My Partner Learned I Rent Out the House My Dad Gifted Me & Demands 50 Percent of the Money

An 18-year-old woman allowed her boyfriend to move into her apartment without telling him that she owned the two-story building and was having the floor below her rented out. When he found out she was a landlord, he got mad and asked for half of the payment she received.

A woman was fortunate enough to have been given a two-story home by her father, designed like an apartment. She knew it was a privilege and turned her property into a source of passive income by renting out the lower floor for $500 while she lived on the second floor.

According to the woman, she only charges such an amount because of the apartment’s location, which is an hour’s drive from the city and 15 minutes from the nearest store. A similar modern pad would cost about $600 to $700, so her charge was fair.

At 18, she asked her boyfriend of three months to move in with her. At that time, he had issues with his living situation and did not want to move back in with his parents. She offered him to stay with her as long as needed as a solution…
They have lived together for three months without him knowing she owned the apartment. Although she does not ask him to pay rent or utilities, they split the grocery bill in half.

The woman withheld the information about owning the building from her partner, assuming it was not a big deal. She didn’t tell many people about it except the topic was being raised.

However, one day, her tenant knocked on the door and informed her that the freezer had stopped working. Meanwhile, her boyfriend overheard their conversation but said nothing.
The woman went with the tenant downstairs to see the problem and told the renter to purchase a new one. The tenant would eventually be reimbursed for the freezer based on the receipt.

When the woman went upstairs, her boyfriend asked for an update on the freezer, to which the woman said it could not be fixed. She added:
“I told him no, but [the tenant] was going to buy a new one and I would pay for it. He looked at me like I was crazy and asked me why the hell I would pay for her freezer, I told him that because I am her landlord [sic].”
At that point, the boyfriend went ballistic and started yelling at his girlfriend. He asked why she hid the information from him and called her evil. While she apologized, he continued to criticize her. He also claimed that landlords only cared about money and that he couldn’t believe he was in a relationship with one.
“He demanded that I give him 50% of the money I make from rent or else I was just as bad as he thought,” she said. The woman’s boyfriend gave her the silent treatment for a while despite her apologies for not informing him that she owned the property.
She decided to call it quits with her boyfriend even though she initially felt it was impulsive. However, she asked her dad to drive by her place and stay by the driveway while they talked. That day, her boyfriend demanded an apology and questioned why she did not want to give him part of her income.
“If you don’t rent out for the purpose of taking people’s money, you should have no problem giving any of that money away,” he said. The woman asked why her boyfriend would take the money if he believed landlords were terrible people and only renting spaces for cash. She also asked if he would like her to donate the 50 percent to charity for housing.
Although her memory was fazed after, the woman recalled her boyfriend calling her selfish and claiming he regretted ever meeting her. He also threatened to expose her to her friends and unsuccessfully tried to punch a hole in the wall.
At that point, the woman messaged her dad, who came upstairs. “My boyfriend just laughed and told us both he never wants to see us again and that he was out,” she narrated.
Several Reddit users shared their thoughts and sided with the woman. Some also suggested that she change her locks regardless of whether her boyfriend returned the keys.

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Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son\’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I\’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high school janitor taught me to keep my emotions locked down tight. But when that first Harley rumbled into the cemetery parking lot, followed by another, then another, until the whole place vibrated with thunder—that\’s when I finally broke. My fourteen-year-old boy, Mikey, had hanged himself in our garage. The note he left mentioned four classmates by name. \”I can\’t take it anymore, Dad,\” he\’d written. \”They won\’t stop. Every day they say I should kill myself. Now they\’ll be happy.\” The police called it \”unfortunate but not criminal.\” The school principal offered \”thoughts and prayers\” then suggested we have the funeral during school hours to \”avoid potential incidents.\” I\’d never felt so powerless. Couldn\’t protect my boy while he was alive. Couldn\’t get justice after he was gone. Then Sam showed up at our door. Six-foot-three, leather vest, gray beard down to his chest. I recognized him—he pumped gas at the station where Mikey and I would stop for slushies after his therapy appointments. \”Heard about your boy,\” he said, standing awkward on our porch. \”My nephew did the same thing three years back. Different school, same reason.\” I didn\’t know what to say, so I just nodded. \”Thing is,\” Sam continued, looking past me like the words hurt to say, \”nobody stood up for my nephew. Not at the end, not after. Nobody made those kids face what they did.\” He handed me a folded paper with a phone number. \”You call if you want us there. No trouble, just… presence.\” I didn\’t call. Not at first. But the night before the funeral, I found Mikey\’s journal. Pages of torment. Screenshots of text messages telling my gentle, struggling son to \”do everyone a favor and end it.\” My hands shook as I dialed the number. \”How many people you expecting at this funeral?\” Sam asked after I explained. \”Maybe thirty. Family, some teachers. None of his classmates.\” \”The ones who bullied him—they coming?\” \”Principal said they\’re planning to, with their parents. To \’show support.\’\” The words tasted like acid. Sam was quiet for a moment. \”We\’ll be there at nine. You won\’t have to worry about a thing.\” I didn\’t understand what he meant until I saw them the next morning—a sea of leather vests, weathered faces, and solemn eyes. The Hell\’s Angels patches visible as they formed two lines leading to the small chapel, creating a corridor of protection. The funeral director approached me, panic in his eyes. \”Sir, there are… numerous motorcycle enthusiasts arriving. Should I call the police?\” \”They\’re invited guests,\” I said. When the four boys arrived with their parents, confused expressions turned to fear as they saw the bikers. Sam stepped forward and…. Check out the first comment to read the full story

Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high…