When my boyfriend moved in, everything seemed perfect, until he discovered I owned the property. It wasn’t something I thought would matter, but his reaction sparked a conflict neither of us saw coming. I was eighteen when my dad handed me the keys to my own house.
It was an old two-story building that had been in the family for years. His gift meant everything to me. We weren’t rich, not even close.
Dad had bought the house for a bargain from his grandmother’s cousin, and I knew what a privilege it was. Every time I walked through the front door, I felt grateful. The house had its quirks.
Each floor was like its own apartment, with separate entrances, kitchens, and bathrooms. I lived upstairs, and I rented out the downstairs to a sweet woman named Maggie. She paid $500 a month—below market price for most places, but I wasn’t in it for the money.
The rent just covered the basic upkeep. I handled everything myself, and it gave me a little independence. Three months ago, my boyfriend, Jason, moved in with me.
We’d been together for six months, and it just made sense. His lease was up, and my place had the room. Plus, it felt good to be building something together.
He was easygoing about most things, and we split groceries 50/50, which worked for both of us. As far as finances went, though, we never really talked about anything beyond day-to-day stuff. He didn’t ask about rent, and I didn’t bring up that I owned the place.
It wasn’t that I was hiding it; it just never seemed important. One night, while we were watching the news, a story came on about rising rent prices. Jason groaned and said, “Man, landlords are the worst.
They’re all about the money. It’s like they don’t care if people can’t afford a place to live.”
I stayed quiet, focusing on my tea, not really knowing what to say. I wasn’t sure how to explain that, technically, I was a landlord.
But I wasn’t like the ones he was talking about. I charged fair rent. I didn’t try to squeeze every penny out of my tenant.
Jason went on, shaking his head. “It’s just messed up, you know? People shouldn’t be making money off something basic like housing.”
I nodded, changing the subject as soon as I could.
We spent the rest of the night like normal, but his words stuck with me. What would he think if he knew I was renting out part of the house? I didn’t want to make it awkward between us, so I let it slide.
A few days later, I was cleaning the kitchen when there was a knock at the door. I wiped my hands on a towel and opened it to see Maggie standing there, looking worried. “Hey, Maggie, everything okay?” I asked.
She frowned. “My freezer stopped working. I tried everything, but it’s just dead.”
“Oh no,” I said, stepping outside.
“Let me take a look.”
I followed her downstairs to her apartment. Sure enough, the freezer was warm, and nothing seemed to be working. I sighed, knowing it was probably time to replace it.
“I’ll pay for a new one,” I said. “Just send me the receipt, and I’ll reimburse you.”
Maggie smiled, relieved. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.
I’ll go shopping for one tomorrow.”
“No problem,” I replied. “I’ll make sure you get the money back right away.”
As I headed back upstairs, I realized Jason had probably heard the whole conversation. He was sitting on the couch when I walked in, looking a little confused.
“Everything okay with Maggie?” he asked. “Yeah,” I said casually, “her freezer broke, but I told her I’d cover it.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “You’re paying for her freezer?
Why would you do that?”
I paused, unsure of how to answer. “Well, the freezer was here when she moved in, so it’s kind of my responsibility.”
He frowned. “I don’t get it.
Why would that be your responsibility?”
I could feel the tension creeping in. “Because… it’s my house. I rent it out to her.”
Jason stared at me, his face changing as he processed what I’d just said.
“You own this place?” His voice was sharp, more surprised than I expected. “Yeah,” I said slowly, “I thought you knew.”
“No, I didn’t know,” he replied, his tone turning colder. “You never told me.”
“Well, it never came up,” I explained.
“It’s not like I was trying to keep it a secret.”
Jason shook his head, standing up. “I just… I can’t believe this.”
He walked over to the window, looking out as if trying to make sense of everything. I stayed quiet, not sure what to say next.
The days after Jason found out I owned the house were tense. It wasn’t like before, where we’d laugh together while cooking or enjoy lazy evenings watching TV. He was distant, quieter, and something felt off.
I didn’t want to push him, so I gave him space, hoping things would go back to normal. But that didn’t happen. One evening, I was cleaning up the kitchen when Jason walked in.
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching me. “Still can’t believe you never told me,” he muttered, almost to himself. I sighed, putting down the dish towel.
“Jason, I wasn’t hiding it. It just never seemed important. You never asked.”
“Important?” He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound.
“You’re a landlord. That’s pretty important. Don’t you think I had a right to know?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
