I thought I’d found the perfect setup — a beautiful apartment in Riverside Heights, split with friends, furnished mostly with things I’d brought from my childhood home. For weeks, it felt like a dream. We shared my couch, coffee maker, dishes, and even my quirky pineapple lamp. Then my grandmother passed away, leaving me a modest inheritance — enough to feel secure, not enough to change my life entirely.

At first, my roommates seemed happy for me. But the very next evening, they sat me down and suggested I start paying more rent because I now “had more money.” I reminded them I had already furnished the entire place and often covered groceries. They brushed it off as “different,” calling their demand “fairness.” That was when I realized my grief had become their opportunity.

The next day, I moved every item I owned into my bedroom — the furniture, kitchenware, even the shower curtain. The living room became empty, and my roommates were shocked. They argued, guilt-tripped, and bargained, but I refused to share again. When they ate cereal out of mugs or sat on the floor, I kept to myself.

Weeks later, when our lease was up, I told them I was leaving. I’d found a small one-bedroom and could afford it thanks to my grandmother’s gift. They tried to negotiate, but the trust was gone.

On moving day, I packed my things, leaving behind a note: “Thanks for showing me the difference between roommates and friends. Grandma was right — money shows true colors.”

Now, in my own space, I drink coffee in peace, grateful not just for Grandma’s financial gift, but for the lesson she left me: know your worth, and protect it.