The Roommate Who Vanished – And Came Back Screaming
When my roommate disappeared overnight to shack up with her boyfriend, I thought, Okay, at least she’ll handle the rent like an adult.
Spoiler alert: She didn’t.
Two months later, she was banging on my door like a furious ghost, screaming about changed locks and missing stuff. But let me back up—because this mess started way before that.
The Too-Good-to-Be-True Roommate
When I first moved in, the landlord told me, “There’s already one girl living here—Milly. She’s nice, quiet, just needs someone to split the rent.”
Perfect, right? I was nervous about living alone, and splitting bills sounded like a dream.
Turns out, it was a nightmare in disguise.
Milly wasn’t evil—just… unbearably careless. The kind of roommate who’d smile sweetly while using up your last drop of shampoo.
“Oh, I’ll grab some next time I’m out!” she’d promise.
Spoiler: Next time never came.
She’d “borrow” my coffee, my laundry detergent, even my toothpaste. And rent? Forget it. Every month was the same story:
“Cynthia, I’m so sorry, I’m a little short this month. I’ll pay you back next week!”
She never did.
When I’d ask, she’d give me this wounded puppy look. “I thought we were friends. I’m going through a rough time.”
Yeah, well, so was my bank account.
The Disappearing Act
Then, one day—poof!—Milly vanished.
No warning. No goodbye. Just gone.
Her clothes were still in the closet, her junk was everywhere, but she was MIA.
A few days later, I found out through friends: She’d moved into her boyfriend’s mom’s basement.
Are you kidding me?
Meanwhile, I was stuck paying her half of the rent. When I texted her, her reply made my blood boil:
“Well, I’m not living there right now, so why should I pay rent?”
EXCUSE ME?!
I fired back: “So… are you officially moving out, or what?”
Silence.
Crickets. For weeks.
The Final Straw
By July, I was done. I’d given her every chance—texts, warnings, even a deadline:
“If you don’t respond by July 1st, I’m assuming you’ve moved out for good.”
No reply.
So, I called my friends, and we packed up all her junk. Donated the old clothes, kept the important-looking stuff, and changed the locks.
The landlord backed me up: “She’s not on the lease anymore. If she’s not paying, she’s not staying.”
Good riddance.
The Explosive Return
I thought it was over.
I was wrong.
Three days later—BANG BANG BANG!
Milly was at the door, screaming like a banshee.
“WHY ARE THE LOCKS CHANGED?! I LIVE HERE!”
I opened the door, arms crossed. *”Actually, you *haven’t* lived here in two months. And you haven’t paid a dime.”*
Her face turned red. “I WAS COMING BACK! Jake’s mom kicked me out!”
“Not my problem,” I said.
Then came the waterworks.
“I HAVE NOWHERE TO GO!” she sobbed. “I just need my stuff and a shower! Cynthia, I thought we were FRIENDS!”
For a second, I felt bad.
Then I remembered: Friends don’t ghost you and leave you with their rent bill.
“Your stuff’s in the closet,” I told her. “The rest? Donated.”
Her tears instantly stopped.
“DONATED?!” she shrieked.
She shoved past me, rummaging through what was left. Then—panic.
“WHERE’S MY GRANDMOTHER’S WEDDING DRESS?!”
My stomach dropped. “What wedding dress?”
“IT WAS IN A BOX UNDER MY BED!”
Oh no.
I had seen a dusty old box. I thought it was trash.
Oops.
Milly lost it.
“YOU MONSTER!” she screamed. “I’M CALLING THE POLICE!”
I shrugged. “Go ahead. I warned you. Multiple times.”
She ranted, threatened to sue, called me every name in the book—but in the end, she had no case.
“THIS ISN’T OVER!” she yelled, storming out.
But it was.
The Aftermath
Milly learned the hard way: Ghost your roommate, and your stuff might ghost you too.
Was I harsh? Maybe.
But she had months to fix things. Instead, she vanished, ignored me, and expected me to foot the bill.
Nope.
I didn’t throw her out.
She threw herself out.
And honestly? Best roommate breakup ever.
