Before Vance showed up, our apartment was a calm oasis in the middle of our busy lives as a junior doctor and a marketing assistant. But when my roommate’s boyfriend started eating all my food every day, our peaceful home turned into a fight over groceries and respect.
My name’s Freya, and I’m a junior doctor. My days are long and exhausting at the hospital. I come home late, craving some quiet, but lately, that’s been hard to find in our shared apartment.
Before Vance came along, living with Lila was great. We both had packed schedules, but we made our place a cozy retreat.
I’m swamped with hospital shifts, and Lila’s busy with marketing projects and tight deadlines. On rare free weekends, we’d enjoy lazy mornings, sipping coffee and chatting about our lives.
It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. We had a quiet agreement to respect each other’s space, which kept everything smooth.
Our apartment was like a safe haven from our crazy jobs. Then Vance started coming over, and everything changed. He’s here almost every day, eating my groceries like they’re his own. No matter how much I buy, the fridge is empty when I get home. Milk? Gone. Eggs? Eaten. Fresh veggies? Poof. It’s maddening.
“Lila,” I said one evening, “Vance keeps eating my food.”
She shrugged. “He’s just hungry, Freya. He sends you money, right?”
“That’s not the issue,” I said. “I’m wiped out after work, looking forward to dinner, and there’s nothing left. I can’t shop every day.”
Lila sighed. “You’re making a big deal out of it. It’s just food.”
But it wasn’t just food to me. It was the breaking point after a tough day. And Vance’s “I’ll send you cash” every time he emptied the fridge felt like a slap. He acted like I was his personal grocery store.
One night, I talked to Vance directly. He was in the kitchen, digging through the fridge as usual.
“Vance, you’ve got to stop eating my stuff,” I said, keeping my voice calm.
He looked up, grinning. “Hey, Freya, no problem. I’ll send you some money.”
“That’s not the point,” I said, irritation creeping in. “I need the food I buy. I don’t have time to keep restocking.”
He laughed. “You’re serious? It’s just food. Relax.”
“Just food?” I repeated. “It’s my food. I’m tired of coming home to nothing.”
Vance shrugged, clearly not caring. “Fine, I’ll stop. It’s not a big deal.”
But he didn’t stop. Days passed, and nothing changed. Every night, I found an empty fridge. The frustration piled up until I couldn’t stand it.
The next day, I went grocery shopping with a new idea. I bought my usual stuff: milk, eggs, veggies, and a few extras. When I got home, I put price tags on everything—crazy high ones. $50 for milk, $20 for broccoli, $20 for an apple. It looked wild, but I needed to make a point.
That evening, Vance came over as usual. I sat at the kitchen table, flipping through a magazine but really watching for his reaction. He opened the fridge, saw the price tags, and his mouth fell open.
“What’s this?” he asked, holding up a milk carton labeled $50.
“New prices,” I said coolly. “Since you treat my fridge like a store, I figured it’s only fair.”
He laughed, thinking I was kidding. When I didn’t smile, his grin faded. “You’re for real?”
“Completely,” I said. “Pay up or stop eating my food.”
Vance sighed and, to my surprise, pulled out his phone. “Whatever,” he mumbled, sending me the ridiculous amounts. I watched, a small grin on my face. It was working. He was actually paying.
With the money Vance sent, I bought a mini fridge. It was perfect—small enough for my room but big enough for my essentials. Best of all, it had a lock. I set it up, moved my groceries in, and locked it tight. My food was finally safe.
The first night with my mini fridge felt amazing. I came home, opened it, and there were my groceries, exactly as I left them. I made a quick dinner, savoring the peace of knowing Vance couldn’t touch it.
Weeks passed, and the change was incredible. No more empty fridge. No more stress piling up. I felt in control again, able to relax after work.
Lila noticed the difference. “You seem calmer lately,” she said one night.
“I am,” I smiled. “Fixing the fridge problem helped a lot.”
Vance wasn’t thrilled. “You didn’t have to go that far,” he muttered one day. “It was just food.”
“It wasn’t just food to me,” I said firmly. “It was about respect and boundaries.”
Looking back, I realized this whole mess taught me a lot. Setting boundaries is key, and sometimes you need a clever plan to make them stick. Vance didn’t value my stuff, but by standing up, I made him see it mattered.
Every time I locked my mini fridge, I felt a little burst of triumph. I’d outsmarted the freeloader, and it felt great. It wasn’t just about food—it was about standing up for myself and my space.
To anyone dealing with something similar, I’d say: take charge. Don’t let people walk over your kindness. Set boundaries, and don’t be afraid to enforce them. It’s not about being mean; it’s about valuing yourself and your space.
In the end, I learned that a bit of smarts and determination can fix even the most annoying problems. And every time I locked my mini fridge, I grinned, knowing I’d won.
When my almond milk and other groceries started disappearing, I knew someone was taking them. Confronting my roommate Lila and her shady boyfriend Vance uncovered tensions and secrets, leading to a bold move that would settle things in our shared home.
I couldn’t take it anymore. Every time I checked the fridge, my favorite foods were gone. Not just a little here and there, but the good stuff. My special cheeses, my salami, my almond milk.
I looked at the fridge for the hundredth time that week and groaned. Lila was on the couch, painting her nails bright pink.
“Lila,” I said, trying to stay calm, “we need to talk.”
She glanced up. “What’s wrong, Freya?”
“My food keeps vanishing. The stuff I pay extra for.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You think I’m taking it?”
“I’m thinking Vance might be.”
Lila’s face turned red. “Vance? No way. He wouldn’t do that. You’re always so touchy about your food.”
I clenched my hands. “It’s not touchy when it’s true.”
Lila huffed, clearly annoyed. “He’s my guest. Don’t we share stuff here? I don’t care if you eat my food, so what’s the problem?”
“The problem is I’m paying for the good stuff, like almond milk,” I snapped. “And it’s not just a bit—it’s everything.”
Lila rolled her eyes. “You’re so picky.”
I held back a sharp reply and walked away. This was going nowhere. She was too caught up with Vance to listen. I needed a different way to make my point.
The next morning, I checked what was left. The green veggies, like broccoli and celery, were always ignored. An idea hit me. What if I cooked with those? I made some broccoli pasta and left it in the fridge, hoping it would help.
For a few days, it did. The veggie dishes stayed untouched. But the almond milk? Still gone. It drove me up the wall. One night, I overheard Lila and Vance talking in the living room.
