When I first moved in, the landlord mentioned there was already a roommate — Milly. I was relieved; having someone to share rent with seemed ideal.
At first, Milly seemed nice—considerate, sweet, and we bonded over weekend movies. But she never brought basic supplies like toilet paper or shampoo, and my things vanished. Her excuse? She’d “get them next time,” but she never did.
Then came the rent. She was always late and never repaid me despite promising to. Meanwhile, dishes piled up, trash overflowed, and the apartment became a mess I had to clean repeatedly. I couldn’t figure out how she was surviving before I arrived—was she purposely taking advantage of a mess-tolerant roommate?
I tried talking about chores and rent. She agreed to change, but nothing improved. When our lease went month‑to‑month, Milly disappeared without explanation. Through friends, I learned she’d moved in with her boyfriend. I ended up paying two months of rent alone, with no response to messages—just passive “reads.”
Then her mother reached out, claiming Milly needed time. But honestly, I was the one losing money and sanity while she played house elsewhere.
By July, I’d reached my limit. I gathered my friends, packed up Milly’s items—keeping anything valuable or sentimental, donating the rest—and informed the landlord. He confirmed she was no longer on the lease and changed the locks.
Then Milly came back in a frenzy, demanding reentry. I calmly told her she’d vanished with no rent paid and was off the lease. She burst into tears, claiming she needed a place and that I had donated her belongings—she even thought I tossed her grandmother’s wedding dress. I didn’t know it was valuable—left unmarked, it looked like trash.
She screamed threats, sobbed, but ultimately had no case and no reason to stay.