When Michelle moved in, she refused to follow one simple rule: bring your key. Instead, she pounded on my window at all hours, demanding to be let in. After countless sleepless nights, the other tenants and I came up with a plan to give her a taste of her own medicine.
I’ve always been a stickler for rules. Call me boring, but there’s something comforting about knowing where you stand. That’s why I loved living in our little apartment block on Maple Street.
A woman and her dog | Source: Midjourney
We had one golden rule: after 8 p.m., you always carry your key. Simple, right? Well, it was until Hurricane Michelle blew into our lives.
The day Michelle moved in, I should’ve known trouble was brewing. I was collecting my mail when she strutted up the path, wild red hair flying, and enormous sunglasses perched on her nose despite the cloudy day.
“Hey, new neighbors!” she called out, voice loud enough to wake the dead. “I’m Michelle! Who’s gonna help me with these boxes?”
A woman waving | Source: Midjourney
I exchanged glances with Matt from 2B. He shrugged, and we both headed out to lend a hand. As we lugged boxes up the stairs, Michelle chattered away.
“This place is so cute! It’s like, totally retro. I can’t wait to spice things up around here!” She winked at Matt, who nearly dropped a box labeled “PARTY SUPPLIES.”
“Yeah, well,” I puffed, struggling with what felt like a crate of bricks, “we like it quiet around here. Especially after 8.”
Michelle laughed, a sound like tinkling glass.
A laughing woman | Source: Midjourney
“Oh honey, the night’s just getting started at 8!” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “You’ll see, I’ll breathe some life into this place.”
I should’ve taken that as the warning it was.
For the first week, things were okay. Sure, Michelle’s music was a bit loud, and yeah, she had a habit of clattering up and down the stairs at all hours. But it wasn’t until the second Friday night that the real trouble started.
A woman in her home | Source: Midjourney
It was just past midnight when the first thump-thump-thump echoed through my apartment. My dog, Biscuit, lifted his head with a whine. I tried to ignore it, burying my face in my pillow. But then came the buzzing. It was incessant, like an angry hornet.
Groaning, I stumbled to the intercom. “Hello?”
“Heeeeey!” Michelle’s voice, slightly slurred, crackled through the speaker. “It’s me! I forgot my key. Can you let me in?”
An intercom entry phone | Source: Pexels
I sighed, pressing the button to unlock the main door. My apartment was on the ground level so I opened my door to remind her about the key rule.
“Oh my god, you’re a lifesaver!” Michelle gushed, her breath reeking of tequila. “I was gonna be stuck out there all night!”
“Michelle,” I started, trying to keep my voice level, “remember the rule about always carrying your key after 8?”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Pffft, rules are made to be broken, right? Besides, you’re right here! It’s no problem for you to let me in.”
A laughing woman | Source: Midjourney
“Well, actually…”
But there was no point in saying anything more. Michelle had already clattered up the stairs and disappeared, leaving me standing in the foyer, fuming.
I wish I could say that was a one-time thing. But over the next few weeks, it became a nightly occurrence.
Sometimes she’d bang on windows, other times she’d ring every buzzer in the building until someone let her in.
A woman in front of a staircase | Source: Pexels
It didn’t matter if it was 10 p.m. or 3 a.m. — Michelle seemed to operate in her own time zone.
One particularly frustrating night, I was jolted awake by a rhythmic tapping on my bedroom window. Groaning, I glanced at my alarm clock: 2:37 a.m.
“Adrienne! Adrieeeeenne! Wake up, sleepyhead!”
That was the last straw for Biscuit, who ran over to the window and started yapping. I stumbled out of bed. Pulling back the curtain, I was met with Michelle’s grinning face, illuminated by the streetlight.
A woman at a window | Source: Pexels
“Michelle!” I hissed, sliding the window open. “What are you doing?”
She giggled, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves. “I forgot my key, Addy. Be a pal and buzz me in? I’ve been tapping at your window for ages already.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. “Michelle, this has got to stop. You can’t keep doing this. What if I hadn’t been home?”
She shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the whole situation. “Then I would’ve buzzed Matt. Or Tiffany. Someone’s always home, right?”
A woman talking to someone | Source: Midjourney
The whole building was at its wit’s end. One day, Tiffany from 3A cornered me in the laundry room, dark circles under her eyes.
“Adrienne, we’ve got to do something about Michelle. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks!”
I nodded, feeling the weight of exhaustion myself. “I know, Tiff. I’ve tried talking to her, but she just laughs it off.”
A woman in a laundry room | Source: Pexels
Matt joined us, his usually neat hair a mess. “I called the landlord,” he said, voice low. “Guess what? Michelle’s his niece. He said, and I quote, ‘She’s just having a bit of fun. You all need to lighten up.’”
“Lighten up?” Tiffany hissed. “I’ll show him ‘lighten up’ when I fall asleep at work and get fired!”
That’s when Riley from 4C spoke up. I hadn’t even noticed her lurking by the dryers.
“You know,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eye, “if Michelle won’t listen to reason, maybe we need to speak her language.”
A woman in a laundry room | Source: Pexels
We all leaned in closer as Riley outlined her plan. It was petty, sure. Childish, even. But after weeks of sleepless nights and Michelle’s careless laughter ringing in our ears, it felt like sweet justice.
The next night, we put our plan into action.
Michelle stumbled home around 1 a.m., and as usual, she started banging on windows and buzzing apartments. Someone let her in, as usual, and I listened as she breezed upstairs.
We struck an hour later.
A woman glancing over her shoulder | Source: Midjourney
I went outside and kept buzzing her apartment for a full ten minutes. Eventually, her voice crackled over the speaker.
“Who is this, and what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Hey, Michelle! It’s me, Adrienne. I took Biscuit out and forgot my key. Be a pal and buzz me in?”
“Are you serious? It’s 1 a.m.!”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, but I always do it for you, so what’s the problem?”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
I heard her mutter something, but she let me in. I quickly texted Tiffany and rushed upstairs for the next part. I arrived at Michelle’s floor just as a series of sharp knocks echoed down the hall.
“Michelle? Michelle? Are you home?” Tiffany called out as she knocked on the door.
“Tiff? What are you doing?” Michelle groaned.
“Oh, I just wanted to check if somebody had let you in. Good night!”
A woman knocking on a door | Source: Pexels
I leaned against the wall, stifling my giggles. But we weren’t done. Over the next few days, we kept up our campaign. If Michelle forgot her key, we made sure she couldn’t sleep. It was petty, yes, but it felt so good.
By day five, Michelle was a wreck. Her hair was a tangled mess, her designer clothes rumpled, and dark circles ringed her bloodshot eyes. As she trudged up the stairs, I almost felt bad. Almost.
A tired-looking woman | Source: Pexels
“Please,” she croaked, her voice hoarse from yelling, “can you guys stop this? I get it, okay? Just stop waking me up every night!”
Tiffany, who’d come out to watch the show, couldn’t resist a jab. “Oh, so you do understand how annoying it is. Funny, you didn’t seem to care when you were doing it to us.”
Michelle’s lower lip trembled, and for a moment, I thought she might cry. But then she squared her shoulders. “Fine. I’m sorry, alright? I’ll start bringing my key. Just… please let me sleep.”
A woman glancing to one side | Source: Pexels
We all exchanged glances. It wasn’t a grand apology, but it was something. Slowly, we nodded.
“Okay, Michelle,” I said, trying to keep the triumph out of my voice. “We’ll stop. But remember—”
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, fishing in her purse. “Always carry my key after 8. I got it.”
The next evening, I tensed as I heard Michelle’s distinctive clatter on the stairs. But to my surprise, there was no banging, no buzzing. Just the soft click of a key in a lock.
Keys in a door | Source: Pexels
I couldn’t help but smile to myself. “Funny,” I murmured, settling back on my couch, “how peace always comes when everyone finally starts playing by the rules.”
Biscuit wagged his tail in agreement, and I scratched behind his ears. Our little apartment block was back to normal — or as normal as it could be with Hurricane Michelle living upstairs. But hey, at least now she had the key to fitting in.
I Brought My Fiancé to Meet My Parents — He Fled in the Middle of the Night, Shouting ‘I Can’t Believe It!’
I’ve been with my fiancé for six years, and we were supposed to get married next month. But during a visit to my parents, he discovered their secret lifestyle, causing him to question our relationship too.
I’ve been with my fiancé for six years, but we’ve known each other for nine. We were supposed to get married next month, but then everything changed the course of our wedding journey.
We went to visit my parents to introduce him to more of my extended family before the wedding. My parents offered to host us, and we’ve been staying in my old room for the sake of nostalgia.
My fiancé, Adam, wanted to stay at a hotel, but I thought it would be fun to just have him share my old room with me.
“I don’t see why staying in your childhood home is going to change anything,” Adam told me when we were packing for the trip.
“Because it’s going to be my last time with my parents under their roof before I become a married woman. It’s going to be a sentimental moment,” I replied.
“If it gets uncomfortable, I’m just going to check myself into a hotel,” he said casually.
Of course, I didn’t expect what would happen next.
We got to my parents’ home, and everyone was excited to see us. My mother and aunt had cooked up an elaborate meal for us, ready to just sit down at the table and get to know Adam better.
All through dinner, everything went as well as expected, and Adam happily enjoyed having the attention centered around him.
“This is new for me,” he said as we did the dishes in between the mains and dessert. “I’m not used to having people pay attention to me like this.”
“It’s a good thing,” I said, handing him a plate. “You’re supposed to feel welcome and at home with my family, too.”
As the night died down and we all went to bed, ready for a good night’s sleep before the following day’s family outing to the local theme park, Adam kept disturbing my sleep.
“What’s going on?” I asked, turning to face him.
“I just can’t sleep, Sasha,” he snapped. “It’s not my bed, and I’m not used to sleeping in beds that aren’t my own. And your bed is lumpy and uncomfortable.”
“Just go and take a walk outside,” I grumbled. “The fresh air should make a difference, and you’ll come back and fall asleep.”
“Fine,” he said, getting out of bed and leaving the room.
I was just about to fall asleep again when Adam’s scream pierced the air. I bolted upright in bed with my heart racing.
What on earth was going on? Was there someone in the house? Were we in danger?
While my brain was moving a mile a minute, trying to decide what to do next, Adam stormed back into the room.
“What happened?” I blurted out, uneasy.
My fiancé’s face contorted in a mix of horror and anger, and he paused for a minute before he started yelling.
“I cannot believe it,” he yelled. “Your mom! Sasha! Your mother! She’s kissing another man in the foyer!”
My heart sank. I had hoped that we would have gotten through this entire visit without this.
If anything, I had always dreaded this moment, the time when my parents’ unusual and unconventional marriage would come to light.
I tried to explain, to calm him down, but he wouldn’t have it.
“Call your dad, Sasha,” Adam demanded. “Tell him that your mom is cheating right here in your own home.”
It seemed logical, simple even. And I understood why Adam would think that having my father involved would solve everything.
But he couldn’t be further from the truth.
Before I could react and begin navigating the explanation, my mom walked in, still straightening her clothes.
“I can explain,” she started, but my fiancé cut her off.
“Explain? What’s there to explain? You’re cheating on your husband in his own home!”
“It’s not cheating, darling,” she said softly. “Sasha knows, and she’ll explain it all to you. Shaun and my marriage is different. Very different. It’s unconventional compared to your usual marriage. You need to understand that, Adam, before you judge us.”
Adam turned to me, eyes wide.
“You knew? You knew about this, and you didn’t tell me?”
I tried to reach out to him, but he recoiled.
“I didn’t know how to tell you, and I’m not proud of keeping this secret. But it wasn’t mine to tell.”
“Sasha!” he said, his hands in the air. “You should have told me! This isn’t something that you just keep hidden from the person that you’re going to marry. I don’t know if I can trust you now. This was a setup, wasn’t it? You wanted to introduce me to this lifestyle, isn’t it?”
By this point, I was overwhelmed, and I couldn’t understand what Adam was getting at.
I was taken back to a memory from my youth. I was 16, and my friends were planning a sleepover at my home.
“You have the biggest room, Sasha,” my friend Brielle said. “Let’s have it at your place.”
“That’s perfectly fine with me,” I said. “I don’t think my parents will mind at all! And we can watch movies in the living room because my parents have a TV in their room now, so they won’t disturb us.”
“I’ll bring my cotton candy machine,” Brielle said excitedly. “We can have that and popcorn!”
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I remember going home after school and telling my mother all about our plans. She smiled and nodded enthusiastically.
“Sure, honey,” she said. “You girls can take care of yourselves. Dad and I have a dinner that evening.”
Little did I know that later that evening, I would discover the truth about my parents’ marriage.
My friends and I were all sitting on the couch when my parents walked in with another couple. My mother was holding tightly onto a man’s hand as she kicked off her shoes. My father was kissing the other woman.
When they saw me, they were shocked. And they had no choice but to explain the situation to me.
“We are married to each other, and we love each other. We’re committed, honey. But we’re also allowed to see other people if we want to,” my mother explained gently. “There’s nothing wrong with the way we are. And you need to understand that.”
Now, listening to Adam, I was taken back to the same flood of emotions.
“No, it’s nothing like that,” I said. “I am dedicated to you. I don’t want that lifestyle.”
But Adam wasn’t having it. He just wasn’t listening. Instead, he began to speak about his mother’s infidelity which had led to his parents’ divorce. It all made him see betrayal everywhere.
“Everything is a red flag for me, Sasha.”
He packed a bag and left for a hotel, saying that he needed a moment to reevaluate our engagement.
I spent the rest of the night crying, feeling the weight of my parents’ choices crashing down on my own relationship.
“You need to talk to him,” my mother said, giving me a cup of coffee. “Just go to him.”
I joined him at the hotel. We barely spoke, the silence heavy with everything left unsaid. I didn’t know if Adam still wanted to be together or not. I suggested that we move to my grandmother’s house for the rest of our stay so that we could talk about everything while still being comfortable.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s okay with me because this hotel is too cold anyway.”
There was a coldness between us that hadn’t been there before.
“I’ve never kept secrets from you,” I told him. “I didn’t know how to bring it up. It’s not something that I like talking about because I struggled to understand it myself.”
Adam sighed, rubbing his temples.
“I get it. But this feels too close to home, Sasha,” he said. “I just need some time.”
We spent the rest of the week at my grandmother’s house, trying to finish the family visit in the best spirits we could muster. My parents apologized to Adam, but it didn’t matter anymore.
It wasn’t about them. It was about the fact that their actions had triggered my fiancé. On the drive home, Adam and I decided that we wanted to stay together and see where life took us.
“But I think we need to go to therapy,” I said, handing Adam a drink.
“I think that’s a good idea,” he said, biting his lip. “Because I need to uncover my own trauma before accepting your parents.”
Now, Adam and I have started talking about everything. From his fears, my shame, our future. We could only heal from this.
What would you have done?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you.
My Entitled Parents Demanded That I Give Them My New House — My In-Laws Suddenly Stood up for Me
When Carina’s parents kick her out after high school, she has no choice but to navigate her way around life. Years later, after making a success of her life, and her wedding is around the corner, she reaches out to them, only for them to storm into her life, trying to take ownership of what she has worked so hard for.
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