My Boyfriend and I Rented a Room From an Old Lady, and She Turned Our Lives Into Hell — Story of the Day

I thought living with my boyfriend would be a dream come true. We finally found a place of our own, renting a room in an old woman's house. At first, it seemed perfect. But the longer we stayed, the worse things got. The landlady made my life a nightmare, and soon, everything fell apart.

Michael and I carried the last box into the room, both of us exhausted. I looked around and couldn't believe how much stuff we had. We had just graduated, but it seemed like we'd packed up our whole lives.

Michael had worried about money when we first talked about moving in together. "How are we going to afford a place?" he'd ask. And he was right; money doesn't magically appear just because you have a degree.

After searching, Michael found us a room to rent in the house of an older lady named Jeanette. It wasn't ideal, but we could afford it.

Jeanette looked exactly like you'd expect a grandma to look. Her living room was full of yarn and knitting needles, and there were old figurines everywhere. The kitchen always smelled like cookies. Sure, it wasn't anyone's dream place, but to me, having a space that was ours meant everything.

I noticed Michael looking around the room with a thoughtful expression.

I smiled. "See, we did it. And it wasn't that hard. You said this was a bad idea."

He crossed his arms, frowning. "I'm still not sure it's a good idea. We've only been together for three years."

"Three years is a long time!" I shot back. "Some people get married in less time. Some even have kids already."

Michael shook his head. "That doesn't mean this is right for us."

I stared at him, feeling annoyed. "Why are you so worried? What do you think will go wrong?"

"I don't know," he said, glancing around the room. "I just feel like you'll realize this was a mistake."

"Well, I know you'll see it was a good idea," I said firmly, crossing my arms to match his.

After we finished unpacking, Michael and I collapsed onto the bed. We were too tired to even think about cooking. "Let's just order delivery," I suggested. He nodded, pulling out his phone to order pizza.

As we waited, I stretched out, feeling my muscles relax for the first time all day. Then, there was a knock on the door. Before we could answer, Jeanette walked right in, her arms crossed over her apron.

"I decided to make dinner to celebrate your move-in," she announced.

"Oh…" I stammered, caught off guard. "Thank you, that's really kind of you, but we already ordered pizza."

Her smile faded, and she tilted her head. "Oh, what a shame," she sighed. "I tried so hard. Cooked all afternoon."

I cleared my throat. "Well, we didn't know you'd be cooking for us," I explained. I glanced at Michael again, hoping he'd jump in.

Finally, he leaned toward me, whispering, "Let's just have dinner with her. It's a bad idea to start a fight with this lady."

"Everything's a bad idea to you," I hissed back.

"She'll be upset if we don't eat with her," he whispered again, eyes fixed on Jeanette.

"But we already ordered pizza," I whispered, feeling my frustration grow.

"It's fine. We'll eat it later," he replied in a low voice. Then, louder, he said, "We'd love to have dinner with you, Jeanette."

"Oh, wonderful! I knew you were a good boy!" She turned to me, eyes narrowing slightly. "But your girlfriend... she's not so nice," she muttered.

"What?" I blinked, thinking I misheard.

"I said your girlfriend is very nice," she repeated with a sweet smile.

We sat at the table, and I couldn’t stop staring at the pizza on the windowsill. It was just sitting there, getting cold. I sighed, turning my attention to the food Jeanette had placed in front of us. It didn't look good. The gravy was a strange color, and the vegetables were overcooked and mushy.

Jeanette sat across from us, her eyes fixed on me, waiting for me to take a bite. I glanced at Michael. He was already eating, acting like everything was fine.

I took a deep breath, picked up my fork, and tasted the food. It was terrible. My stomach turned, and I had to fight not to spit it out. Somehow, I forced myself to swallow, hoping I could get through this meal.

"Mmm... it's delicious," I forced out, trying my best to smile. I quickly reached for my glass and washed down the food with a big gulp of water.

Jeanette's eyes lit up. "Great! I'm glad you like it," she said, her gaze fixed on me like a hawk.

I shifted in my seat, feeling uneasy. "What?" I asked, hoping she would look away.

"Keep eating," she replied, her voice firm.

I glanced over at Michael, hoping he'd see how uncomfortable I was. But he was calmly eating, like nothing was wrong. I took another small bite, forcing the food down. A few minutes later, I felt a strange tingling in my throat. My mouth started to burn, and it was getting harder to breathe. My eyes watered.

"Is there soy in this?" I croaked, coughing and gasping for air.

Jeanette nodded, looking pleased. "Yes, I added soy sauce to the gravy. It gives it flavor."

I froze. Who adds soy sauce to gravy? "I told you I'm allergic to soy!" I managed to say. "I need to go to the hospital. Now!"

I turned to Michael, panicking. He sighed. "Can't you go by yourself? I made plans to play online with my friends."

"I could die!" I shouted, struggling to breathe.

"Alright, alright," he grumbled, finally standing up.

The drive to the hospital was tense. I gasped for breath, clutching my throat. Jeanette sat in the backseat, mumbling over and over, "I'm so sorry! I forgot about your allergy! I didn't mean to make you sick!" Her words didn't help. I was too busy trying to stay calm and get air into my lungs.

When we finally got to the hospital, the doctors treated me right away. I could breathe again, but I was exhausted and angry. This whole situation was ridiculous. It was clear we couldn't keep living like this.

Back at home, I turned to Michael, my frustration boiling over. "I don't like Jeanette," I said firmly. "I can't take this."

Michael shrugged. "Then let's just live apart again."

His response made me even angrier. I felt my hands clench into fists. "No, Michael. We need to find a new place. Together!"

The next two weeks were a nightmare. Jeanette made my life miserable. She vacuumed the halls at 4 a.m., the loud noise jolting me awake. No warning, no concern for anyone trying to sleep.

Then, she started barging into our room whenever she felt like it. Privacy meant nothing to her. She'd rummage through my stuff, move things around, and leave a mess behind. One day, I found my clean clothes thrown on the floor. "They were in the way," she said with a shrug.

It got worse. She turned off the hot water while I was mid-shower, claiming, "We need to save money." I stood there shivering, furious. Jeanette even kept track of every piece of food.

If something went missing, she'd corner me, accusing me of stealing. "Nothing ever got lost before you moved in!" she snapped. It was exhausting.

Yet, she treated Michael like a king. She never barged in when he was alone, never blamed him for anything.

One morning, after she turned off the hot water on me yet again, I lost it. I jumped out of the freezing shower, grabbed a towel, and stormed down the hall, dripping wet and furious. I found Jeanette in the kitchen, chatting with Michael as he calmly ate his breakfast, acting like nothing was wrong.

"Why? Why are you doing this?" I yelled, my voice shaking with anger.

Jeanette blinked at me, pretending to be confused. "Doing what, dear?"

"Turning off the hot water!" I shouted. "You do it every single time!"

Jeanette gave a small shrug. "I told you, we need to save money," she said in that sweet, fake voice.

"Why are we only saving money on me?" I snapped, glaring at her. "You never turn it off when Michael's in the shower!"

"Because you use the most water," Michael said calmly, not even looking up from his plate. That was it. The last straw. My own boyfriend wasn't backing me up. He was taking her side!

My face burned with rage. "That's it! I've had enough!" I shouted, storming out of the house. "I'm going for a walk, maybe staying at a friend's place tonight!" I slammed the door behind me.

I walked for a while, trying to cool off. But then I realized I left my phone behind. I sighed, knowing I had to go back. As I opened the front door, I heard voices in the kitchen.

I crept in quietly and stopped in shock. Michael was standing there, handing Jeanette a wad of cash.

"Thank you for doing this," he said, his voice low. "I think she'll move out soon."

"Move out where?!" I screamed, stepping into the room.

They both jumped. Michael turned, his face pale. "Meredith… I… I didn't hear you come back," he stammered, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

I felt my anger boil over. "So, this was your plan all along?!" I shouted. "You were paying Jeanette to drive me crazy?!"

Michael held up his hands. "I told you I didn't want to live together! But you insisted!" he yelled back. "I had no choice!"

I shook my head, feeling my heart break. "This is it, Michael. I'm done with you!" I shouted. "Screw you! Screw both of you!" I stormed up the stairs, slammed our bedroom door shut, and locked it, making sure neither of them could get in.

I packed my things as fast as I could, throwing clothes and books into my suitcase without caring if they got wrinkled. I felt so angry, my hands shook.

But just leaving wasn't enough. Michael needed to know how much he hurt me. He needed to feel some of the pain he caused.

I saw his expensive computer on the desk. Without thinking, I grabbed it and smashed it on the floor. Pieces scattered everywhere. I didn't stop there. I went to the closet, grabbed his clothes, and poured bleach all over them. The smell was sharp, but I didn't care.

Then, I stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind me. I never saw Jeanette or Michael again. Later, I heard he had to pay for new flooring because of the bleach. Serves him right!

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