When my roommate suddenly left to live with her boyfriend, I thought she’d at least deal with the rent properly. But two months later, she came back banging on my door, yelling about the locks being changed and her stuff being gone.
When I first moved in, the landlord said someone already lived there and they just needed one more roommate. Her name was Milly.
At first, I was glad. Living alone seemed scary, and sharing rent sounded great. I thought it was the perfect setup.
Turns out, I was very wrong.
Don’t get me wrong—Milly wasn’t a bad person.
She was friendly, thoughtful, and fun to hang out with. She’d ask how my day was going and remember small things I told her. Sometimes, we’d even watch movies together on the weekends. But the problem was, she never bought her own stuff.
I’m talking about simple things like toilet paper, dish soap, and laundry soap. I’d buy them, and they’d run out twice as fast as normal.
She even used my shampoo and drank my coffee. When I brought it up gently, she’d say, “Oh, I’ll get some next time I go out!”
But that “next time” never happened.
The rent was an even bigger problem. She was always late.
The first month, she came to me three days after rent was due, looking worried.
“Hey, Cynthia? I’m really sorry, but I don’t have enough money this month. Can you cover for me? I swear I’ll pay you back next week.”
I ended up paying for her.
The next week came and went, but she still didn’t pay me back.
When I asked her about it, she looked hurt and said, “I thought we were friends. I’m going through a tough time.”
I told her, “We are friends, but you said you’d pay me back.”
She replied, “I promise I’ll pay you next week.”
But the money never came.
On top of that, the dishes piled up in the sink like a game of Jenga, the trash was overflowing and smelled awful, and the bathroom was always a mess. I’d clean everything, and a few days later, it would be a disaster again.
I started to wonder how Milly even managed before I moved in. She’d been living there for six months—was she living in this kind of mess the whole time? Or was she just used to others cleaning up after her?
It made me think that maybe she had gotten lazy on purpose because she knew I would take care of things. Maybe she saw I was the type who couldn’t stand a mess and took advantage of that.
I stayed patient for months. I even tried to talk to her.
One night, I said, “Milly, we need to work out a cleaning schedule. And the rent issue is getting serious.”
She smiled and said, “You’re totally right! I’m sorry, I’ve just been so stressed with work and stuff. I’ll do better, I promise.”
But promises don’t pay bills or clean the house.
Then things changed. When our lease ended and switched to a month-to-month agreement, Milly suddenly vanished.
She didn’t call or explain. Most of her stuff was still in the apartment, but she never came back.
A few days later, mutual friends told me she had moved in with her boyfriend. They were staying in his mom’s basement, pretending like they were playing house.
Meanwhile, I was left paying her share of the rent—and she never paid back what she owed before leaving.
When I finally got the nerve to text her about the rent, her reply made me furious.
“I’m not living there right now, so why should I pay rent?”
Wait—what? I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Did she really think that’s how rent worked?
I replied, “So are you officially moving out then? I need to know what’s going on.”
No response. Nothing at all.
So, I ended up paying the full rent for May by myself.
Then June came—and I had to pay it all again.
I kept texting Milly, asking what was going on, asking for rent, or at least a reply. But she ignored me. I could see she read my messages (the blue check marks were there), but she never answered.
At that point, I was losing it. I started working extra hours at my campus job just to afford her part of the rent. My savings were drying up fast—all because she chose to run off and play house with her boyfriend.
Then, out of nowhere, I got a text from Milly’s mom.
She wrote, “Hi sweetie, I know Milly’s going through a hard time. She just needs a little space to sort things out. She’ll be back soon, I promise.”
Really? A hard time?
She was living for free in her boyfriend’s mom’s basement while I was struggling to pay both our rent—and she was the one going through a rough time? Please.
Still, I kept it polite and replied, “I understand, but I can’t keep paying her rent. If she’s not coming back, I need to know.”
No reply. Her mom went silent too.
By July, I had had enough. I’d been more than patient. I gave Milly every chance to respond and do the right thing.
Instead, she ghosted me and treated the apartment like a free storage space.
So I sent her one last message: “Milly, if you don’t reply by July 1st and fix the rent issue, I’ll assume you’ve moved out for good and will handle it from there.”
July 1st passed. Still no answer.
That’s when I decided to take control of the situation myself.
I called three of my friends and told them everything. They were just as angry as I was.
“Girl, you’ve been way too nice,” my friend Sarah said. “At this point, she’s basically stealing from you.”
So, we packed up all of Milly’s stuff—her clothes, books, and the random things she left lying around.
We donated the basic things, like old clothes, worn-out shoes, and stuff anyone could replace. I kept anything that looked valuable or sentimental, just in case.
Then I called the landlord and told him what was going on. Surprisingly, he was very understanding.
“She’s not on the lease anymore since it went month-to-month,” he said. “If she’s not living there and not paying, she has no legal right to stay.”
He changed the locks the next day. Finally—goodbye to the freeloader.
I thought it was over. I thought I’d never hear from Milly again.
But I was wrong.
Three days later, she showed up banging on my door like it was an emergency.
“Why are the locks changed?” she yelled. “I LIVE HERE!”
I calmly opened the door.
“Oh, hi, Milly,” I said. “Actually, you haven’t lived here for two months, and you haven’t paid rent once.”
Her face turned red—she was shocked there were actual consequences for what she did.
“I WAS COMING BACK!” she screamed. “Things didn’t work out with Jake—his mom kicked me out!”
“Not my problem anymore, Milly. You’re off the lease, and you disappeared for months.”
Then came the tears. Big, dramatic crying like she was a kid trying to get out of trouble.
“I have nowhere to go! I just want some clean clothes and a SHOWER! Please, Cynthia, I thought we were friends!”
I felt a small bit of guilt—but I reminded myself: friends don’t stick you with rent and vanish.
“Your stuff is in the closet,” I told her. “The rest was donated.”
Her crying suddenly stopped.
“Donated to charity?” she repeated. “What do you mean, donated?”
“I mean I gave it away. You left it here for two months, and I’m not a free storage service.”
She pushed past me into the apartment and ran to her old room. When she came back, she looked furious.
“Where’s my grandmother’s wedding dress?” she shouted. “It was in a special box under my bed!”
My heart sank. “What special box? I only saw a dusty cardboard box that looked like trash.”
“That was the box! Oh my God, you gave away my grandma’s wedding dress!”
Honestly, how was I supposed to know an old, unmarked box had something important in it? If it meant so much to her, maybe she shouldn’t have abandoned it for two months.
But instead of admitting it was her fault, she completely lost it.
“YOU MONSTER!” she screamed. “YOU RUINED MY LIFE! I’M CALLING THE POLICE!”
I stayed calm and said, “Go ahead. I have proof of everything. Even your mom knew. I warned you in May and again in June. You ignored me. This isn’t on me.”
She yelled, cried, threatened to sue me, and called me all kinds of names. But in the end, she knew she had no case and no keys—and there was nothing she could do.
“This isn’t over!” she shouted as she left.
But it was over.
I hope she finally understands that if you ghost your roommate, your stuff doesn’t magically stay protected. I didn’t kick her out—she walked away and left me to deal with the mess.
I just made it official.
Do you think I did the right thing? What would you have done in my shoes?