familiar, delicious tension in the air. Like the final act of a play where only I had read the script. Daniel’s voice cracked through the quiet,
“Emily! Why is my cologne bottle empty?!”
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I gently stirred my coffee, not even turning around.
“The brown one?” I asked sweetly.
He appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding the bottle as it had personally betrayed him.
“This was nearly full! Now it’s bone dry. What happened?”
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I squinted thoughtfully.
“Oh. That might’ve been Thomas?”
“Thomas?”
“One of your mother’s gentlemen friends. He said the scent reminded him of his wilder days in Paris. He may have… gone a little overboard.”
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Daniel just stood there, blinking.
“He used my cologne?”
“He seemed really enthusiastic.”
Daniel turned without another word and stormed to the bedroom. I took a sip of coffee. Calm. Serene. Focused.
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Thirty seconds later, his shout echoed through the hall.
“My ties collection! One of my tie pins is bent! Who’s been in my tie drawer?!”
“Oh no,” I said, very gently. “Maybe the gentlemen got curious. You know, your collection impressed them.”
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He looked at me like I had just told him I microwaved his record player.
And then, right on cue, Linda swept into the kitchen in a satin robe, holding a grapefruit half and smiling.
“Morning, sweeties! Isn’t the air just delicious today?”
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Daniel rounded on her.
“Mom. Did your guests go through my stuff?”
“Oh, sweetheart, of course not. They’re perfectly respectful!”
“I’m going to work. I’ll deal with this tonight.”
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“Oh, I’ll walk you to the door,” I said sweetly. “You seem a bit… rattled.”
As he slipped on his coat, he turned to me slowly.
“You didn’t take the car out yesterday, right?”
I widened my eyes.
“Me? No. I thought about getting it washed, but I was too tired. I left the keys on the hallway shelf.”
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Pause.
“Oh no. Oh no. They were admiring the car yesterday. Your mother’s friends…”
Daniel walked out in silence. Two seconds later, I heard a sharp yell from the driveway. I didn’t even flinch.
“What happened, honey?” I called sweetly from the doorway.
“Did you… did you drive it?”
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“No, darling! Like I told you. Keys were on the shelf. I was upstairs. Doing yoga.”
Daniel looked past me, jaw tight. Then he turned to Linda.
“Mom?”
She looked cornered for the first time in days.
“Well… they were admiring the vehicle and… your wife let us…”
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“Emily?” Daniel cut in.
I met his eyes.
“I never left the attic floor, love. Downward Dog was very demanding.”
Silence. Daniel shook his head and rushed out.
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***
By noon, my husband was folding Linda’s cardigans like he was preparing an offering to a volcano god. He drove her to her apartment, and tipped the contractors extra to “wrap it up the next few days.”
Meanwhile, I had a small talk with Linda.
“Oh, Linda,” I called sweetly. “By the way… while you and the girls were sunbathing by the pool yesterday, I gave the gentlemen a proper tour of the house. You inspired me — it felt good to let others experience things that aren’t technically theirs.”
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She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
When Daniel returned, he dropped onto the couch and stared blankly into space, like a man who had just survived both a war and a bake sale led by his enemies.
I let him rest. Only once he was upstairs, did I allow myself a smirk.
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I could still see them in my head — those silver-haired explorers. Touching the marble paperweight on Daniel’s desk. Opening drawers they thought were just decorative. One of them even asked, “Is this vintage Armani?” while holding up a tie like it was on auction.
I said nothing. Just smiled.
Linda was lounging in her robe by the pool, sipping wine and boasting about her imaginary art collection. And me? I was planting breadcrumbs all over the house. Letting her friends wander. Letting them wonder.
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Of course, it wasn’t Thomas who used the cologne.
I sprayed half the bottle myself and left it uncapped.
No one scratched the car — well, not no one. I may have gently, artistically brushed it against the mailbox.
And the bent tie pin? Gloves on. Very respectful.
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That night, I ran the perfect bath with my passionfruit gel, lit my vanilla candle, and dropped my robe onto the warm floor tiles like a queen shedding armor.
The house was silent.
And somewhere in the distance, I imagined Linda staring at her beige apartment walls, wondering what exactly had just happened.
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Because when a woman touches your cream, your tub — it’s not about the things. It’s about the line she crossed.
And darling, once she crosses it — you don’t lecture. You don’t scream. You win.
And finally, with every breath of peace, I could hear the house itself whisper back to me.
Welcome home.
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