Man Rented His Apartment to a Sweet Old Couple – When They Moved Out, He Was Shocked By What He Found Inside

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

The Outfit That Sparked a Wedding War: Did I Go Too Far…

Claire just wants to be the beautiful mother of the groom. But when she finds out that her daughter-in-law has her own ideas for the wedding, Claire decides to focus on her outfit. This leads to a fight between her and Alice on the wedding day. Alice claims that Claire ruined the wedding by taking her dream dress, while Claire thinks she did nothing wrong. Who is actually at fault?

All I wanted was to be the mother of the groom. That’s it. I just wanted to be a loving mother who adored her son more than anything. But this is the story of how my effort to make my son’s wedding perfect turned into a day we’d all rather forget.

When Mark introduced Alice to us, she was nothing like the person I expected him to fall in love with. Mark, my son, is a lawyer at a top firm, a job he got right after graduating from Stanford.

I’m going to be a lawyer, Mom,” he once told me when he was in high school and working on an essay about his future career.

“I can see that,” I said, making him breakfast as he studied.

“It’s to help fight injustices. For children, specifically,” he added, sipping his orange juice.

Mark had big dreams, and I knew he would always reach for the stars.

Alice was different from Mark. She was light and carefree, while Mark was serious and thoughtful. Alice was a self-taught coder who worked from their cozy apartment. Their personalities, views, and interests didn’t match.

But they made it work—and they were a sweet couple for the most part. But love can be blind.

When Mark proposed to Alice, we were invited to help surprise her.

“Please, Mom,” Mark said on the phone. “Alice isn’t close to her family, so having you and Dad there will show her she’s supported.”

“Of course, honey,” I replied, imagining their wedding.

I put aside my worries and offered to pay for the wedding. James and I had saved money for Mark’s education, but he had received scholarships that covered it all.

“We can use that money for the wedding, Claire,” my husband suggested at lunch the day after the proposal.

“It’s the best thing we can do for them,” I agreed. “This way they can save to move out of that small apartment. I know Mark wants a house with a garden for a dog.”

When we told Mark and Alice, I thought it would bring us closer. I didn’t have any daughters, so I saw this as my chance.

I could get to know Alice better—and it would be good for Mark to see that his wife and mother got along. But planning the wedding only highlighted our differences.

A few months into the planning, I met Alice at a coffee shop to discuss details. But we clashed over everything.

“I think roses are timeless,” I said, enjoying a slice of cake.

“They are, but they’re also overdone,” Alice replied, sipping her tea. “Mark and I want peonies.”

We went back and forth and couldn’t agree on anything.

“How about this?” I suggested. “You pick everything else, and just tell me the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses, so there won’t be any clashes.”

“They won’t be wearing green,” she said. “I’m leaning toward pink.”

I paid the bill, and we parted ways without resolving much.

Then one afternoon, Alice texted me.

“Hi Claire, just picking out my wedding dress with the girls! I wish you were here!”

She attached photos of her top five dress picks.

I knew Alice and I had different ideas about the wedding, but I wanted to be included in the big decisions. I wished she had invited me dress shopping.

“At least she’s sending you the top picks,” James said as he read the newspaper beside me.

“I know, but it’s not the same,” I replied.

“Do they look good?” he asked. “Can I see them?”

We scrolled through the dress photos together. They were fine, but nothing special.

None of them seemed to meet the standard I expected for my future daughter-in-law.

Alice’s favorite dress wasn’t what I expected.

I typed back, telling Alice it wasn’t the best choice and hoped my financial support would matter. James and I hadn’t set a budget; they had everything available to them.

“Why not consider the second one? It might be more flattering for you.”

James chuckled beside me.

“You’re overstepping,” he said.

Before I could respond, I got a message from Alice.

“Sorry, but I disagree. This is the dress I’m choosing.”

That night at dinner, as James plated our salmon, I shared my frustration.

“Alice isn’t even considering my opinion, and I’m paying for the dress!” I said.

James tried to mediate and even texted Mark to let him know how I felt.

“I think you should let them handle the wedding planning now,” he said. “Focus on yourself and your dress.”

Mark eventually convinced Alice to wear the dress I preferred.

I had to admit, it was the easier option, and I hadn’t had time to shop for my dress before that.

So, I visited a few boutiques and found my perfect dress. It was emerald green, which I knew would highlight my eyes.

“That’s beautiful,” James said when I tried it on for him.

I felt different. I no longer felt like the sidelined mother of the groom. Instead, I felt beautiful and confident every time I thought of the dress.

As the wedding week approached, James and I made sure to be present at all the events Mark and Alice needed us to attend, including the rehearsal dinner, where we raised our glasses to toast them.

“All sorted, Mom?” Mark asked me. “Your dress and everything?”

I smiled at my son. Even with the tension between Alice and me, he always checked in on me.

“Of course,” I replied. “I’m ready to celebrate you and Alice.”

On the morning of the wedding, I put on my green dress and did my makeup. It was everything I had wanted to look like for my son’s wedding—elegant and classy.

When I arrived at the venue, the atmosphere was thick with whispers. I ignored them, thinking everyone was just surprised to see me in something different.

I went straight to the bride’s dressing room, hoping to see Alice and compliment her before she walked down the aisle.

When I opened the door, Alice looked up, and her joyful expression turned into one of devastation. She looked me up and down and then burst into tears.

“Why did you do this to me, Claire?” she sobbed, her voice choked with emotion.

Confused, I stepped into the room and closed the door.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Your dress!” she exclaimed.

“What about it?” I asked, second-guessing everything.

“It’s my dream wedding dress, just in another color,” she said, nearly shouting.

I was taken aback.

“Alice, honestly,” I said. “I didn’t realize—they look so different in color.”

But Alice wasn’t listening. She sat on the couch, her head in her hands.

“How could you?” she cried. “You’ve made this day about you! Just because we didn’t take any of your suggestions!”

Mark, hearing the commotion from his dressing room, rushed in.

“Mom? What’s going on?” he asked, looking between us for an explanation.

Trying to calm the situation, I explained slowly.

“I didn’t see the resemblance, Mark,” I said. “I truly just loved the dress, and I thought—”

Alice stood up and marched toward Mark.

“No!” she shouted. “You thought you’d show me what I could’ve had, but in green. Isn’t that it?”

“Mom, please,” Mark said. “Let’s just try to get through the day. Please, for me.”

I agreed and left the dressing room, wanting to find James and sit quietly until the day was over.

I knew Alice and I were on a thin line, but I didn’t expect her to shout at me like that.

Naturally, I was upset, but I didn’t want to ruin their day any more.

Looking back, maybe I should have been more open to Alice’s wishes. It was her day after all, not just mine to control. The question of whether I was wrong weighs heavily on me.

Yes, in trying to impose my vision, I may have lost sight of what truly mattered—Alice’s happiness and Mark’s peace on their special day.

Was I wrong for what I did?