Our Landlady Threw Us Out to Give the Upgraded Apartment to Her Sister — But Fate Quickly Taught Her a Harsh Lesson 5 days ago

A few days later, Mrs. Johnson called. I almost didn’t answer—I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear whatever she had to say. But curiosity got the better of me, and I picked up.

“Judith,” she began, her voice heavy with regret, “I’ve made such a mess of things. I never should have let Lisa move in. She’s ruining everything, and I don’t know what to do. Please, I’m begging you, come back. I’ll waive the rent for several months if you just… please!”

Part of me wanted to scream at her, to tell her how much she’d hurt us, how she’d let her sister’s lies tear apart everything we’d worked so hard to create.

But another part of me, the part that had been quietly healing, knew that going back would mean reopening old wounds.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Johnson,” I said softly. “But we can’t come back. That place… it’s not our home anymore. We’ve moved on.”

She tried to protest, but I gently ended the call. I sat there for a moment, the phone still in my hand, before Chris came up behind me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“You did the right thing,” he said, and I knew he was right. We’d built something new, something ours, and I wasn’t about to let the past drag us back.

Every now and then, we’d hear updates about Lisa and Mrs. Johnson. Apparently, the apartment was falling apart under Lisa’s careless hands, the beautiful renovations we’d done now just a memory buried under layers of dust and debris.

Mrs. Johnson, they said, was heartbroken—she’d lost not just a home, but the tenants who had cared for it.

And you know what? I found peace in that. Not in their suffering, but in the knowledge that we’d walked away with our dignity, our love, and our ability to start over.

Lisa had gained an apartment, but in the end, she’d lost so much more. Karma, it seemed, had its own way of delivering justice, and sometimes, you just had to let it run its course.