Imagine coming home after a long day, expecting peace, only to find your husband and his ex-wife in your living room. That’s exactly what happened to me. But Melissa wasn’t just there for a chat. What she was doing was beyond anything I could’ve imagined.
Do you know the feeling when you return home after a day full of meetings and deadlines? All you want is just to take a shower, change into a fresh pair of pajamas, and sink into your cozy bed. It’s just the best feeling ever.
A woman reading a book at night | Source: Pexels
I felt the same when I got home from work two weeks ago. All I wanted was my bed, a cup of hot coffee, and the true-crime documentary I’d been watching. I was set to watch episode 3, but what I saw when I stepped inside made me forget everything.
I opened the door, hung the car keys, and began walking towards my room when something unexpected caught my eye. At first, I really thought I was imagining things because it seemed too odd to be true.
A woman looking at her house, feeling shocked | Source: Midjourney
I noticed the couch was gone, the rug was missing, and even the bookshelf had vanished. I checked the hallway and the kitchen, and sure enough, most of the items were missing. The coat closet? Gone. The coffee machine? Gone. The dining table? GONE!
What the heck? I thought. Where’s Roger?
A woman looking at her kitchen and hallway | Source: Midjourney
Roger, my husband, usually came home before me, but I couldn’t see him around. Then, I heard his voice, like he was yelling at someone. It was coming from the end of the hallway. From our living room.
I threw my bag on the kitchen island and followed his voice. As I got closer, another voice echoed through the hallway. It was a woman’s voice.
A close-up shot of a doorknob | Source: Pexels
Not ready for what was waiting, I pushed the door open and saw my husband with his ex-wife, Melissa. The woman Roger swore he’d never see again, the one he called “a filthy rich spoiled brat.”
I felt like my heart had jumped up to my throat. Why was Melissa in my house?
“Roger?” I said, interrupting their conversation. “What… What happened to our house?”
A woman talking to her husband | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, Liz, you’re here?” Roger asked as if he wasn’t expecting me.
“Yeah, I just got back,” I said. “What’s she doing here?”
“I’ll explain everything,” Roger stuttered. “I’ll fix it, I swear.”
Roger looked desperate for me to stay calm, while Melissa stood there smirking. I almost thought they were having an affair until Melissa’s words sent a wave of pure rage through me.
A woman in her ex’s house, looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
“No, you won’t,” she snapped at Roger. “Didn’t you tell her that everything you owned is mine?”
“I… I…” Roger stammered, lost for words.
“Well, honey,” she said, turning to me. “All of this furniture… it belongs to me. You see, your husband and I bought it together when we were married, so I’m just taking back what’s mine.”
What the… I thought. What does she think of herself?
She was practically destroying my house and acting like it was no big deal.
A woman looking at her ex’s wife | Source: Midjourney
I remember staring at her for a few moments, thinking what kind of an evil person would enter their ex’s house and take away most of their furniture.
I wanted to scream, to kick her out, but I couldn’t. Not with Roger just standing there silently and watching as she humiliated me.
“And you’re letting her take everything?” I finally managed to speak, looking straight into Roger’s eyes. “You didn’t even try to stop her? And why didn’t you tell me she was coming? You knew, right?”
A woman talking to her husband | Source: Midjourney
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he lowered his gaze. He was too ashamed to even look at me.
“Seriously, Roger? That’s it?” I rolled my eyes. “I never thought you’d let your ex walk out with our whole life! This is ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” Melissa laughed. “I’m sorry honey, but technically everything in your house belongs to me. Even the bed that you two share. I paid for all this stuff, so I have every right to take it.”
Yeah, right, I thought to myself.
A woman in her ex-husband’s house | Source: Midjourney
It would be true if I said I’ve never felt this humiliated in my entire life. Can you even imagine what kind of patience it took to stop myself from humiliating Melissa?
I could’ve thrown every embarrassing secret Roger had told me about Melissa right back at her, but I wasn’t about to stoop to her level. I wasn’t going to be petty.
A woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
At that point, I wanted to ask why she needed this old, used furniture when she could afford a brand-new bed set, and the latest model of the automatic coffee machine.
She was wealthy, owning one of the most popular businesses in town, and she could easily afford a fully furnished house.
But I knew why she was doing it. It was all about humiliating me. I could see the jealousy in her eyes.
A close-up shot of a woman’s eyes | Source: Midjourney
“Fine,” I spat. “Take it. Take everything you own. But don’t you dare contact me or my husband ever again!”
“Sure, honey,” she said, smirking as if she had won the biggest prize of her life.
I watched as she walked toward the main door and called the workers inside to pick up the remaining furniture. Then, I spotted a truck in our backyard, full of the furniture the workers had already moved.
A man moving a couch | Source: Pexels
Meanwhile, Roger silently watched the workers tear our house apart. He was helpless, and just as heartbroken as I was.
That’s when I came up with a plan to make Melissa regret her decision.
Right when she stepped outside to look at the truck, I hurried into the kitchen and pulled out a few frozen shrimp from the freezer. Then, I quickly hid them in different places including our side table, the living room chairs, and inside our mattress.
A woman holding a frozen shrimp | Source: Midjourney
I even stuffed a few of them inside the decorative pillows. I only had to wait for a few days to see the shrimps do their magic.
You see, I knew she wouldn’t keep this furniture in her house. She was probably going to dump it in some storage unit, and I couldn’t wait to see how these little pieces of meat would turn that place into an unbearable stink bomb.
An old chair | Source: Pexels
As the workers loaded the last piece of furniture into the truck, Melissa gave one final self-satisfied glance around, ensuring she had destroyed our house in every possible way.
“I hope you’ve taken everything that’s YOURS,” I said, my arms crossed.
She nodded. “Yup, I’m done, honey. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
Sure, sorry, I thought.
And with that, Melissa left our house and drove away in her shiny SUV. Meanwhile, Roger sat on the ground with his hands on his head.
An upset man sitting on the ground | Source: Midjourney
“I’m so sorry,” he said as tears trickled down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you. She called me a few days ago and told me she’d come over, but I had no idea she was serious. I never thought she’d do this to us.”
I sighed and sat down next to him.
“It’s alright, babe,” I said, caressing his arms. “I wouldn’t want to live in a house furnished by your ex-wife anyway.”
A woman consoling her husband | Source: Midjourney
At that point, I could’ve yelled at Roger, blamed him, and made him feel terrible about the situation, but I knew things weren’t in his control. Besides, that’s exactly what Melissa wanted.
She wanted to see us fight and break apart, and I wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction.
“Instead of apologizing, I want you to buy me new furniture, okay?” I chuckled. “Anything I pick. I want to make this place feel like home again.”
A woman smiling while talking to her husband | Source: Midjourney
“I’ll do that,” he looked up at me with a smile. “I’ll buy every piece of furniture that you want. I promise.”
I held his hand and squeezed it hard.
“I love you, Roger, and I’ll always be there for you,” I said. “We’ll get through this together.”
As we lay on the bedroom floor that night, I realized that I didn’t need Melissa’s furniture to make my house feel like home. I had Roger, and that was all I needed.
But the story doesn’t end here.
A couple sitting together | Source: Pexels
A few days later, while scrolling through Facebook, I stumbled upon a post in one of the local groups. It was from Melissa, and it was clear she was desperate.
HELP NEEDED URGENTLY! Does anyone know how to get rid of a horrible, rotting meat smell in furniture? I recently moved some old furniture into a storage unit, and within days, it started smelling like something died inside.
I’ve tried airing it out, deep cleaning, and even using baking soda, but nothing works! The smell is unbearable, and I can’t even walk into the storage room without gagging. Please, if anyone has tips, I’m losing my mind here!
A woman using her phone | Source: Pexels
I couldn’t help but chuckle while reading her frantic post. All her wealth, all her pride, and she was brought down by a few pieces of hidden shrimp.
It was the sweetest revenge. Served cold.
What would you have done if you were in my place?
If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might like: When George told Sylvia she was only half the mom his late wife was and wished SHE had died instead, her world shattered. But she didn’t break. In the face of his cruel words, Sylvia made a decision that would change everything and show just how powerful a mother’s love can be.
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.
Entitled Hotel Guest Mocked My Mom Who Works as a Maid, so She Taught Her Never to Mess with Housekeeping Again
Entitled Hotel Guest Mocked My Mom Who Works as a Maid, so She Taught Her Never to Mess with Housekeeping Again
When a devoted hotel maid is tormented by a wealthy and arrogant guest, she devises a plan that turns the tables in the most unexpected way. Instead of seeking revenge with anger, she orchestrates a quiet but powerful act of defiance that forces the cruel woman to face the bitter consequences of her actions.
Woman cleaning a hotel room | Source: Pexels
My mother has always been a source of inspiration for me. As a maid at a fancy local hotel, she takes immense pride in her work. She treats every room as if it were her own, ensuring everything is spotless and welcoming for the guests.
Recently, however, she had an encounter that tested her patience like never before. It all started on a seemingly ordinary day. My mother was assigned to clean room 256, which was occupied by a young woman named Ms. Johnson.
Woman in uniform beside hotel room bed | Source: Pexels
From the moment she stepped into the room, my mother could sense the woman’s dislike for her. Ms. Johnson lounged on the bed, scrolling through her phone, barely acknowledging my mother’s presence.
As my mother meticulously cleaned the room, making sure every surface was spotless, Ms. Johnson suddenly knocked her coffee cup off the table, sending dark liquid spilling onto the freshly mopped floor. She didn’t even flinch. Instead, she looked my mother straight in the eye and sneered, “Clean that up!”
Coffee mug falling | Source: Pexels
My mother’s heart sank. She had worked so hard to make the room perfect, only to see her efforts so carelessly undone. But she knew she couldn’t afford to lose her job. It provided her with a sense of independence and stability for our family.
A person vacuuming a rug | Source: Pexels
Swallowing her pride, she silently cleaned the floor again, all while feeling Ms. Johnson’s piercing gaze on her. As she worked, the woman laughed. The mocking giggle echoed through the room. “Well done for a maid. You didn’t even talk back to me,” she taunted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tomorrow, I’ll come up with something more interesting for you.”
Woman standing near table with pastries | Source: Pexels
My mother finished her task, holding back tears. She knew showing any sign of distress would only give the woman more satisfaction. That night, as she recounted the story to me, I could see the hurt in her eyes. But there was also a spark of determination. She wasn’t going to let this entitled guest break her spirit.
Mother and daughter sitting at the table holding hands | Source: Pexels
The next day, my mother went to work with a plan. She knew Ms. Johnson would try to humiliate her again, but this time, she was ready. She was determined to show this woman that kindness and respect were not weaknesses and that underestimating the resolve of someone who works with dignity and pride was a grave mistake.
Woman holding a plastic basin with cleaning materials | Source: Pexels
Around mid-morning, my mother walked into room 256 with a steely determination. She had a plan. Sure enough, there she was, Ms. Johnson, reclining on the bed, her smirk already in place.
“Oh, look who’s back,” Ms. Johnson said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Let’s see what mess I can make for you today.” She reached for her coffee cup, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Woman leaning on handrail in a hotel room | Source: Pexels
My mother kept her composure. She knew what to expect. Without a word, she began her cleaning routine, methodically and efficiently, refusing to rise to the bait. As she moved around the room, she noticed something important: Ms. Johnson’s laptop was left open on the table, the screen glowing with unattended work.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” my mother said in her most polite tone. “I need to dust the table. Would you mind closing your laptop?”
Person using phone with laptop on desk | Source: Pexels
Ms. Johnson huffed and rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she muttered, snapping the laptop shut and placing it to the side with an exaggerated sigh. “But hurry up. I have important work to do.”
“Of course, ma’am,” my mother replied, her voice steady.
Woman relaxing in a hotel room | Source: Pexels
“You’re slower than yesterday,” Ms. Johnson remarked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do they not teach speed in maid school?” My mother ignored the jab, focusing on her task.
Ms. Johnson’s impatience was palpable, and she drummed her fingers on the bedside table. “Done yet?” Ms. Johnson snapped.
Woman tiding up a hotel room | Source: Pexels
“Almost, ma’am,” my mother replied calmly.
Just then, the door opened, and Mr. Ramirez, the hotel manager, appeared. He glanced around the room, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. “Good morning, Ms. Johnson,” he greeted her warmly.
“I trust everything is to your satisfaction?”
Hotel manager entering a room | Source: Pexels
Ms. Johnson scoffed. “It’s fine. Your maid here is just clumsy and slow.”
Mr. Ramirez frowned slightly. “I’m sorry to hear that. Our staff is trained to provide excellent service.”
“Well, maybe she needs more training,” Ms. Johnson said, casting a disdainful look at my mother.
Mr. Ramirez turned to my mother, concern evident in his eyes. “Mrs. Adams, is there a problem?”
My mother met his gaze with her calm and professional demeanor. “No, Mr. Ramirez. Everything is under control.”
A chambermaid holding a stack of towels | Source: Pexels
Mr. Ramirez nodded, though his concern lingered. “Ms. Johnson, I assure you, we will make sure your stay is as comfortable as possible.”
Ms. Johnson waved dismissively. “Just make sure she doesn’t break anything.”
Mr. Ramirez gave my mother an encouraging smile before leaving. As the door closed behind him, my mother felt a surge of quiet confidence. She was ready for whatever Ms. Johnson had in store next.
Woman fixing pillows on the bed | Source: Pexels
My mother continued her work, but she had one more trick up her sleeve. She knew Ms. Johnson would never learn unless she experienced a bit of discomfort herself.
As she finished cleaning, my mother subtly dropped a small, harmless but unpleasant-smelling packet under the bed. It was a trick she had learned from an old colleague, a mixture that would release a gradually intensifying odor over time. It wasn’t immediately noticeable, but within a few hours, it would become quite bothersome.
A tidy hotel room | Source: Pexels
“All done, ma’am,” my mother said standing up and gathering her cleaning supplies. “Have a pleasant day.”
The next morning, my mother arrived at work and was immediately greeted by the sight of Ms. Johnson in the lobby, furiously arguing with Mr. Ramirez. Her face was flushed with anger, and her voice carried through the lobby.
Man and woman standing in a hotel lobby | Source: Pexels’
“I can’t stay in that room! It smells awful! How can you expect guests to stay in such conditions?” Ms. Johnson was practically shouting, drawing the attention of other guests and staff members.
Mr. Ramirez, ever the professional, maintained his calm demeanor. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Ms. Johnson. We take such matters very seriously. We’ll investigate the cause of the smell immediately and move you to another room in the meantime.”
Two people standing at a hotel entrance | Source: Pexels
Ms. Johnson, still fuming, stormed off, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. Mr. Ramirez turned to my mother, who had been quietly watching the scene unfold.
“Mrs. Adams, could you please check Ms. Johnson’s room and see if you can find the source of the smell?” he asked, his voice calm but concerned. “Of course,” my mother replied, hiding a smile. She headed to room 256, her heart pounding with satisfaction.
A clean hotel room | Source: Unsplash
Inside the room, my mother quickly found the packet she had placed under the bed and discreetly removed it. She then opened the windows and turned on the fan, allowing fresh air to circulate and clear the odor. As she worked, she couldn’t help but feel a small surge of triumph. Ms. Johnson had finally tasted a bit of her own medicine.
Woman carrying a stack of towers | Source: Pexels’
As she left the room, she ran into Mr. Ramirez in the hallway. “Did you find the source of the smell?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Ramirez,” my mother replied. “It seems something had been left under the bed. I’ve removed it and aired out the room. It should be fine now.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Adams,” Mr. Ramirez said, a hint of relief in his voice. “You’ve done an excellent job, as always.”
Hotel worker doing room service | Source: Pexels
My mother nodded and continued with her day, knowing that sometimes, justice is served in the smallest of actions. But that wasn’t enough. My mom had one more lesson to teach Ms. Johnson.
The next day, she was assigned to help move Ms. Johnson’s belongings to another room. As usual, Mom did her job efficiently, ensuring every item was carefully placed in the new room.
Delivery man holding a cardboard box | Source: Pexels
Later that afternoon, a courier arrived with a package for room 256; Ms. Johnson’s previous room. Aware that Ms. Johnson had moved to room 312, Mom saw this as her chance to deliver a delayed but impactful lesson.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said to the courier, stepping forward with a polite smile. “The guest in room 256 has been moved to room 312. You can leave the package at the front desk, and I will ensure it gets to her.” The courier nodded, handing over the package. “Thank you. I appreciate it,” he said, already turning to leave.
A person holding a package | Source: Pexels
My mother took the package to the front desk and, with a smile, placed it in the corner behind some other deliveries, making sure it would not be found immediately.
The next day, Ms. Johnson was in a frenzy. She was preparing for her flight and an important event later that evening. Suddenly, she realized something crucial was missing. She frantically called the front desk, her voice shaking with panic.
An angry woman in aa grey tank top | Source: Pexels
“I had a package delivered to room 256. Where is it? It has my plane tickets and my dress for tonight’s event!” Ms. Johnson’s voice was a mix of anger and desperation.
The front desk clerk, taken aback by her intensity, quickly checked the records. After some confusion and a hurried search, they found the package tucked away in the corner. The clerk immediately called my mother to deliver it to Ms. Johnson’s new room, 312.
Receptionist making a phone call | Source: Pexels
My mother, with a calm and measured pace, made her way to the room. She knocked on Ms. Johnson’s door, her expression serene. The woman yanked the door open, her eyes wide with anxiety. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for that package!” she snapped.
“Here is your package, ma’am. It was delivered to the wrong room,” my mother said sweetly, holding out the package.
A person holding a brown box | Source: Pexels
Ms. Johnson snatched the package from her hands and ripped it open. Her face fell as she realized the delay had cost her dearly. The tickets were now useless, and she had no time to prepare for her event. Frustration and defeat were etched into her features. She could only muster a weak, “Thanks,” before slamming the door in my mother’s face.
Mom walked away, a slight smile playing on her lips. She knew she had given Ms. Johnson a taste of her own medicine, all without stepping outside the bounds of her duties. It was a quiet victory, but a deeply satisfying one.
Woman standing under a chandelier of a hotel room | Source: Pexels
When my mother told me about the incident later, I could see the relief in her eyes. “Sometimes,” she said, her voice soft but firm, “the best revenge is simply letting people experience the consequences of their own actions.”
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