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.
She Raised His Daughter Alone—His Return After 10 Years Ends in Heartbreak
A man left his young daughter with his mother to start a new life with his wife. When he returns ten years later, he’s shocked to find both his mother and daughter gone, with no sign of where they went.
Doris Dakkar had been a single mother to her son, Nicholas, after her husband left when Nicholas was seven. Life had been tough, but Doris worked two jobs to make sure Nicholas had everything he needed.
At that time, Doris was only thirty. She never thought she’d be raising a child alone again at sixty, nor did she expect Nicholas would abandon his own daughter, just like his father did.
Nicholas had married a wonderful woman named Sandra, but sadly, she passed away when their daughter, Paige, was nine years old. Shortly after Sandra’s death, Nicholas started a relationship with a woman named Donna and married her within six months. Doris, his mother, believed that Nicholas was just lonely.
Doris noticed that Paige, who used to be a happy and playful child, became quiet and withdrawn. Doris thought it was because Paige was grieving her mother’s death. She still believed her son was a good man, but that changed soon.
Selfish people don’t care about others’ happiness.
The summer Paige turned ten, Nicholas asked Doris if she could look after Paige for three weeks while he and Donna went on a vacation to Alaska.
“Every couple needs time alone, Mom,” Nicholas said. “Paige has been difficult lately… She doesn’t like Donna.”
Doris was surprised but agreed. “Alright, Nicky. A break might help all of you. But Donna knew you had a daughter when she married you. A grown woman should be able to handle a ten-year-old who is still trying to cope with her mother’s death and her father’s quick remarriage.”
Nicholas turned red with anger. “I should’ve known you’d take Paige’s side!” he shouted. “Donna makes me happy, and that’s all that matters!”
“I thought someone had to be on Paige’s side, and I’m surprised it’s not her father,” Doris replied. “Making your daughter happy should make you happy, too!”
Nicholas stormed out, but when he returned a week later to drop off Paige, he seemed like his usual self. He kissed Paige goodbye and hugged Doris.
“I’ll be back on August 27, Mom,” he said, then drove off, waving happily.
But August 27 came and went, and Nicholas never returned. Doris tried calling him, only to discover his number had been disconnected. He hadn’t called his daughter since he left, but sometimes replied to her text messages.
Now, it seemed he had disappeared. Doris found out that the house Nicholas and Sandra owned had been sold. He was gone.
He had abandoned his daughter with his elderly mother, showing no concern for her.
Doris sat down with Paige and reassured her, “We’ll be okay, you and I. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. I love you, and one day, your father will regret what he’s done.”
Ten years later, Nicholas returned to his mother’s house. He was shocked to see the house looked abandoned, with an overgrown garden and boarded-up windows.
He knocked on a neighbor’s door. The woman seemed surprised to see him and hesitated to give him Paige’s new address. She looked at his shabby clothes and rusty car.
“Paige is married now, and Doris lives with her. I wouldn’t expect a warm welcome after what you did,” she said coldly.
Nicholas didn’t respond and walked away, confident he could charm his mother.
When he arrived at Paige’s new address, he was stunned. It was a luxurious mansion. He rang the doorbell and told the maid, “I’m here to see Doris or Paige Dakkar.”
The maid corrected him, “You mean Mrs. Dakkar or Mrs. Henderson,” and led him to a grand sitting room.
A few minutes later, Paige walked in. She looked at him silently, showing no surprise. Nicholas guessed the neighbor had warned them he was coming.
“Paige, my baby,” Nicholas said, stepping forward to hug the beautiful young woman his daughter had become.
“What do you want, father?” she asked calmly, without anger.
“I wanted to see you and Grandma Doris. I’ve missed you both so much,” Nicholas said, forcing a smile.
Doris walked in then, looking calm and younger than her age. “Nicholas, why are you here?” she asked.
“I came to see my family,” Nicholas said, raising his voice. “I was hoping for a warm welcome!”
“You abandoned me, father,” Paige said coldly. “Did you really expect a warm welcome?”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Nicholas whined. “Donna said she’d leave me if I didn’t go with her.”
Doris smirked. “But Donna’s not here now. Did she leave when the money ran out?”
Nicholas glanced around the room enviously. “You seem to be doing well. I’m unemployed and struggling. Can’t you help me out?”
“I’m surprised you’d ask for help after abandoning us,” Paige said. “But for Grandma Doris’s sake, I’ll help.”
Paige went to a fancy desk, unlocked a drawer, and took out an envelope and a set of keys. “These are the keys to the old house, and there’s $5,000 in here. Don’t come back asking for more.”
Paige hugged Doris and walked out of the room. Moments later, the maid arrived and escorted Nicholas out before he could take anything valuable.
Nicholas sat in his car outside the mansion for a long time. “I did what I had to do,” he muttered. “Why can’t anyone understand how much I’ve suffered? There’s no gratitude in this world…”
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