I never thought a roommate could make me homeless.
I’m Kayla, 29 now. This happened from 2022 to early 2023, when I was 27 and trying to rebuild after a bad breakup.
I’d just moved to Seattle for a marketing job at a startup — decent salary ($75k), but rent was insane. Found a cute two-bedroom in Capitol Hill on Craigslist: $2,400/month split, utilities included. The girl posting — Brooke — seemed perfect: 28, graphic designer, friendly texts, shared love of plants and true crime podcasts.
We met for coffee. Clicked instantly. Signed the lease together in June 2022 — both names, joint and several liability. Moved in July.
First few months were great.
Wine nights, shared groceries, venting about work. She helped me decorate, I cooked for us. We became real friends — or so I thought.
Then the red flags.
Brooke’s hours got erratic — “freelance deadlines.” She’d disappear for days, come back with shopping bags but complain about being broke.
Rent was due the 1st. I Venmo’d my half ($1,200) by the 30th every month. She always said “Sent!” but I never checked the landlord app — trusted her to forward.
By October, she started “forgetting” utilities. I covered them to avoid late fees.
She’d borrow my clothes, my AirPods, my laptop “for quick edits” — always returned, so I didn’t mind.
In December 2022, our landlord emailed: “Rent payment overdue for November.”
I freaked.
Showed Brooke — she swore she’d paid, “bank glitch.”
I paid the late November + December to catch up — $4,800 from savings.
She promised to Venmo me back.
Never did.
January 2023: same thing.
Landlord: “Two months behind. Eviction notice if not paid by Feb 1.”
I confronted Brooke.
She cried: “I’m in a bind — client didn’t pay. I’ll get it next week.”
I paid again — drained my emergency fund.
By February, I was broke — maxed credit card for groceries.
Then the real betrayal.
Mid-February, landlord called me directly: “Kayla, we need to talk. Brooke came in alone and tried to remove your name from the lease — said you’d moved out. Forged your signature.”
My blood ran cold.
I checked the lease app — documents uploaded: a “lease amendment” with my “signature” removing me, effective March 1.
It was forged — sloppy, but close enough to fool a busy landlord.
I confronted Brooke.
She denied at first — “I’d never!”
Then admitted: “I thought if it was just me, I could sublet your room and catch up.”
She’d planned to kick me out — keep my stuff or sell it, rent my room to someone else.
I called police — non-emergency, reported forgery.
They said it was civil, not criminal — “Take it to small claims.”
Landlord sided with her — “She’s been paying on time lately” (with my money).
Gave me 30 days to vacate — March 1.
I had nowhere to go.
No savings left. Credit wrecked from covering her.
Friends’ couches full. Family 2,000 miles away.
I begged landlord for extension.
Denied.
Brooke changed locks while I was at work — February 28.
Came home to my stuff in boxes on the porch.
Rain pouring.
She’d thrown out half my clothes, kept my TV, plants, kitchen stuff.
Texted: “Sorry, needed space. Good luck!”
I slept in my car that night.
Called domestic violence shelter (they help non-DV homelessness too) — waitlist.
Stayed in motels when I could afford, car the rest.
Showered at work gym.
Hid it from coworkers — “Apartment flood, staying with friends.”
Lost 15 pounds from stress.
In April 2023, got a sublet room from a coworker who found out.
Started rebuilding.
Sued Brooke in small claims — won $8k judgment for stolen items and back rent I’d covered.
She never paid — “no assets.”
Changed name on socials, moved away.
I’m okay now — 2026.
Promoted at work. New apartment alone. Savings growing.
Therapy for trust issues.
I see Brooke’s old Instagram sometimes — new city, new “besties,” same smile.
She never apologized.
The betrayal didn’t just leave me homeless.
It left me questioning every “friend” I let close.
I trusted her with my home, my money, my vulnerability.
She used it to throw me out.
One roommate’s lie didn’t just cost me a place to live.
It cost me the belief that people who say “we’re like sisters” mean it.
I’m stronger now.
Wiser.
Doors locked.
Leases checked.
No more blind trust.
Because the person who says “I’ve got you” might be the one who pushes you out into the rain.
When you need them most.
TL;DR: Trusted roommate with joint lease; she forged my signature to remove me, stopped paying rent (I covered), then changed locks and threw my stuff out while I was at work — leaving me homeless, sleeping in my car. She kept/sold my belongings and vanished. Small claims win went unpaid. The betrayal cost me my home, savings, and faith in friendship.
