My new apartment was supposed to be the start of a new chapter. I’m Samantha, 35, and after years of saving, I finally moved into my dream two-bedroom flat in a historic district. It had vintage fixtures, a balcony overlooking the park, and was everything I had ever wanted.
Two weeks ago, I was overjoyed, twirling around my empty living room. “Can you believe it, Mom? It’s all mine!”
My mom, Christie, stood in the doorway, her smile tight. “It’s nice, honey, but are you sure? It’s so far from home.”
I reassured her. “Mom, I’m 35. I need my own space. It’s just a 30-minute drive. I’ll visit often.”
But soon, my excitement turned to dread. One morning, I found a crumpled note on my door: “Move out or you’ll regret it.” It was just the start. Threatening notes continued, each one more alarming than the last.
Close-up of an apartment door | Source: flickr.com/i eated a cookie/CC BY 2.0
“This apartment will harm you.”
“Get out before it’s too late.”
Every day, I lived in fear, checking locks and avoiding windows. Then, I found a dead pigeon on my balcony—a disturbing omen. It wasn’t the first time, and my anxiety escalated.
Desperate for answers, I installed hidden cameras. A week later, as I reviewed the footage, my heart sank. The figure leaving the threats was my own mother.
I called her the next morning. “Hey, want to come over for coffee?”
“Of course!” she replied cheerfully.
When she arrived, we sat down, and I finally confronted her. “Mom, I’ve been finding threatening notes. I saw you on the camera.”
Her face turned white as she burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Sammy. I miss you so much. I thought if I scared you, you’d come back. I didn’t know what else to do.”
I was stunned. “Mom, why didn’t you just talk to me?”
“I didn’t want to burden you,” she said, sobbing.
We talked it out, and I felt a weight lift. Then I noticed Ginger, the neighbor’s cat, strolling across my balcony with a limp bird in his mouth. The dead pigeons were his doing all along.
Despite everything, I laughed at the absurdity. Mom joined in, and for a moment, it felt like old times. This ordeal taught me the importance of communication and understanding. Love, even when misguided, can bring us back together.
