When I first moved in with Milly, I thought I’d hit the roommate jackpot—sweet, friendly, and perfect for splitting bills. But that illusion shattered fast. Milly never bought basic household supplies.
She used my toilet paper, shampoo, even my coffee, always promising to “grab some next time,” which never came. The rent? Late every time.
She’d beg me to cover for her and promise repayment, but weeks would pass with nothing. Still, I was patient. I brought up chores and rent, and she always gave excuses.
Then one day, she just disappeared. No notice, no goodbye—just vanished. I found out through mutual friends she moved in with her boyfriend.
But her stuff? Still all over the apartment. I covered the rent alone for two months while she ghosted every text I sent.
By July, I was done. I packed her things—kept what looked valuable, donated the rest—and asked the landlord to change the locks. He agreed; she wasn’t on the lease anymore.
Three days later, Milly showed up, banging on the door, furious. “You changed the locks? You gave away my stuff?” she screamed.
I calmly told her she hadn’t lived there in months. When she realized I’d donated a box that held her grandmother’s wedding dress, she lost it. Screaming, crying, threatening to call the cops.
But I stood firm. “You abandoned your stuff. I gave you plenty of notice.”
Milly stormed off, yelling, “This isn’t over!”
But it was.
And honestly, I don’t regret it. Would you have done the same in my shoes?
