Man Rented His Apartment to a Sweet Old Couple – When They Moved Out, He Was Shocked By What He Found Inside
When I first rented my apartment to Hans and Greta, a sweet old couple with warm smiles and charming accents, I thought I’d found the perfect tenants. But when they moved out, I was plunged into a mystery that would shatter my trust and lead to an unbelievable twist.
Hans and Greta seemed like the sweetest couple I had ever encountered. Late seventies, gentle manners, and warm smiles that could melt the coldest heart.
Hans had a neat silver mustache that twitched when he laughed, and Greta had this kind, motherly demeanor. They spoke with curious accents that I couldn’t quite place, a mix of something European and quaint.
A happy elderly couple in the kitchen | Source: Pexels
“I hope this apartment will be just right for you,” I said as I showed them around.
“It’s perfect,” Greta replied with a smile. “Just like home.”
They moved in smoothly, and for the entire year they stayed, there were no issues at all. They paid their rent on time, kept the place immaculate, and even left little thank-you notes when I came to check on the property.
A handsome apartment with wood floors | Source: Pexels
They’d often invite me in for tea, regaling me with stories of their adventures back in the days when they were young. It was hard to imagine a more ideal scenario.
“Thank you so much for letting us stay here, Mark,” Hans said one afternoon. “You’ve been a wonderful landlord.”
“You two have been the best tenants. If only everyone was like you,” I replied, sipping the tea Greta had made. It was chamomile, fragrant and soothing.
An elderly couple enjoying warm drinks | Source: Pexels
“Do you remember the time we got lost in the Black Forest?” Greta asked Hans, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Oh yes, that was quite the adventure!” Hans laughed. “We were young and foolish, thought we could navigate without a map.”
“Ended up spending the night in a shepherd’s hut,” Greta added, shaking her head.
However, as their lease neared its end, something strange happened. Hans and Greta, usually so calm and measured, seemed to be in a rush to move out.
Household contents being packed into boxes | Source: Pexels
They were always in a hurry, packing boxes and arranging things in a frenzy. When I asked if everything was okay, they assured me with those same warm smiles that everything was fine.
“Just some family matters,” Greta explained. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure? You both seem quite frantic,” I pressed, concerned.
Packed items being carried down stairs | Source: Pexels
“It’s all good, Mark. Just some urgent family issues. We’ll miss this place, though,” Hans said, patting my shoulder reassuringly.
The day they moved out, they handed me the keys with an extra firm handshake and an apology for their sudden departure. I wished them well, feeling a bit sad to see them go.
“Thank you for everything, Mark. We hope to see you again someday,” Greta said, giving me a gentle hug.
“Take care, both of you,” I replied, waving as they left.
A hand bearing a bunch of keys | Source: Pexels
The next day, I went to inspect the apartment, expecting to find it in the same pristine condition they had kept it. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, but what I saw made me gasp in shock.
There was no floor. The hardwood planks that had been there were completely gone, leaving only the bare concrete underneath. I stood there, stunned, trying to process what had happened.
“Where the hell is the floor?” I muttered to myself, pacing around the empty rooms.
A room with its floored stripped out | Source: Pexels
I took out my phone, snapped a photo of the empty floor, and sent them a text.
“What happened to the floor?” I asked, attaching the photo.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with a reply. It was from Hans.
A man studying his cell phone | Source: Pexels
“Oh dear, we are so sorry for the confusion! In the Netherlands, it is a tradition to take the floor with you when you move out. We assumed it was the same here. We were in such a rush because our granddaughter had just given birth and needed our help with the baby, and we didn’t have time to explain. We hope this hasn’t caused too much trouble. Please let us make it up to you. Come visit us in the Netherlands, and we will show you our beautiful country. With love, Hans and Greta.”
A man looking out the window, phone in hand | Source: Pexels
I read the message a couple of times, my disbelief slowly turning into a surprised grin. It was such a peculiar tradition, but it did make sense of everything. They hadn’t intended any harm; they were just adhering to a custom from their country.
The urgency in their departure was as sincere and heartfelt as they had always seemed, or so I thought.
I chuckled and replied, “I appreciate the explanation. I’ll need to replace the floor here, but no hard feelings. Maybe I will take you up on that offer to visit. Best wishes to you and your family.”
But something nagged at me. A tradition to take the floor, really? I decided to investigate further. I contacted a friend who was a private investigator and told him the whole story. He agreed to look into it.
A man inspecting documents with a magnifying glass | Source: Pexels
A week later, he called me with some shocking news.
“Mark, you won’t believe this,” he said. “Hans and Greta aren’t who they claimed to be. They’re part of a sophisticated scam targeting landlords, stealing valuable items and leaving with the impression of an innocent mistake. Those floorboards? They’re worth a small fortune.”
“What?” I retorted. “How could they do this? I checked their credentials thoroughly, everything was above board. They had valid residential visas, good credit histories, and no criminal records.”
A man listening on headphones | Source: Pexels
“They’re professionals,” my friend continued. “They move from city to city, targeting kind-hearted landlords like you. Their M.O. involves taking high-value items that can be easily sold.”
I was stunned. “I can’t believe it. They seemed so genuine, so… kind.”
“That’s how they get you,” he said. “They build trust and then take advantage of it.”
An outdoor antique market | Source: Freepik
“We’ve tracked them down,” my friend continued. “They’re planning to sell the stolen floorboards at a high-end antique market. We can set up a sting operation to catch them in the act.”
“Let’s do it,” I said, determined to see justice served.
The plan was simple. We’d catch them in the act of selling the stolen wood. My friend, posing as a buyer, approached Hans and Greta, who were busy setting up their stall with various antique items, including my floorboards.
Two men shake hands in introduction | Source: Pexels
“Excuse me,” my friend said. “I’m interested in those floorboards. They look exquisite.”
Hans smiled. “Ah, yes. Fine Dutch craftsmanship. We know because we are from the Netherlands ourselves. This is very rare, very valuable timber.”
“How much are you asking?” my friend inquired.
“For you, a special price,” Hans replied, naming a figure that made my P.I. friend’s eyes widen in surprise.
Police officers making an arrest | Source: Pexels
As the transaction was about to go through, police officers moved in, as coordinated, surrounding the stall.
“Hands up! You’re under arrest for theft and fraud,” one officer barked.
Hans and Greta looked shocked but didn’t resist as they were handcuffed and led away. I watched from a distance, feeling satisfied, but also sorrowful. How could I have misjudged the character of these people so spectacularly?
The floorboards were recovered, and they turned out to be imported wood worth a fortune. In the weeks that followed, I had the floor replaced, and life returned to normal. But I often thought about Hans and Greta, the weird, invented tradition they had conned me with, and also their seemingly unwavering kindness.
Strips of wood in a pile | Source: Pexels
A month later, I received a letter. It was from the real Hans and Greta in the Netherlands. They had had their identities stolen by the criminal gang, who had hired imposters to pose as them. They had been contacted by Interpol and made aware of the crime.
They invited me to visit the Netherlands and experience their genuine hospitality. “Dear Mark, we are so sorry for what happened. We hope you can find it in your heart to visit us and see the real Netherlands and meet its true people. With love, Hans and Greta.”
I sat back, letter in hand, contemplating the experience. Trust is a fragile thing, I thought, but also incredibly powerful when placed in the right people. Maybe one day, I would visit the real Hans and Greta and rebuild my faith in trust and humanity.
A man reading a letter | Source: Pexels
We Played a Game Answering Calls and Texts with Family on Thanksgiving — I Accidentally Exposed My Husband’s Second Family
What started as a playful Thanksgiving game turned into Mary’s worst nightmare. When a mysterious text on her husband Emmett’s phone mentioned a daughter she’d never heard of, Mary’s world spiraled. Her investigation uncovers a shocking double life—a second family, complete with a wife and teenage daughter.
Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. There’s something magical about gathering the people you love the most, laughing over turkey and stuffing and spilled gravy, and sharing stories that never seem to grow old.
This year, my family decided to try something a little different: a phone game we’d seen in a movie.
A Thanksgiving dinner | Source: Midjourney
The rules were simple.
Everyone placed their phones in the center of the table, and whenever one buzzed, the person whose turn it was would answer or read the message aloud. It sounded harmless and hilarious, and you know, just a way to spice up the evening.
My husband, Emmett, and I have been married for 25 years. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair and a charming smile that’s disarmed me since the day we met on our college campus.
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
I’ve been a little plain compared to him, with my curly brown hair that rarely cooperates and a fondness for sweaters that my kids tease me about.
Emmett, with his tailored shirts and polished shoes, always seemed to be the one who turned heads.
That night, the table was buzzing with energy as we piled our phones into the center and took turns reading texts aloud. When Emmett’s phone buzzed during my turn, I grabbed it with a laugh, expecting something mundane, like a work email or a reminder about a bill.
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
Instead, the screen displayed a message that made my blood run cold.
Don’t forget, on Thursday, we’re moving Eliza’s things for her performance. Excited for our daughter’s premiere, Em!
I froze.
Daughter?
A lit screen on a phone | Source: Midjourney
We didn’t have a daughter named Eliza. There was no performance on Thursday, nor any premieres that I knew of. I stared at the message, my stomach churning.
But everyone was watching, waiting for me to share the text. My palms were sweating, and my pulse was racing. I wanted to scream.
Thinking fast, I scrolled to an older, innocuous text about a phone bill and read it aloud instead.
A woman sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney
“Looks like we need to update the plan on this number, babe,” I said, forcing a smile.
“Damn, I was hoping Emmett would get something juicy!” his brother, Jacob, laughed.
The table laughed together for a moment, and the game continued, but I was spiraling inside.
A man sitting at a table and laughing | Source: Midjourney
Why would Emmett be so careless? I remembered him fumbling with his phone earlier, mumbling something about needing to call a client.
“I’ll be back in a second, Mary. I just need to sort this out quickly—it’s about a meeting for next week. Plate up for the kids though,” he had said.
At the time, I hadn’t thought twice. Maybe he’d been too distracted to realize how risky this game was.
A man using his phone | Source: Midjourney
That night, I barely slept. Every single time I closed my eyes, I saw the words from that text.
Daughter? Performance?
My mind raced with so many questions. Who was Eliza? What was Emmett hiding?
Who was Emmett hiding?
And why?
A woman laying in bed | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, while Emmett was out walking Lila, our dog, before heading off to work, I found the address attached to the follow-up text message. It was all the details about the performance.
Picking up my notebook, I took down the address and the number belonging to a woman named Alice.
Then, I got into my car and punched it in. According to my GPS, the address led to a school theater in a nearby town. I didn’t want to drive there — not yet.
A notebook and phone on a table | Source: Midjourney
But soon, I’d know the truth. Thursday would come. Soon.
Instead, I went to work.
I felt beyond ridiculous pulling into the parking lot on Thursday evening, but curiosity and suspicion firmly had their claws in me. Inside the theater, the dim lights illuminated a stage where a teenage girl, around 16, was performing a ballet solo.
A girl performing a ballet routine | Source: Midjourney
She had long, dark hair tied back in a neat bun, and her confidence radiated from the stage.
My breath caught when the music stopped, and she bowed. She looked just like Emmett.
In the audience, I spotted him sitting beside a woman holding a bouquet of flowers. They both looked proud, their smiles glowing as they watched their girl perform.
As if I could hear it, my heart cracked open in my chest.
A woman holding a bouquet of roses | Source: Midjourney
When the performance ended and Emmett stepped away, I forced myself to approach the woman. My legs felt like lead, but my voice was steady when I spoke.
“Hello, I’m Emmett’s wife, Mary,” I said.
Her face went pale immediately, the color drained from her face before I could blink.
“Excuse me, what?” she gasped.
A woman holding a bouquet of roses | Source: Midjourney
It turns out that this was Alice, and she and Emmett had been married for 20 years.
20 years.
She had no idea about me or our family.
“He told me that work was demanding, Mary. He made it known when we met years ago. I didn’t question it because a job is a job, and it’s important, you know? I also wasn’t working at the time, so Emmett was supporting me. How could I question his job when I didn’t have one?”
I was silent for a moment.
A man in a suit | Source: Midjourney
“He said that the holidays were the worst for him. I never thought to question it.”
Neither had I.
Whenever Emmett mentioned work or business meetings, I didn’t ask anything beyond where he was staying and when he’d be back. Then, I would help him pack his clothes and pack enough snacks for his trip.
Look at my life now…
Containers of food on a counter | Source: Midjourney
The next day, Alice and I met at a coffee shop. We pieced together Emmett’s double life over matcha lattes neither of us finished.
We learned that he had been moving Alice and their daughter, Eliza, closer to his “primary residence” while claiming work required him to travel frequently.
He’d built two entire lives — one with me and our three children, and another with Alice and Eliza.
Lattes on a table | Source: Midjourney
Alice was petite with short, caramel-colored hair and kind eyes, but there was an edge of hurt and anger in her gaze that mirrored my own.
I could see her hesitation when we first sat down, as if she wasn’t sure whether to trust me.
“I almost didn’t come, Mary,” she admitted. “I wasn’t sure if you were part of this… scheme. I know it sounds so bad, but nothing feels real anymore.”
A woman sitting in a coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
I sighed, nodding.
“I understand exactly what you mean,” I said. “But trust me, I’ve been in the dark as much as you… Do you know that last night, when I sat across from him at dinner, he looked so unfamiliar? It was like I hadn’t seen him before.”
She nodded.
“But I think we both deserve answers and justice.”
A woman sitting in a coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
She nodded again, and from that moment, Alice and I were allies.
Over the next few weeks, Alice and I stayed in touch, sharing more details and uncovering more lies than we had ever thought possible.
We realized that we weren’t just two victims of Emmett’s deceit — we were the heads of two families connected by his betrayal.
A woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“The most difficult part is coming, Mary,” Alice told me on the phone one day.
“I know. Telling the kids is going to be… devastating.”
And sure enough, getting our kids involved was the hardest part. My grown children — Mark, 23, Cami, 21, and Jenelle, 18 — were furious and confused.
Jenelle cried for days; suddenly, she wasn’t the last born. Suddenly, she wasn’t the apple of her father’s eye.
An upset girl | Source: Midjourney
Mark paced the living room, constantly cursing Emmett’s name. Cami was the only one who remained nonchalant.
“What do you want me to say, Mom?” she asked when I went into her bedroom to check on her. “The others have always been closer to Dad. I’m just the middle child.”
“I want you to tell me how you feel, darling,” I said.
An angry young man | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t… care. It’s disgusting that he did this to you and Alice. What self-respecting man does this to two women? Two families? I don’t care what he does, but he’s not my father anymore.”
Alice’s daughter, Eliza, was blindsided, and her teenage world came crumbling down at her feet. It turned out that she and Emmett were really close. She couldn’t take the heartbreak when she discovered the truth.
Eventually, after long conversations and reassurances, we convinced the kids to join us for a joint “celebration” under the guise of blending families.
A nonchalant young woman | Source: Midjourney
Emmett arrived at the restaurant, unaware of what awaited him. When he stepped into the room, his confident stride faltered. His face twisted as his gaze darted between me, Alice, and our children, all standing together.
“Your deceit ends today, Emmett. We all deserve better. You’re pathetic.”
Emmett stammered, his usual charisma failing him for once.
“I can… explain,” he began.
The interior of a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
“No, you’re a horrible excuse for a father and husband, and we’re not interested in your excuses,” Mark said.
Emmett sputtered, attempting to spin a tale about “complicated feelings” and wanting to “keep everyone happy,” but the united strength of both families left him speechless.
In the weeks that followed, Alice and I worked together to untangle the mess Emmett left behind. We sought legal counsel to address any and all financial matters, ensuring our families’ futures were secure.
A lawyer sitting at her desk | Source: Midjourney
Unsurprisingly, Emmett tried to fight back. He claimed he’d acted out of love and that it was fine to love more than one person. But honestly, going the legal route was the best we could have done. His bank statements, travel logs, and more left him with little ground to stand on.
Ultimately, he slunk away, defeated.
My kids struggled to process the betrayal—Cami too, although she pretended she was fine. I spent many sleepless nights sitting on my window seat, questioning everything I thought I knew.
A man standing in a hallway with suitcases | Source: Midjourney
Therapy helped a bit, as did Alice’s support. Eliza and Jenelle worked through their pain together. Over time, Alice and I built a strong friendship — one silver lining in an otherwise dark cloud.
Our children, despite the strange circumstances, began forming sibling-like bonds. They leaned on each other, finding strength in their shared pain.
Thanksgiving will never be the same.
But we’ve created new traditions, ones rooted in honesty and mutual respect. Emmett’s betrayal shattered our families, but in the aftermath, we found something unexpected: a new family.
A smiling older woman | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
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This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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