Our Landlord Started Coming Daily to Check on the Apartment – When He Made a Scene about Spilt Coffee, We Had Enough

My bestie Jenna and I found the perfect vintage apartment with a seemingly sweet landlord, Mr. Whitaker. But things took a bizarre turn when his daily “inspections” and unsolicited advice crossed the line into creepy territory.

Hello! My name is Andrea, and anyone who has had to deal with a crazy landlord will relate to my story. So, here we go.

A few months ago, my bestie, Jenna, and I found this adorable two-bedroom apartment. It had that vintage charm, as well as brick walls, slightly creaky hardwood floors, and just this amazing cottage-core potential in the middle of the city.

A beautiful apartment living room | Source: Midjourney

The landlord, Mr. Whitaker, seemed like a sweet old guy, too, with gray hair and a kind smile. He looked a little like the grandfather from “Up,” except not grumpy.

I thought it was perfect, so we took it right away and signed the lease. For the first few months, it was bliss.

We decorated with quirky thrift store finds and turned every windowsill into a mini jungle. We even posted our journey on Instagram and did a lot of DIY craft stuff for more decorations. But then… things got weird.

Two people making crafts | Source: Pexels

It started innocently enough, so we didn’t have time to control things before they exploded. Let me explain a little better.

Mr. Whitaker showed up one day with a toolbox in hand. “Just checking the plumbing!” he said with a smile. That was amazing, right?

It was good to have a proactive landlord, one we didn’t have to call every day for a simple fix. But then he was back the next week. And the week after that.

An old man carrying a toolbox | Source: Midjourney

Soon, it was every. Single. Day. And his excuses got more and more ridiculous.

“Gotta inspect that wiring!”

“Those smoke detectors won’t check themselves!”

“Need to measure the air quality!”

I kid you not, he actually said this, and I had to Google if that was a real thing. Apparently, it was, so Jenna and I didn’t know what to think.

A woman with a puzzled expression | Source: Pexels

At first, we tried to be cool about it. We were like, “Maybe he’s just thorough? Or bored? Or really, REALLY into property maintenance?”

But nope, this issue got so much worse.

He came by another day without any kind of excuse and just looked around. Suddenly, he started critiquing our cleaning.

“You know, a little vinegar would get that stain out of the counter right out,” he said, pointing at a spot we didn’t even know existed.

Kitchen counters | Source: Unsplash

He also made these passive-aggressive comments about our lifestyle. “Back in my day, young ladies dressed much better with pretty sundresses, not sad, tight pants,” he muttered to me.

I was literally in my work clothes.

And sometimes he just… sat there. In our living room. Watching us like we were some kind of reality TV show.

He wasn’t exactly creepy yet, but Jenna and I were uncomfortable. If I wanted an old grumpy man to complain about my life and choices, I would’ve stayed at home with my parents.

A woman worried and uncomfortable | Source: Pexels

We had to start tiptoeing around our own apartment. It felt like he was here even in the rare times he didn’t show up.

Jenna and I even began to wonder if he was letting himself in when we weren’t around. Now, that was a creepy thought. But we had no proof.

One time, he showed up while Jenna was in the shower, and insisted on checking the bathroom sink right then and there.

I had to play bodyguard outside the bathroom door. Still, Jenna finished and came out quickly, and Mr. Whitaker got to work like this was perfectly normal.

A woman drying herself | Source: Pexels

Mortifying didn’t even begin to cover how we were feeling, and I was about to reach my breaking point.

Days later, he decided our furniture arrangement was “damaging the floor,” and tried to move our couch himself, nearly throwing out his back.

We had to help him sit down and get him some water. Eventually, we started keeping a log of his visits.

An old man on a couch drinking water | Source: Midjourney

It was our own bizarre diary:

Monday: Checked lightbulbs. Commented on dust.

Tuesday: Inspected windows. Criticized our choice of curtains.

Wednesday: ‘Fixed’ a door that wasn’t broken. Left it squeaking.

You get the idea. We were going nuts, but we were also kind of scared to confront him. What if he kicked us out?

A woman confused and worried | Source: Pexels

The rental market was brutal, and we loved this place (when he wasn’t in it).

Then came The Day.

It was a sunny Saturday morning. Jenna and I were having our weekend coffee, planning a day of brunch and thrift shopping.

I reached for the sugar and my elbow knocked over my cup. Coffee spilled over our cute little IKEA table and onto the floor.

That was no big deal, but before we could even grab a paper towel, we heard keys jingling.

Keys on a lock | Source: Pexels

The door flew open, and there was Mr. Whitaker. His face changed so quickly at seeing the mess and got so red, I swear he could’ve stopped traffic.

“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?!” he demanded, and his eyes almost bulged like a cartoon. “YOU’RE RUINING MY PROPERTY!”

I tried to calm him down. “I just spilled my coffee, Mr. Whitaker. We’ll clean it up, no worries!”

“JUST COFFEE?!” he screamed. I’m pretty sure I saw steam coming out of his ears. “DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH DAMAGE THAT CAN CAUSE?! IT’LL SEEP INTO THE FLOORBOARDS!”

An old man yelling | Source: Midjourney

Jenna and I shared a look that said, “This is it. We’ve reached our limit. No more Ms. Nice Tenant.”

As soon as Mr. Whitaker stormed out (but not before giving us a 20-minute lecture on the “proper way” to drink coffee), we started thinking.

What could we do to stop this?

We spent the rest of the day researching tenant rights, reading our lease agreement with a fine-tooth comb, and coming up with a battle plan.

Reading a document | Source: Pexels

And we decided to use a secret weapon: a security system. (Yes, it’s legal in most cases for tenants to install their own security cameras.)

We had someone install it as soon as the system was delivered. It came with motion sensors, cameras, and a loud alarm. It also connected to the internet.

Jenna and I installed the app, and we were ready. It was definitely out of place, considering our decor and general style, but Mr. Whitaker had forced our hand.

A phone with several apps | Source: Pexels

So, the next day, we activated everything and left for our respective jobs.

Lo and behold, around 11 a.m., my phone started buzzing like crazy. The alarm had been triggered. I checked the cameras, and as expected, it was Mr. Whitaker, who had let himself in.

I called Jenna, and together we decided to call the cops, although we only used the non-emergency line. Then, we each left our jobs early.

A woman at work making a call | Source: Pexels

When we got to our apartment, Mr. Whitaker was in a heated argument with two very unimpressed-looking police officers.

“This is MY apartment!” he yelled, his face matching the color of a ripe tomato. “I have every right to be here! I OWN this building!”

The younger cop looked so done, so we approached and introduced ourselves.

“Sir,” he said slowly, “you may own this place, but you have tenants. You can’t just enter whenever you want. That’s not how this works. They have a right to privacy.”

Cops working a case | Source: Pexels

When Mr. Whitaker began sputtering, I pulled out the lease agreement, pointing out the clause about 24-hour notice for non-emergency entry.

The older cop nodded at me as if he already knew that clause would be there. Jenna and I thought this moment was great to point out how Mr. Whitaker often barged in, not taking no for an answer, and made us uncomfortable.

The officer’s frown increased the more we talked.

A cop with his arms crossed | Source: Pexels

After a huge sigh, he turned to Mr. Whitaker. “Sir, you’re in violation of the lease terms. These young women have a right to take this matter further.”

I was expecting the old landlord to complain some more, but he deflated like a sad balloon. He probably felt cornered.

He mumbled something about just trying to take care of his property, and I decided to lay it out for him.

“Mr. Whitaker, we appreciate that you care about the building. But there’s caring, and then there’s… whatever this is. We’re responsible tenants. We’ll let you know if anything needs fixing. But you can’t keep barging in like this. It’s not okay.”

A woman with a worried look | Source: Pexels

Mr. Whitaker avoided my eyes.

Jenna added her two cents. “Being a good landlord doesn’t mean invading our privacy. We just want to feel comfortable in our own home. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

The old grump nodded, but I could tell it was a begrudging agreement, so the cops gave him an official warning. They explained that if it happened again, he could face legal consequences.

Mr. Whitaker nodded again, but it was more serious, although he still looked like a kid who’d been told Santa wasn’t real.

A sad old man | Source: Midjourney

I felt bad for the sad, old man. He might have been lonely, but I don’t regret it because it’s been blissfully quiet since.

He has stuck to the lease terms like they’re glued to his hands. Not only that, but he schedules visits in advance, keeps them brief, and actually waits for us to let him in.

So here’s what I learned: Know your rights as a tenant. Document everything. Don’t be afraid to stand up for yourself. And a good security system is worth its weight in gold!

Two women laughing on a couch | Source: Pexels

My Husband Insisted We Live Separately for a Month – Then My Neighbor Called Me Saying, ‘Rush Home, There’s a Woman in Your Room!’

When Lisa’s husband suggests a month-long separation to “reignite their relationship,” she reluctantly agrees until a neighbor’s frantic call reveals a shocking betrayal. Rushing home, Lisa discovers that a woman has made herself very much at home in their place. This betrayal leaves Lisa determined to reclaim her life.

When Derek suggested we live apart for a month to “reignite our relationship,” I thought it was one of those modern trends couples try when they’re struggling but don’t want to admit it.

He spun it like a grand idea, claiming it would help us reconnect and appreciate each other more.

A smiling man | Source: Midjourney

“You’ll see,” he said, grinning over his coffee one morning. “It’ll be like dating all over again. You’ll miss me. I’ll miss you. And when the month’s over, it’ll be like a fresh start.”

I didn’t love the idea. What wife would? But Derek was insistent. He seemed so sure this was for the best, so I packed a bag, moved into a short-term rental across town, and told myself it would be fine.

The first week was awkward and lonely.

A woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

Derek barely called or texted but chalked it up to the fact that he was “enjoying the space” and focused on staying busy.

I even started looking forward to what he’d called “our big reunion, Lisa.”

One day, I invited my sister, Penelope, over.

“Are you sure about this, Lisa?” she asked as she poured herself a glass of wine. “I mean, it’s a bit sketchy.”

A glass of wine on a coffee table | Source: Midjourney

“I know,” I agreed, putting together a charcuterie board. “But whenever I showed any resistance, Derek would lose his mind. So, I figured that it was something he needed to do.”

“Yeah, I get that,” she said. “But something isn’t right about this, sis. I’d watch Derek carefully, if I were you.”

I have to admit, she was right. And I felt the same way. What good reason would Derek have to actually want us to be separated?

A charcuterie board | Source: Midjourney

Then, one quiet Saturday evening, my phone rang.

“Lisa,” Mary’s voice crackled through the line, low and urgent. “You need to come home. Right now. I saw a woman in your house. I can’t see much, but I saw a silhouette through the window.”

I put the knife I was using for chopping vegetables down and shook my head clear.

Mary was my neighbor and wasn’t the type to overreact.

Chopped mushroom on a board | Source: Midjourney

“What? Really!?”

The air felt like it had been knocked out of my lungs.

A woman? In our house?

My mind immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario:

Derek had moved someone else in. A mistress.

Then again, it could’ve been something else. A break-in, maybe, or Sheila, Derek’s mother.

A silhouette of a couple | Source: Midjourney

But I dismissed those possibilities almost instantly. Derek had been so distant lately, barely calling or texting. My gut told me that it had to be infidelity.

Infidelity.

“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“Positive,” Mary said firmly. “Hurry, Lisa. Something is happening!”

I didn’t stop to think. I grabbed my keys and bolted out the door.

A woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

When I reached the house, I didn’t bother knocking. My hands were trembling as I shoved the door open, adrenaline pumping through me. It was as if my instincts took over. I ran up the stairs and straight into my bedroom.

There she was.

Not a mistress, but Derek’s mother.

Sheila.

Sheila was standing in the middle of my bedroom, surrounded by piles of my clothes. My closet doors were flung wide open, and she was holding one of my lace bras with a look of disgust.

An older woman standing in front of a closet | Source: Midjourney

“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled, startling her.

Sheila glanced up, unbothered by my outrage.

“Oh, Lisa. You’re back early,” she said nonchalantly.

She waved the bra in the air like a piece of trash.

“I’m cleaning up this house. This isn’t suitable for a married woman.”

My jaw dropped.

A close up of an older woman | Source: Midjourney

“Excuse me?”

She gestured toward several trash bags on the floor. They were stuffed with my clothes, lingerie, dresses, and even casual outfits.

“Lisa, these don’t reflect the values of a proper wife. Derek asked me to help get things in order while you were gone.”

I felt a wave of rage boil over.

Trash bags in a bedroom | Source: Midjourney

“Get my things in order? By throwing away my clothes? Who gave you the right to do this?”

Sheila’s lips pursed as she straightened her shoulders.

“Honestly, Lisa, someone had to step in. This house is a mess, and your wardrobe… well, it sends the wrong message. Derek deserves better!”

Her words felt like a slap in the face.

An older woman standing in a bedroom | Source: Midjourney

Sheila had always been critical. She always had snide remarks about my cooking and little digs about how I kept the house, but this?

This was a new level of audacity.

“Where is Derek?” I demanded, my voice shaking with fury.

“He’s out,” Sheila replied nonchalantly. “Running errands, I think. He knows I’m here. We both agree this is what’s best.”

An angry woman | Source: Midjourney

What’s best?

Her words echoed in my head as I stood there, stunned. Derek hadn’t just let this happen. He’d invited her here.

I was still standing in the bedroom fuming when Derek finally came home an hour later, pounding up the stairs. Sheila had moved to the living room, probably sensing her presence would only add fuel to the fire.

“Lisa?” Derek said, stepping into the room.

His tone was confused, almost annoyed. “Why are you here?”

A shocked man | Source: Midjourney

“Why am I here?” I snapped. “Because Mary called and told me there was a woman in our room going through my things. Imagine my surprise when I found out it was your mother!”

Derek sighed like I was the one making this into a big deal.

“Lisa, calm the heck down. Mom is just here to help out.”

“Helping out?” I repeated, incredulous.

A close up of a woman | Source: Midjourney

“Yes,” he said, his voice maddeningly patient. “You’ve been struggling with… well, everything lately. Haven’t you? You only sweep the living room and the kitchen. The rest of the house is a mess. There are crumbs in the bed. And the fridge handle is always sticky.”

“That’s because you eat in bed, Derek! You choose to eat in bed like a madman, instead of just eating in the living room or dining room. As for the fridge, it’s sticky because of your peanut butter and jelly hands.”

Crumbs on a bed | Source: Midjourney

“Don’t blame me for everything, Lisa!” he barked. “I thought Mom could step in while we figure things out.”

“While we figure things out?” I repeated, my voice rising. “Is that what you think this break is about? You said this separation was to reignite our relationship, Derek. Not to invite your mother in to fix me like I’m some kind of broken appliance.”

Derek rubbed the back of his neck.

“Lisa, don’t twist this. You’ve been stressed lately, and Mom offered to help. That’s all. I didn’t think you’d react like this.”

A man holding his neck | Source: Midjourney

I let out a bitter laugh.

“Of course, I’m reacting like this! You didn’t even tell me. You moved your mother into our home. Into my bedroom! And let her throw away my clothes. How did you think I’d react?”

He groaned, clearly frustrated.

“Look, I didn’t plan for this to happen. It’s just… you’ve been so overwhelmed lately, and Mom knows what it takes to keep a proper home. She was trying to help you… help us.”

A man holding his head | Source: Midjourney

I stared at him in disbelief.

“You think this is helping us? You think letting your mother invade my space, disrespect my boundaries, and insult my choices is helpful? Derek, this isn’t a partnership. It’s control. And the fact that you can’t see that is even worse.”

Derek looked stunned like he hadn’t expected me to be so angry. But I didn’t care. I was done.

I grabbed a suitcase and packed whatever clothes Sheila hadn’t deemed inappropriate. Without a second glance, I walked out the door.

A suitcase in a bedroom | Source: Midjourney

That was three days ago. I’ve already contacted a lawyer.

Some people might think I’m overreacting, but to me, this wasn’t just about the invasion of privacy or the humiliation of having my mother-in-law throw away my belongings.

It was about Derek showing, loud and clear, that he didn’t see me as an equal partner in our marriage.

A lawyer sitting at his desk | Source: Midjourney

He didn’t want a wife.

He wanted someone to cook, clean, and keep the house like in the 1950s.

Well, that’s not me.

When Derek asked for a “break,” I didn’t know what he was expecting. But I’ll tell you what he’s getting.

A divorce.

A 1950s stereotypical housewife | Source: Midjourney

Now, I’ve moved into Penelope’s apartment while the divorce is sorted out. I can’t wait to have half of everything Derek owns.

He needs to understand what it feels like to have everything one day and then have the rug pulled out from under your feet when you least expect it.

“What was the worst part of it all for you, sis?” Penelope asked.

A cozy apartment | Source: Midjourney

“That my husband saw me as a failure,” I replied. “Our marriage wasn’t perfect, sure. But we weren’t in such deep water, you know? And Sheila always hated me. Remember when we were getting ready for the wedding, and she came and criticized my hair and makeup?”

My sister sighed and continued making the homemade pizzas we were having for dinner.

“I always knew Derek was the biggest mistake of your life,” she admitted.

Homemade pizza on a counter | Source: Midjourney

“What?” I gasped, almost knocking over a bowl of olives.

“I’m sorry, Lisa,” she said quietly. “But after you met him, you lost interest in all your hobbies. Where’s my sister who would paint anything she wanted? All she needed was a canvas and her paints.”

I was quiet for a moment.

“I didn’t realize,” I said.