When Anna, a single mom of three, finally gets promoted, her sleazy landlord hikes the rent… just because he can. But he’s about to learn the hard way that underestimating a tired woman with nothing left to lose is the biggest mistake of all. This time, Anna’s done playing nice.
I’m not usually a petty person. I don’t have the time. Between raising three kids and juggling a full-time job, petty has never fit into my calendar. But when someone comes for my peace, my babies and the roof over our heads… just because I caught a break?
Well. I don’t go down swinging. I go down strategizing.
A tired woman | Source: Midjourney
Let me back it up for you.
I’m Anna. I’m 36 and a single mom of three. My kids are my world, Liam’s eleven and he’s the kind of boy who holds doors without being asked and notices when I’ve had a hard day without saying a word.
Maya’s seven, loud and bold and always asking the questions no one else will. And then there’s Atlas, my four-year-old. He’s a walking tornado in Lightning McQueen socks, with curls that spring back no matter how often I try to tame them.
A smiling little boy | Source: Midjourney
Our mornings start before the sun even considers rising. I’m up by five, packing lunches, tying laces, brushing tangles and reheating coffee I’ll never get to finish. I work full-time as a team lead at a logistics company, though recently, I earned the title of Operations Manager.
After eight years of staying late, skipping lunch breaks and never taking sick days, someone finally saw me. The raise wasn’t huge but it meant that maybe, just maybe, I could start saying yes when my kids asked for something simple.
New shoes without holes. A school trip without borrowing from next month’s grocery fund. Name-brand cereal.
An aisle in a supermarket | Source: Midjourney
We’d been living in a modest two-bedroom rental for five years. We moved in just before Atlas was born. Just before their father, Ed, left the scene. The kids shared a room with bunk beds that creaked every time someone rolled over. I slept on the pull-out couch, my back a roadmap of tension and long days.
But it was ours.
Safe, clean, just 15 minutes from school and work. It wasn’t much but it was home.
A pull-out couch in a living room | Source: Midjourney
Frank, our landlord, was the kind of man who liked owning things, especially people’s silence. He ignored texts, delayed repairs and once told me, “With all those kids, you should be grateful you’ve got a place at all.”
I swallowed my pride and paid the rent. Because stability is priceless… until someone tries to sell it back to you at a markup.
Frank had this charming habit of treating me like a squatter who’d somehow lucked into a lease. He didn’t see a tenant, he saw a woman one missed payment away from being disposable.
An old man wearing a navy t-shirt | Source: Midjourney
Maintenance requests were met with silence, followed by slow, begrudging replies. The broken heater in December?
I texted him three times before he finally responded with, “Layer up, Anna. You and the kids. It’s not that cold.”
When the kitchen faucet exploded like a rusted geyser, soaking my shoes and nearly electrocuting the toaster, his response was just as bad.
A running tap | Source: Midjourney
“I can swing by next Thursday if it’s really urgent.”
But it was never urgent to him. Not the ants, the mold, or the fact that my front door lock jammed every single time it rained. He made me feel like asking for basic safety was asking for too much.
The worst part though?
It was the way he looked at me when we ran into each other, like a struggling single mom was a cautionary tale, not a human being. He once smirked.
A close up of an older man | Source: Midjourney
“You should be grateful you’ve got a place at all with all those kids.”
It was like my children were baggage. Like our home was a favor.
Still, I kept paying. On time, every month. Because starting over was expensive and even when the rent crept higher, it was still less than anywhere else that felt safe.
A pensive woman standing outside | Source: Midjourney
Then came the promotion.
It wasn’t fanfare and confetti but it was mine. A quiet win, hard-earned. I updated my LinkedIn.
“After years of juggling work and motherhood, I’m proud to say I’ve been promoted to Operations Manager. Hard work pays off!”
I didn’t expect applause. But I got kind messages from coworkers, old classmates, even one mom from daycare I barely knew.
An open laptop on a table | Source: Midjourney
“You make the impossible look easy,” she’d said.
I read that one three times.
I cried in the breakroom. It was just a few tears. Quiet ones. It felt like someone finally saw me, not just the tired eyes and the late arrivals.
Me.
Two days later, I got an email from Frank.
An emotional woman in a breakroom at work | Source: Midjourney
Subject: Rental Adjustment Notice
He was raising my rent by $500. No upgrades. No justification.
“Saw your little promotion post. Congrats! Figured that now’s the perfect time to squeeze a bit more out of you.”
I stared at the screen, blinking like the words might rearrange themselves into something less vile. Surely, this wasn’t real. It had to be a mistake. Some glitch. Maybe he’d sent it to the wrong tenant.
A woman sitting with her laptop | Source: Midjourney
I called him immediately, my hand trembling as I held the phone to my ear.
“Frank, that’s a massive increase,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ve never missed rent. We have a lease…”
“Look,” he cut me off with a chuckle. “You wanted a career and a bunch of kids, that comes with bills. You’re not broke anymore, so don’t expect charity. If someone’s making more, they can pay more. It’s simple math, Anna. This is business, honey, not a daycare.”
A man talking on a phone | Source: Midjourney
I sat there, stunned, my mouth dry. My hand dropped into my lap, still clutching the phone. I could hear the kids laughing from the living room. Their laughter was so normal, so innocent, and it made the bile rise in my throat.
I hung up without another word.
That night, after bedtime routines were done and three small bodies were tucked into sheets that didn’t match, I found myself in the laundry room, holding a pile of mismatched socks like it was going to ground me.
Socks in a laundry basket | Source: Midjourney
I stood there for a long time.
There’s a specific kind of cry you have to hold in so your kids don’t hear it. The kind that sits in your chest, burning and shaking. That’s the one I swallowed.
Liam found me there. Barefoot, silent, gentle.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Just tired,” I tried to smile.
A little boy standing in a hallway | Source: Midjourney
He nodded, settling beside me, back against the dryer.
“We’ll be okay,” he said, eyes on the floor. “You always figure it out.”
And somehow, hearing that from him broke me more than Frank ever could. And that’s when I made a decision.
I wasn’t going to beg. I wasn’t going to plead with Frank or scrape together money I didn’t have or sacrifice groceries for rent. I was done playing nice for people who saw kindness as weakness.
A woman leaning against a wall | Source: Midjourney
I was going to teach him something.
That week, I handed in my 30-day notice. No drama. Just a signed letter, slid into his mailbox like a resignation from his nonsense.
That same night, I opened my phone and posted in every local parenting and housing group I belonged to. Nothing flashy. Just the truth.
A red mailbox | Source: Midjourney
“Looking for a family-friendly rental? Avoid 116 Muscut Avenue. Landlord just raised rent by $500 because I got a promotion. Punishing working moms for succeeding? Not today, ladies and gents.”
I didn’t name him. I didn’t need to.
The post exploded overnight.
Moms started commenting with their own horror stories. One said Frank made her pay six months in advance because “women are flakey.” Another shared screenshots where he refused to fix mold because “it’s just a cosmetic issue, Jane.”
A phone on a table | Source: Midjourney
There were eye rolls. Rage reacts. One woman called him “a sleazy slumlord in a polo shirt.” Another said he once told her she should “marry rich if she wanted better maintenance.”
Then came Jodie. She was a mom I barely knew from PTA circles. She messaged me privately.
“Anna, this man tried to rent me that same unit and asked if my husband would co-sign. And do you want to know why? Just in case I got pregnant and couldn’t work.”
Jodie had receipts. And she posted them.
A woman using her phone | Source: Midjourney
Two days later, the post got picked up by a real estate watchdog page for our county. Someone even made a TikTok with dramatic piano music and transitions, zooming in on side-by-side photos of his crusty listing and my original post.
It was glorious.
And then, what do you know? Old Frank texted me.
“Hey, Anna. I’ve been thinking. Maybe the increase was too much too fast. Let’s keep the rent the same, yeah?”
A man texting on his phone | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t reply right away.
Instead, I picked up Maya from dance, still sweaty and glitter-speckled. I got Atlas from preschool, where he’d taped three pieces of construction paper together and called it a “rocket dog.”
I sat next to Liam while he worked through long division, his brows furrowed in concentration, his pencil chewed beyond saving.
A close up of a little girl | Source: Midjourney
I kissed all three of their heads like I always did, Maya’s quick, Atlas’s sticky, and Liam’s slightly embarrassed but tolerant. I made grilled cheese with the last slices of bread and pretended not to notice we were out of milk again.
I read “The Gruffalo” twice because Atlas asked.
“Do the monster voice again!” he whispered excitedly. I did it, even though my throat burned.
Grilled cheese sandwiches on a board | Source: Midjourney
Only after they were tucked in, only after I sat on the edge of my pull-out couch and stared at the chipped paint on the wall, did I finally reply.
“Thanks, Frank. But I’ve already signed a lease somewhere else. Just make sure to list the place as ‘pet-free’ though. The rats under the sink might not get along with the new tenant’s cat.”
He didn’t bother to respond. And I assumed that he had accepted my final notice.
We moved out at the end of the month. I didn’t cry when I closed the door. I didn’t look back.
A woman standing on a porch | Source: Midjourney
A friend from one of the housing groups connected me to her cousin’s landlord. That’s how we found our new place. It’s a bit smaller, sure, but it has three real bedrooms.
No more bunk beds that creak, no more sleeping on coils and springs. There’s a patch of grass in the back, uneven, a little wild.
Atlas calls it his farm. Maya braided dandelions into a crown on our first weekend there. Liam’s already claimed the room with the best light and has started drawing again.
A dandelion crown on grass | Source: Midjourney
And our new landlord, Mrs. Calder?
She brought over a welcome basket with mini muffins and a handwritten card. She remembered all their names the next week. When I teared up, she pretended not to notice.
That night, after the chaos of moving boxes and tangled chargers and someone losing their only left shoe, we lay on the living room floor, all four of us. I stared at the ceiling and let myself exhale for the first time in months.
A basket of mini-muffins | Source: Midjourney
“Is this our forever home?” Atlas curled against me and whispered.
“It’s our better home,” I said. “Maybe our forever home… let’s see, okay?”
A week later, Frank’s listing popped up online. The rent was slashed by $300. Still no takers.
Sometimes, I still get DMs.
“I saw your post, thank you. I needed a push to get out.”
“He tried the same thing with me. Not this time!”
A little boy laying on a carpet | Source: Midjourney
It turns out, in a world where rent rises faster than hope, word of mouth is currency.
And respect? That costs nothing.
So if you think single moms are easy targets, if you think we’re too tired to fight back, too busy to speak up, just know…
We carry diaper bags and receipts. And we remember everything.
A smiling woman wearing a green sweater | Source: Midjourney
A few weeks after the move, once the boxes were flattened and the air finally smelled like us instead of dust and cardboard, I invited Mrs. Calder over for dinner.
I didn’t have much but I made the kind of meal that says thank you when words don’t stretch far enough. Roast chicken with herbed potatoes and carrots and enough gravy to drown every bite in comfort.
Liam peeled the carrots while pretending he was on a cooking show. Maya sprinkled rosemary with dramatic flair. Atlas was in charge of buttering the rolls, which mostly meant licking his fingers and smearing butter on his cheek.
A roast chicken with vegetables | Source: Midjourney
When Mrs. Calder arrived, she brought a peach cobbler and a bouquet of sunflowers. She wore a cardigan with cats on it and smiled like someone who meant it.
“I haven’t had a home-cooked meal with kids running around in years,” she said as she stepped inside. “This is already my favorite dinner.”
Dinner was full of laughter and seconds and gravy on everything. Liam explained how potatoes absorb flavor better when they’re slightly smashed. Maya insisted the chicken was juicier because she had whispered compliments to it while it roasted.
A peach cobbler | Source: Midjourney
Atlas dropped his roll, cried, then cheered when it bounced off his chair and landed on the table again. At one point, I caught myself watching them instead of eating. My children. Safe. Loud. Full.
“You’ve made this house feel like a home, Anna,” Mrs. Calder said. “Not many people can do that in just a few weeks.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak. So I just smiled. And for the first time in a long time, it felt like we weren’t just surviving.
We were rooting.
A smiling older woman in a cat cardigan | Source: Midjourney
Stewardess Breaks the Rules to Talk Some Sense into Raging Son of a Millionaire during a Flight – Story of the Day
Monica was tired of the spoiled rich boy who always flew with their airline. He was loud, rude, and didn’t care about the other passengers on the plane. But she got an idea one day and decided to trick him. Surprisingly, someone else also spoke up, and Monica did not have to worry again.
“LET’S GET WILD!” yelled Gerald Ross, the son of a real estate millionaire in New York and one of the most spoiled people Monica had ever met. She was a flight attendant from JFK to Miami, and everyone was tired of his antics.
Gerald held a champagne bottle and made his friends drink from it. They got even louder as a result, and no one could quiet them down. She would’ve understood if they were on a private plane, but Gerald and his friends always used this airline because his rich daddy was close friends with the owner. They had some deal.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Ugh, rich people,” Monica whispered to her co-worker, Julian, who rolled his eyes at the rowdy group of friends too. Although they were all in first class, they disturbed other passengers, and people were constantly telling them to shut up. But there was nothing they could do. Gerald wouldn’t listen and insulted them to boot.
This was not what Monica imagined when she decided to become a stewardess. Her father was a pilot who sadly passed away in a plane crash, but that didn’t deter her from her pursuit of the sky. She loved it and wanted to become a pilot. However, her mother couldn’t afford lessons, and flight attendant studies were much cheaper.
She was now paying for her own lessons, but it was a slow process. Soon, she would be a pilot too, and hopefully, she wouldn’t have to deal with young men like Gerald ever again.
“Hey, you! Yeah, I’m talking to you, steward!” Gerald called her attention, making the word stewardess sound like an insult. Monica had to fake a smile before approaching him. “Bring me another bottle NOW!”
“Mr. Ross, could you please quiet down a bit. There are other passengers on the plane,” she said, trying to calm the group down.
“Hey! Don’t you know who I am? I could get you fired like this!” the young man said, snapping his fingers to indicate that she could quickly lose her job. “GET THE BOTTLE NOW! AND SOME PEANUTS FOR EVERYONE TOO!”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
There was no use. Her colleagues looked bone-tired, even though the plane had barely taken off. They had a few more hours of this situation in store, and Monica couldn’t take it anymore. Instead of looking for the bottle, she entered the cockpit and took a seat behind Vince, the primary pilot who happened to be her boyfriend.
“Hey, are you ok?” Vince asked while checking dials and keeping everything in place.
Monica breathed a huge sigh. “Gerald Ross is here, and it’s barely been an hour since we took off. I can’t take it anymore,” she told him, wiping a hand on her forehead.
“I’m sure you can do something to keep them quiet,” Vince replied.
“Can you talk to him?”
“You know I can’t go out there. It would be a breach in protocol.”
“Hmmm, breach in protocol. Maybe, I could lie and spook him,” Monica said, placing a finger on her chin and thinking deeply. Just then, the sounds of more screams came from the first-class area, and she was forced to stand up. “Ugh…”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
“You can do this, Monica. I believe in you,” Vince said, turning around and smiling at her. He loved her deeply. In fact, he had proposed to her last night, but Monica had so many dreams she wanted to accomplish before getting married. She had asked him for some time to think. At that moment, she wanted to say yes and quit this job forever.
But Monica would not let a spoiled daddy’s boy derail her career. That’s when she had a brilliant idea and marched outside back to the first class.
“Everyone, can I please have your attention?” she began, smiling fakely. “Due to some extenuating circumstances, I’m going to have to fly the plane, but I can’t do it because our colleagues are so busy with Mr. Ross and his friends. So, the plane is on autopilot for now with no one operating it.”
She didn’t know if her idea would work or if Gerald would be scared of it. She was going to have to lie through her teeth to convince everyone that there was no other option, and she needed that rowdy group to stop so she could concentrate on “flying” this plane.
Everyone’s eyes widened in surprise, and even Gerald’s group got quiet.
“Excuse me, what did you say?” a passenger questioned, almost angrily.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Where’s the pilot? I saw him go inside!” another flyer called out.
“What about the co-pilot?” another person wondered with worried eyes.
“Our co-pilot had an emergency, but the flight still continued because they had me aboard, and I’m almost done training for my pilot’s license. Now that our pilot is also experiencing some trouble, it’s up to me to fly this plane. But I really can’t do it if I have to worry about a loud, disruptive group in the cabin,” Monica continued, trying to remain vague to avoid raising any more suspicions from the passengers.
Finally, an older man in an expensive Armani suit, Mr. George Carter, stood up. “See, Ross? This is the kind of disaster you and your group have caused. We’re a flying machine, and you think we’re in some kind of club. I’m going to have a serious talk with your father when we reach Miami!” Mr. Carter exclaimed at the young man. “Now, sit down like a normal person, shut up, and let this lady fly the plane!”
Mr. Carter sat back down, and Ross’s group looked away in shame. The other passengers all nodded their heads, and one even thanked the older man. Monica smiled in delight as the spoiled boy looked at his lap in shame.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Thank you for your understanding, everyone. I’ll return to the cockpit, and don’t worry, I have aced all my pilot lessons,” Monica said and returned to the cockpit, where she had to stay the rest of the flight to keep up the ruse.
Luckily, Gerald and his friends did not make a peep for the rest of the flight, and they reached their destination without another hiccup. After landing, she explained to her colleagues why she lied, and they all thanked her deeply.
Several days later, Monica and Julian worked another route, and he had some gossip for her. “You know how Mr. Carter threatened to call Gerald’s dad? Well, he actually did it. He also talked to the owner of the airline, and as a punishment, he has been banned from flying with us,” her co-worker revealed.
“That’s fantastic,” Monica laughed as she got everything ready for the passengers’ in-flight meal. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? Vince and I got officially engaged that day. I guess watching that man scold Gerald made me super happy, and I decided to accept his proposal!”
“Congratulations!”
What can we learn from this story?
- Don’t be rude to people in the service industry. You must respect people in the service industry no matter who your father is or how much money you have. It’s common decency.
- A little white lie can serve a purpose sometimes. Monica lied a bit to the passengers, and they finally got fed up with the rich kid’s behavior.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about an older woman who was mocked on a plane.
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