Edge Brush

...vulnerable, extended well beyond the edge of the articulated table, bathed... back-and-forth movement of the brush, pressing barely any harder on ... torturous caress of the brush. The laughter grew strident, high-pitched, .... Excellent." He set the brush back down on the tray. ...benevolent smile, picking up a brush made of very fine silk. "...shockwave was immediate. Where the brush and feather had induced a ...

...!” replied Noah with a frantic edge to his voice. “You hate... rapidly loosening towel to occasionally brush against his balls, which sent...

... pre-play, and then a carbon brush on the record while it... turntable? Click to expand... CF Brush, which I mist with water&small... remove static....then again to brush dust off the edge. For normal everyday play...

... is under siege. At the edge of the courtyard, a massive... looks suspiciously like a wire brush. He carries a clipboard and...

...Elio drag the shimmering, violet-black brush down the length of her... weapon down the outer edge, mapping the heavily padded heel, ... as she gripped the edge. She disguised the frantic, hitched ...about liability." Anya traced the edge of a toxicology readout with ... Clack. Clack. She paced the edge of the staging area, her ... burgundy-lacquered index talon tracing the edge of the dense toxicology report. ...

... Raiding Vessels, lady. On the edge of the auspex range. Brahms: .... So we can kinda just brush aside the whole "they are ...

...for the title — his fingers brush the gold — but Lashley grabs ...Cena with him. What is Edge planning?! Edge positions Cena at the top ...tears streaming down her face. Edge stares at the ceiling, his ...Champion John Cena Retained — defeated Edge in Last Man Standing United ... Cena has definitively defeated Edge in Last Man Standing — the ... endorsing John Cena's performance Edge has run out of championship ...

... leads you further to the edge of madness A user-friendly VR ... overall 2.5 million virtual brush strokes, making every moment a ... leads you further to the edge of madness. Navigate the neon-lit ... overall 2.5 million virtual brush strokes, making every moment a ...

... other like a standard bristle brush (grey) Product specifications: The Blue... Dustpan & Brush Set is designed for efficient... hard-to-reach areas Brush clips into dustpan for storage Scraper edge for cleaning... bristles Hole for hanging Two scrapers on the brush for...

... Emara) Curves New sculpt Cut brush (commit) - (RedMser) Cycles HIP-RT... Gahbiche) Modeling Warn when spacing edge loops evenly on face selections... (Hans Goudey) Store UV border edge primitive index as index (commit...

Portiaboobies36 said: Sent you a conversation note I wish my nurses looked like you when I had a 5 month stay in hospital last year. I did get to brush my hand agaisnt their breasts when they took my blood pressure and saw down some of the physio therapists scrubs and got a view of a nice bra and edge of areola

...intense enough to maintain the edge. The erotic torment built steadily. ...eternity — bringing her to the edge at least a dozen times, ... unfulfilled need. “This is the edge,” he said softly. “ You don’t ... in new, devastating ways — vibrating brush between her toes while feathers ... suddenly shifted to the teasing edge again — but this time he ...stimulation pushed her over the edge harder than she had ever ...

... have stereo written across the brush assembly and have a rise... will play almost anything, including edge warped albums. Amazing. I don’t...

... sides by about 2 inches.  Brush the paper with oil or....  Run a knife around the edge and slide the cake with ...

... in Cappuccino: Trace the outer edge of your lips for a.... Just wait 30 seconds and brush gently to remove. Aveeno Skin...

.../IMG20260719083406.jpg) --- >**Plastic container** Brush Paints (Red, Yellow, Black) Green..., I outlined the very top edge of the container with black...

Lasu said: Safety goggles Those look like my DeWalts, with a slightly different color scheme. I like them a lot. I have had a tiny bit of wire brush bristle make it through an air vent on the eyebrow edge, though, and tumbled into my eye. Not good. That's what I get for straying from goggles + shield, too. Also, cheap Chinese brush.

... can buy! More brush carried over to the woods edge. Looks like...

... & they come with different brush swatches already, so you can... → satin will add a coloured edge to your art. If you...

I've never thrown a controller, nor dropped a controller while it was in use.... I have accidentally knocked a controller off the table before though 'cause it was too close to the edge, and I'm quite poorly coordinated when it comes to moving my body around... always accidentally hitting the corners of things, or some looser fitting clothing catching on objects as I brush past...

... birthday. I remember my first brush with invincibility. It was such.... My breasts hang over the edge. As he walks past me... my thighs. I grab the brush and yank it free from .... I sit on the very edge and theatrically place one heel ... legs begin cramping, and the edge of the desk bites into ... the object. I press its edge against the desk to measure ..., I manage to bring the edge of the cylinder level with ...

Roborock Edge 2 Pro Robot Vacuum Powerful ... a complete floor clean Anti-tangle brush system helps minimise hair wrap... obstacle detection Extending side brush and mop improve edge and corner cleaning...

..., I had a carbon fiber brush and I'd run it around... and they carefully bring the brush to the edge and think all is good.... I suspect all that happens is that the brush re-distributes the.... I gave up using the brush as it just showed me ... playing I run the CF brush around to gather any bits ...

Edit 7/14/26: What the hell it’s been 4 days and she texted me back saying “heyyyy” I met a woman on Tinder and we hit it off really well. I took her for a ride on my motorcycle and then we hung out after in my apartment. She talked about wanting to go for a walk in nature with me. Two days later, she texted me all excited wanting to see me again. I took her to this trail with stone carvings that not a lot of people know about and then we came back to my place and watched anime. It was a great night with good conversation. I really saw something there. She started calling me “love” the second time we hung out and I’m not going to lie that contributed to me starting to fall for her. It was so cool how we were listening to music in my car and we each kept adding songs to queue and they were songs that the other one of us also loved. After that second hangout, she only texted back twice that day and then waited 24 hours and then just gave a “heart” emoji to the last thing I said - which was a high effort text that would have been easy for her to go off of and respond to. That hurts man, we had such great conversation and I genuinely enjoyed the time we spent hanging out together. I thought there was going to be something there and then she just went from seemingly pretty high interest to not even able to find the effort to text me back/ just ghosting. I should have known it was a red flag when she tried to make me guess how many likes she had gotten on Tinder while we were hanging out for the first time and telling me how amazed she was. It’s gotta be crazy being a 19 year old woman and having hundreds of guys expressing interest in you for doing absolutely nothing besides just existing. Feels like I lost the lottery by being born a guy sometimes. Do women really value us so low that they don’t even think we deserve an explanation of how one day they’re saying they like you and insinuating there might be a relationship, flirting with you, and calling you “love” and then the next day they just disappear? How do they live with themselves knowing they are seriously hurting the men they are doing this to? Was she just bored and had nothing else going on so she created what seemed like the start of what could be a relationship between two people just to get attention and validation? I just don’t understand it. I guess I’ll be finishing the second season of Kakegurui alone- we had both seen the first season (on our own) years ago but never the second so we started it together. I’ll be alright tho, it just hurts. I need to keep working on building a life for myself. I have recently started reading and I think it has helped me out a lot because I was addicted BAD to scrolling and had basically no attention span. I just finished a book on philosophy and have since started a book on stoicism. This is actually quite impressive for me, as I graduated high school with having only actually read one book cover to cover (The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton) during my entire time K-12. So I’m looking forward to that little routine that I’ve started doing every morning of waking up early and reading for 30-45 mins. I hope yall reading this have a nice rest of your Sunday and a good week next week. Last night I cleaned my entire apartment and feel good about myself after that, as I struggle with executive function sometimes. ✌️ Calzone with pepperoni, meatballs, banana pepper, mozzarella cheese and ricotta cheese + garlic butter on top dipped in pizza sauce Drink is a Malibu Sunset (Malibu Rum + orange juice + grenadine) Edit: since I’ve gotten so many DMs, here is the recipe Edit2: I am not and do not claim to be an incel, I thought this was the male equivalent of [r/girldinnerdiaries](r/girldinnerdiaries) Dough: In a bowl mix - 2tsp dry active yeast - 1tbs sugar - 1 and 1/3 cups of warm water Mix and let sit a few mins till you start to see bubbles then add - 3 cups of flower - 1 tsp salt - 2 tbsp olive oil Then mix with hands till you get a shaggy dough Lightly flower the counter top and then knead dough for 10 mins Get a clean bowl and lightly oil it with olive oil and add the dough to it. Cover with a towel or plastic wrap and let sit for 90 minutes till it doubles in size. Punch the dough to get the air out of it after letting it rise, then cut it in half (that dough ball makes two calzones). After that it helps to put it in a ball and let sit on a baking pan in the fridge for an hour or two so that the top gets less sticky. Then when you go to assemble the calzone, put the side that was up in the fridge down onto a flowered pizza peel (again so no sticky). Shape it into a circle, should be around 9 or 10 inches in diameter. 1st put down a layer of ricotta cheese onto half of the calzone. Put two layers of pepperoni onto the ricotta area. I used frozen angus meatballs and sliced into 1/3rds and put them on top of the pepperoni and then added banana peppers + mozzarella cheese. Fold the top half over the half with the toppings and fold the edges so that the cheese doesn’t melt out of it. Make garlic butter by softening 1/3rd stick of butter, adding minced garlic from a jar + Italian seasoning. Mix that up and then brush on to the top. Don’t go too heavy with the garlic butter because it is easy for it to burn. I’m debating on putting aluminum foil on top next time to prevent the garlic butter from burning and being able to melt the cheese more. After putting on the garlic butter then you can add 3 vent slits and separate them so that the heat can cook the toppings inside. I cooked it for 2 minutes in my ninja woodfire pizza oven on the Neopolitan pizza setting. Served with pizza sauce on the side. submitted by /u/aSportBikeSquid to r/kitchencels [link] [comments]

(But pretty embarrassed I didn’t do anything about this for five years.) This Breville crumb tray started completely covered in baked-on carbon and grease. Dawn Powerwash, a plastic scraper, Scrub Daddy, a small brush, and finally Bar Keepers Friend got it to this point. The biggest lesson was finding an edge and slowly lifting the carbon layer instead of trying to brute-force scrub the whole thing at once. Before and after photos included because I honestly wasn’t sure this thing was salvageable. submitted by /u/lovenbasketballlover to r/CleaningTips [link] [comments]

I am NOT OOP, OOP is u/Crinni_Boo Originally posted to r/Cooking In search of kid friendly recipes please! Mood Spoilers: wholesome! Original Post: April 28, 2026 So I’m a stepmom to a 12, almost 13 year old boy and would like to get him in the kitchen more with me (my husband and I have every recipe we’ve ever made together archived in a recipe box which we plan on leaving to him one day). I would love to hear everyone’s go to recipes or kid safe / kid friendly ones (I’m happy to do the chopping but if there’s recipes that don’t need knives at all that would be great too!) Thank you all in advance!! Editor's note: OOP received lots of responses, listing some comments supporting OOP and stepson Some Relevant / Best Comments Commenter 1: Get the Betty Crocker Boys and Girls Cookbook! My mom had it as a kid, and I had it as a kid as well. Tons of easy recipes that don't involve dangerous kitchen equipment. Plus, that meatloaf recipe is the GOAT. Commenter 2: And start with his favorite foods. That will help to keep him interested. Commenter 3: He is 12 - an adolescent, not a young child. Unless there is a disability you have not mentioned, he should have the manual dexterity and language comprehension to be able to make anything in your box, especially with your assistance. He almost certainly already understands that stoves are hot, knives are sharp, glass and ceramic are breakable, etc., and can probably already see over the top of the stove without needing a stool- which are the main concerns for small children. Start him with super simple things that are forgiving with respect to exact measures, timing, etc. Spaghetti with (jarred) sauce and meatballs with a garden salad. Roasted chicken pieces with baked potatoes and sauteed vegetables. Grilled cheese and a can of soup. Then do a stew or braise- paprikash or stroganoff or chicken and dumplings or even chili: something where he sees that "4 hours" cooking time isn't necessarily 4 hours spent in the kitchen. OOP: Thank you for the ideas! He’s not disabled but neither my husband nor his bio mom are super keen on the knife thing just yet (he does have a tendency to get distracted as we all do) so I just don’t want to cross any boundaries with them Commenter 4: Find out what he wants to make and start from there. Commenter 5: Good for you for trying to get him in the kitchen. Both my boys learned to cook, and their spouses have appreciated it. Also good for you for respecting his dad and bio mom’s wishes. This way of thinking will make his and your life so much more pleasant. It also shows him respect. Great job Bonus Mom! OOP: Thank you!! It’s an important skill to have; I spent a ton of time in the kitchen with my grandmother growing up- I couldn’t wait to do stuff on my own 🤣 and thank you, we prefer as much peace as possible when it comes to that! 🤣 granted I love cooking but I’m not gonna be coming over to make him dinner every night once he’s on his own, ya know? Commenter 6: Take him shopping, let him pick something new to try, and find a recipe to make it or watch a video together to find out how to prepare it. That really gets kids interested in food and cooking OOP: We used to go to a fancier grocery store and pick a bunch of weird fruits to try and get a little something nice for Dad when he gets home from work - we could definitely start that up again! Commenter 7: You could have him pick a few key ingredients he enjoys and would like to work with and then find recipe options from there. Getting him involved in the whole process from the start can make it feel more like his meal than just following someone else's instructions. Commenter 8: Ours like to try recipes from cookbooks that are themed after their favorite shows and games! Commenter 9: At that age, there's nothing he can't do. Best way to get him engaged is have a night that's "his" - he chooses the recipe (have a few recipes already picked out for him to choose from), and does all the cooking (with a little help from you, of course). For my boys, pizza, tacos, and anything with potatoes was always a sure-fire way to get them in the kitchen :) I saw further down that knife skills are an issue, so get one of those kitchen choppers to help with the chopping and dicing. OOP: Thank you very much! I don’t expect him to have the same passion in the kitchen as I do so I suuuuuuper appreciate you sharing a way to keep him interested as well! Commenter 10: Your local library probably has a few kids cookbooks. I loved checking them out as a kid and getting to make a few things. And they are likely to be written in simple to follow steps, with instructions to get an adult to help with more dangerous steps.   Update: May 24, 2026 (nearly one month later) UPDATE!! So I’m the stepmom who was looking for recipes a little while back to teach her 12 (almost 13) year old stepson how to cook and I have fantastic news! We had him for some time over Mother’s Day weekend and we made strudels together! He’s a natural in the kitchen and I could not be prouder 🥹. We’ve been very busy this weekend too! So far he’s learned how to make grilled cheese, watermelon soda, coconut milk fudge-sicles, burgers and corn on the cob! I showed him around the kitchen, taught him to never be afraid of any kitchen tool no matter how dangerous it seems - just appreciate what it can do, respect it and just be careful. I said, “For example - the blender has super sharp blades to blend whatever you put in it. I know those blades could hurt me if I touch them - I respect the blender is gonna use those blades to blend and do what I need it to do for my recipe. I am just careful not to touch them - a little common sense will keep you out of most trouble.” He said “Oh, I have plenty of that” - perfect! 🤷‍♀️ He looked at our veggie chopper and said he was looking forward to using that soon. I said, “well I’m always looking for new recipes to make so today won’t be the last day we cook together” and he said, “I hope not, this is so much fun!!” 🥹. He requested we make a cherry pie together today since “I see we have pie crust mix and cherries”. Am I the proudest stepmom in the universe rn? 😭 Nobody will ever tell me otherwise!! ALSO - bio parents agreed to nylon safety knives thanks to some suggestions I read on my last post, so he got to try out the set we bought him. He felt like a big deal having his own stuff and used it like he was born to do so! I told him in between weekends that he’s here try to think of recipes he’d like to try or that he wants me to teach him. I feel like this is the start of something beautiful and my heart is gonna burst with pride 🥰 I admittedly got a little misty eyed watching him chop up the watermelon with little to no guidance - I just told him to cut the green parts off and he went to town. ALSO (part 2) - I had a legend planner cookbook notebook thing in the kitchen that I’d never used so I started a food diary for him for when he gets older. I wrote down all the funny things we talked about or that happened while we made the recipes together and I’m putting them in the order we made them / marking them with the date. I might only be stepmom, but I’ll be damned if he’s not gonna be able to eat well! Editor's note: OOP has received lots of positive comments, listing some relevant comments Relevant Comments Commenter 1: You sound like a great stepmom. Very nice post. OOP: Thank you! I didn’t know he would take such a shine to it but I’m in my absolute glory 🤣🥰 for Xmas he got me a travel mug that says “best bonus mom ever”- gotta fulfill 🤣🤷‍♀️. Commenter 2: This post made me just smile, and smile, and smile some more! You are a great step-mom, for sure. These moments will last well into that child's adult life. I'd be bursting with pride for him, too! OOP: I’m glad I could make yall smile!! 🥹 As a stepmom sometimes I feel more like a grandparent or fun aunt than a “real” parent, so I try to think of what my grandmothers taught me growing up. My dad’s mom and I were always in the kitchen together or playing animal crossing on GameCube then only stopping to cook together 🤣🥰 I’d like to think she would be proud of him too 🥹 To say I spent my first official Mother’s Day making strudels with my stepson- I always dreamed of something like this with him and to see him be such a natural at it just holy shit!! 🤣. Commenter 3: this is so wholesome and honestly the stuff that sticks with kids forever. grilled cheese, burgers, strudels -- you’re teaching him the fundamentals and more importantly that cooking is something he can do and be proud of. the fact that he's a natural at it just means he’s gonna keep wanting to do it, which is the real win here. keep going with this, sounds like you’ve found something yall both love doing together. OOP: I’m thrilled that he took such a shine to it! Plus I feel like it gives him more to look forward to in between time together 🥰. Commenter 4: OP this post is wonderful! I’m beaming with secondhand joy because I can just feel the love and pride you have for him through your words. Nobody has mentioned the legend planner notebook yet so please let me say - if my parents had made something like that for me or with me, I would be ugly sobbing with gratitude. I lost them at 35 and 36. I have some handwritten recipes, my parents compiled and photocopied family recipes into a binder for us. I cherish them. But the funny things we talked about? Which ones we made together? Some silly thing that made them proud of me? God. I’d give anything for a record of that. OOP: Aww thank you so much!! I’m absolutely stupid excited about it as well as filling all those pages up!! 🥹🥰 some of my favorite memories of my grandparents’ house are of something we did in the kitchen together and my heart is absolutely swollen that I get to pass that on to my husband’s son, an extension of my absolute favorite human in the entire universe 🥹🙌✨. Commenter 5: That’s such a solid lineup for a 12-year-old, and strudels is a great call because it teaches real skills without being boring. Grilled cheese and burgers are perfect starter wins, imo, he’s gonna keep building confidence fast. OOP: My husband and I had gone to a flea market the Sunday before Mother’s Day and came home with about $50 worth of raspberries, strawberries and kiwi for $10- I needed something to use it up before it went bad and I had thawed phyllo dough in the fridge, so I asked him if he wanted to make them with me. He absolutely LOVED it- he got to learn how to use a pastry brush AND I said we could have dessert before dinner 🤣🥰. I did some preparing before he came over on Friday- picked a bunch of recipes that I thought he would like and got all the ingredients. Then I made a list of the recipes we could make and told him he’s in charge of when we make what this weekend. Today we made French toast sandwiches (and I showed him how to make black pepper brown sugar bacon “mats” for those), cherry crumb pie and tonight’s dinner will be chicken Parmesan lasagna rollups 😍. Commenter 6: That's so awesome, what a fantastic update! It sounds like he's really found something he loves, and that's a huge win. The way you're teaching him to respect the tools is perfect. For a kid who's really getting into cooking and using all the different gadgets, having good, reliable tools makes a big difference in the long run. OOP: Thank you! Instead of “what are we having for lunch” now it’s “I’m ready to make lunch” 🥰.   My 12 year old stepson made this!!: May 25, 2026 Cherry Pie Image Description of the cherry pie A picture of a cherry pie in a clear glass pie dish, sitting on the center rack of the oven. Looks about to be done. There is the golden crumbly topping covering the majority of the surface with the cherries fully baked and warm glowing around the edges. end of the description I’m the stepmom on r/cooking who asked for kid friendly recipes then had a good update yesterday- here is the cherry crumb pie he requested that we make together because “I see we have pie crust mix and cherries” 🥹🥰 So proud of him, it didn’t even survive a full 8 hours!! Concluding Comments Commenter 1: that's awesome, OP! he definitely has a knack for baking. respect for getting him involved in the kitchen, sounds like a fun bonding experience too! OOP: He’s been an absolute natural in the kitchen so far! I’m thrilled he’s taken such a shine to cooking and baking! Commenter 2: that's awesome to hear, props to your stepson for getting into baking. sounds delish and it must feel great seeing him take the initiative like that! OOP: I gave him minimal instruction and helped him here and there (gave him a little demo for some of the steps) and he freakin DID IT!! 🥰🥰🥰 thank you for the kind words!! Commenter 3: Aw that looks delicious! He did such a good job, I wish I could bake that well lol. OOP: Thank you!! I gave him instructions and let him go at it- even the filling is from scratch! Commenter 4: That is an encouraging start. What will you suggest he try next? OOP: I have cupcakes in the freezer that I think we’ll save til next time he’s here- I asked him if he wanted to try cake decorating and he said yes (I’m so freaking excited 🤣🥰) I’ll show him how to make the Wilton buttercream frosting and pipe different shapes and stuff OR get out the super fun cupcake books and decorate up a storm 🥰. OOP on her husband's parents and his life skills of cooking OOP: My husband’s parents (thankfully no contact now but that’s another story) never really taught my husband the life skill of cooking so when we started dating we would have lots of “cooking dates” where we’d pick a recipe, go to the store together and then make it together / have happy hour 🤣🥰 he said to kiddo “I lucked out finding the woman of my dreams who loves to cook for us but she can’t come over to your house every day to cook for you when you’re an adult”- he said he’s excited to learn how to cook so he can do more by himself!   DO NOT COMMENT IN LINKED POSTS OR MESSAGE OOPs – BoRU Rule #7 THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT OOP submitted by /u/Choice_Evidence1983 to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

On instagram. Here are the screenshots of the frame by frame. They said “I spend a lot of time blending and adding more RYB to get the details and shape right. I also clean the edges with a dry paint brush. It's about an hour that I don't record.” It just doesn’t make sense, if you wanna show off your artistic abilities, why aren’t you recording the actual artistic part? The “final” version seems too perfect. And the final has a chunk missing that doesn’t seem possible to get with just dry brushes I’m an artist myself and while I haven’t worked with chalk in over 15 years I’m highly skeptical. I sped up the first part on instagram while recording, I don’t know how long the video actually is but it’s over 10 seconds. Doesn’t mean they couldn’t have stitched an ai update to the end All the details of the rocks and concrete look the same though so I’m not sure submitted by /u/the_evil_pineapple to r/isthisAI [link] [comments]

So this is probably more geared towards other late diagnosed women, but even if you’re not feel free to respond. I enjoy reading through everything as it helps me pickup on other things I’ve missed. Anyways, what’s that one thing you’ve always done and assumed/brushed it off as being just ‘your personality,’ but now you realize was an autistic trait? One of many I’ve come to the realization about is that I internalize everything. For example: handling overload, emotions, and even pain mostly in my head, while showing almost nothing on the outwardly. People have always told me I handle stress so good, but at the same time I’m internally screaming and at the end of day I’d be so zonked and not want to see or talk to another soul. Then the rare outward displaying meltdowns when things got way too far over the edge. Anyways, I’d love to hear y’all’s! submitted by /u/AlwaysAttract10 to r/AutismInWomen [link] [comments]

Before the girls try to come for me, take a moment to hear me out. I ENJOY a slick back pony, baby hairs, etc. but I don’t feel like I can’t leave my house without slicking my puff. I also don’t feel like I don’t look presentable with my hair brushed into a pony no gel. The NEED to slick back hair seems rooted in anti blackness. And I wish to free my sisters from those shackles. We should be able to do a “messy bun” like any other race of women. Will our hair look like theirs? HELL NO. It’s not supposed to. But that doesn’t mean it’s ugly or unpresentable. If water and a brush is not enough for you, fine. But I think it’s crazy that we are the only race of women who “have” to slick our hair back with mounds of gel or edge control just not to be ridiculed. That’s BS. That’s my Ted talk. submitted by /u/PossibleAssignment19 to r/Naturalhair [link] [comments]

A year into dating my partner I attended a local fiber festival with a friend where I found a booth selling German angora. I asked my friend, who'd been teaching me how to spin and weave, if she thought I'd be able to spin it finely enough to use in something for a wedding, and she said she could teach me. She asked if I was getting married and I said not yet, but I knew this was my person. I bought the fiber along with an additional bag of a silk/cashmere blend to blend with it, and it sat in my craft closet for two more years until my partner proposed. The extent of my spinning experience was a handful of yards of a very low quality wool on a drop spindle. This became an absolute crash course in spinning. At my friends suggestion, I spun the yarn single around a core thread using a tahkli (a type of supported spindle). You could see the improvement with each skein, and while it blocked out well I love that you can see it in the shawl, too. And while I've been knitting for many years, lace is something I've only ever dabbled in. All of this to say: This project was an absolutely insane choice. I had no idea how it would turn out, or if I'd finish it in time. I've never felt more on the edge of oblivion. Everyone I told was both impressed and horrified. This weekend, after 145 hours of spinning and 226 hours of knitting, I finished it. It's full of mistakes that most people can't see. And it's also so full of love. Evenings spent together watching Dropout and KDramas and the Olympics, and so many episodes from the back catalog of Say Yes to the Dress. The passing of my childhood cat, who chewed on and sat on and grabbed at the yarn as I spun and knit it, whose hair I saved after brushing and added to the fiber so she'll be with me on my wedding day, along with my other two cats. Months of battling tennis elbow. A little over a year and a half later, I finished it, with time to spare. And it's beyond anything I could have even imagined. Pattern is the Evenstar Shawl by Susan Pandorf. Yarn is handspun by me: single ply, 50% German angora, 25% cashmere, 25% silk, spun around a silk core thread. Cobweb weight, 100 wraps per inch. I used about 1100 yards. submitted by /u/fishandflowers to r/knitting [link] [comments]

I didn’t realise my new customer used to be my neighbour until I pulled into her driveway. The street name had sounded vaguely familiar when I first read it. A few landmarks on the drive over had sparked something in me; nothing solid though, just a prickling sense of recognition I couldn’t place. It only clicked when I actually saw my old childhood home sitting right beside my customer’s property. I know it’s strange that it took me that long. That I hadn’t recognised anything when I put the address into Google Maps. But my uncle moved me out of this quiet neighbourhood when I was six. I barely remembered anything about living on this street, or in that house. My girlfriend, Ellie, said that wasn’t quite normal. Told me, gently, that it was probably my brain blocking things out on purpose. I sat gripping the steering wheel long after I’d parked, staring at my childhood home. It backed onto a large woodland area, tall trees looming far above the roof. The bungalow itself looked abandoned; shattered windows, empty bottles scattered across dead yellow grass. Clearly no one had lived there in a long time. A heavy pressure settled in my chest. For a moment, I considered leaving. But I’d only started my lawn-mowing business a few months ago. I needed the money. This woman was only my third customer so far. She hadn’t called like the others. She’d emailed instead: am interested in your service.Every week Sunday work. ?. ? I replied that Sundays were fine and asked for the address. She sent it, followed by another message: Door left open Sundays.Money on table.Help self to drink.and meal. It struck me as odd that she’d contacted someone who lived an hour away instead of a local business. But she’d promised a generous tip. Still sitting in the van, I tried to remember my old neighbour. Elderly, maybe. The emails felt that way. But when I searched my memory for her face, I came up blank. Just another thing lost to my strange childhood amnesia. Her lawn was wildly overgrown. Knee-high grass, thick and uneven. The house itself was perfectly normal. A neat two-storey place with a front porch. Well-kept enough that the state of the yard felt odd, almost like a choice. I hesitated, wondering if I should knock or just start the job. In the end, I got to work. Part of me didn’t want to meet her yet; I was delaying it. I couldn’t explain why. As I mowed, my gaze kept drifting to the fence separating her property from my old home. It was enormous. Easily ten feet tall. I couldn’t believe something like that had been approved in a quiet suburban street. But it wasn’t just the size. Every time I looked at it, pressure built behind my eyes. The sensation of a memory forcing its way up while something inside me resisted just as hard. The effort made my head throb. Then, for a split second, I remembered hair. Long, black strands spilling down the fence from the other side. Tangled and thin. Draped over the timber, clinging to the wood, hanging there like a ragged curtain. I’d frozen on my cheap plastic tricycle. One of the back wheels was missing, so I had to balance my weight just right to keep it upright. It’s strange, the useless little details that scramble back when everything else is lost. The hair shifted, and slowly, above the lip of the fence, a pale forehead rose. There were eyes. White and cloudy. I only saw them for a moment, but I knew immediately who they were peeking down at. Me. Only me. Then there had been a sound behind me, maybe a voice, maybe someone calling my name. The eyes vanished. The forehead sank out of sight. The hair slid upward, strand by strand, slithering back over the fence until there was nothing left at all. Cold washed through my body. I tightened my grip on the mower handle and focused on the lines of grass ahead of me. I didn’t look at the fence again. Surely it had just been my imagination. Something I’d invented out of boredom. No one could peer over a ten-foot-tall fence unless they were standing on stilts or balancing on some ridiculous ladder. And even then, why would anyone climb that high just to look at a child playing in their backyard? It was too strange to take seriously, too absurd. And yet, an unease bloomed low in my chest and refused to settle. Because that image - hair spilling over the fence, eyes watching - was suddenly one of the clearest memories I had from that house. From that time. Clearer than anything else I could recall in over a decade. I shook my head, forced the image away, and got back to work. An hour later, the lawn looked respectable again. I packed my equipment back into my uncle’s van. Then I remembered the money. I knocked on the front door and waited a bit. She did say to let myself in, but it felt wrong to just waltz into a stranger’s house. I waited another few minutes before finally reaching for the handle and stepping inside. “Ms. Ramona? Are you home?” I called out, remembering her name from her email address. One of the first things I noticed was the ceiling. It was unusually high. It made the space feel wide and open, almost cavernous. It also made it incredibly cold inside. Goosebumps rose over my arms. Most of the ground floor was open-plan, so I spotted the kitchen right away, where a wooden table sat by the counter. There was money laid out neatly on top of it. Beside it, a glass jug filled with what looked like lemonade, ice cubes floating inside. A clean glass. A sandwich on a plate. She’d said to help myself. Still, I hesitated. I felt silly to be cautious, but I hadn’t even met her. I picked up the money and nearly choked when I counted it. Four fifty-dollar notes. I only charged sixty dollars. She’d mentioned a tip, sure, but this was excessive. What if she was elderly? What if she’d miscounted? I took a hundred and left the other hundred on the table, just in case. That was when I heard something upstairs. A wheeze. Wet and uneven. Like air being dragged through damaged lungs. After that, two sharp creaks snapped through the house in quick succession, floorboards protesting under sudden weight. My body went rigid. Someone was definitely home. I stared at the staircase. “Hello?” My voice rang too loud in the open space. “Ms. Ramona?” No answer. I edged closer to the stairs despite myself, my heart beginning to pound. The noises replayed in my head. What had made them? Had she fallen? Was she hurt? If she was elderly, I told myself, I should check. That was the decent thing to do. But another part of me was screaming to leave. The feeling was sudden and absolute, like stepping into a place you were never meant to enter. Like bait. After a moment, I turned back to the table. I picked up the sandwich so I wouldn’t seem rude, my hands clumsy and shaking, and then I got out. When I drove home, I sat in the van for a long time with the engine off. The sandwich rested on the passenger seat. Eventually, I opened the bread. Inside was butter and raw, red meat. I swallowed, then noticed something else threaded through it. I pinched it between my fingers and pulled. A single hair slid free. Dark. Absurdly long. I told my girlfriend what happened, but left out the part about my strange memory. Ellie laughed. “You’re scared of a little old granny?” “I don’t know if she’s a granny,” I said. “I’ve never met this woman. She could be a man for all I know.” “Are you sure? You said she was your old neighbour,” she said, her eyes soft but insistent, that gentle look she always got when she was trying to probe something about my childhood. “Are you sure you don’t remember… anything?” That long, black hair entered my mind again. At that moment, I remembered something else. I remembered a single strand had caught in the fence, drifting in the breeze until it detached and floated down to my six-year-old self. I remembered plucking it from the air, and then playing with it carefully so it wouldn’t snap. I had wrapped it around my arm, amazed I could coil almost the entire length up my little forearm, like linen around an Egyptian mummy. I shook my head at Ellie’s question and told her about the inedible sandwich instead. Ellie laughed again, shaking her head. “The poor woman probably has dementia.” A week later, I went back. I didn’t want to, but Ellie had made me realise I was being ridiculous, and the money mattered - if we ever wanted to move out of my uncle’s house, we needed it. My stomach churned the whole drive. Before I even started the mower, my eyes went to the fence again. I remembered long, curling fingers reaching over the top. And once more, I remembered seeing half a face peering down at me, just eyes and a forehead visible above the timber, watching. I reluctantly went inside to collect my payment. This time, she’d left three hundred dollars on the table. Beside it, a note, the handwriting thin and spidery: Take ALL money. Why no drink? My gaze drifted to the jug of lemonade. I filled a glass, intending to pour half of it down the sink to make it look like I’d had some. Instead, for some reason I couldn’t explain, I took a small sip. It was cold. Sweet. Good. After that, the memories returned, stronger than ever. I had a dream that night. A dream about food being thrown over an enormous fence. Sometimes it was a roast chicken, still warm inside a plastic bag, juices sloshing against the sides. Other times it was a whole chicken; raw, feathers still clinging to pale skin. Sometimes it was fresh fruit in a cracked plastic container. Other times, it was rotting apples and a thick slab of heavy, red meat. I remembered the hunger. I remembered setting up a blanket over the bushes beside the fence. A small hidden nest where I could crouch and store what I was given. I remembered eating like an animal, devouring whatever was edible before anyone could find me. I remembered my scalp itching constantly. Lice. Multiplying, biting, crawling, with no one bothering to stop them. A whole kingdom of parasites living freely in my hair. Then I remembered the hand. It slipped through the narrow gap between the fence and the bushes where I sat with my back pressed against the timber, rustling the spindly branches. The hand was enormous, but gentle. One long finger brushed the tangled hair out of my face. The itching faded. I stared up and saw nothing but the endless length of a thin, grey arm disappearing over the fence. I remembered wrapping my small hands around that enormous finger and holding tight, crying into it. Then I remembered an angry voice coming from somewhere. The finger wriggled gently until I released it, and then the hand vanished. The arm withdrew. When I looked back up, only a faint wisp of dark hair was visible above the fence line. Someone tore the blanket away from my hiding place. They yelled. Screamed in disgust. I was sitting on a hoard of food. A lot of it was rotting. There were flies. There were maggots. Hands grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the bushes and away from the massive fence so hard I thought the bone would snap. “Stop!” I screamed. The third time I went back to mow Ramona’s lawn, I did not hesitate. Something had begun to clarify itself inside me, like an image slowly coming into focus. And I knew I needed to speak with her - Ramona - finally. I didn’t know if the memories were wholly real. But pieces were fitting together now, clicking into place with a quiet inevitability. I felt closer to the truth than I ever had before. And instead of making my head ache, it planted something determined inside me, something that refused to be quiet any longer. I thought maybe my neighbour had been a sweet old granny who babysat me sometimes. Maybe she fed me. Maybe she took care of me. Maybe she read me stories. Maybe this was the only way my memories were able to return; disguised as something else, something not quite real, but threaded through with truth. As I started the lawn mower this time, I didn’t look away from the fence. I remembered the humming- a low, steady hum - as I lay hidden in the bushes beside the fence. The yelling in the house always softened when I listened to her hums. I remembered being lifted so high I could see over the roof of my house. I remembered being placed on a sturdy tree branch in the forest and being given a dead fox. I remembered biting into the furry flesh, feeling warm blood dribble down my cheeks. I remembered sitting in a cocoon of warmth, high above the ground, watching the stars blink into existence. I remembered running to my hiding place between the fence and the bushes, shaking, starving, sick with fear. I remembered someone chasing me. “Henry, you get back here right now, you little shit!” she screamed. She caught my arm and wrenched me around. “Mummy, stop!” I sobbed. “Don’t hurt me again!” I remembered my mother freezing. And I remembered something brushing the back of my neck, light and familiar; like long strands of hair. My mother gasped, staring at something above us, terror carved into her face. I looked up. Then the fingers came. They wrapped around my mother's body and lifted her - up, up, up. She was screaming as she went, so I called out, “It’s okay Mummy! She’s just taking you to see the stars.” There was a deafening crunch, and her screaming stopped. I saw something fly across the sky like a meteor, disappearing into the forest. Hands closed around me. They were so warm when they lifted me, gentle, careful, cocooning me as I shook and clung to the heat. I rose high enough to see over the roof of my house, just like all those other times. I finally remembered seeing her face. The image was clear now, unblurred, impossible to look away from. She was pale and gaunt, her lips stretched too wide across her skull. But her eyes-- They were dark. But they were warm. “Did Mummy like seeing the stars?” I asked her. She hummed. My hands shook. I didn’t turn the lawn mower off. I walked toward her house on numb legs, the sound of the engine fading into something distant, barely there. The front door was open, as it always was. I climbed the staircase slowly. A low groan echoed from above, stretching and deepening as I went. The upper floor was completely open plan, wide and sloping like an expansive attic. And laid out across it was a very tall woman. Her skin was a shade close to grey. Her face had the weathered features of someone much older than me. Her limbs were long and spindly. She lay on her side on a soft floor mat that covered nearly every inch of the space, her body folded carefully, purposely, as if she had made herself smaller for me. Her eyes found mine the moment I stepped inside. I dropped to my knees and sobbed before I could stop myself. Terror and grief and everything I had buried for so long rushed through me all at once, crushing and merciless. Fingers reached out - impossibly large - wrapping around me and drawing me gently toward her. I was pulled into warmth, deep and steady, and my shivering slowly began to ease. “You killed her,” I sobbed. “You killed her! Didn’t you?” She hummed softly. “Why? Why did you do that?” I said, the words breaking apart as they left me. She brushed my hair back. My cries thinned into small, broken whimpers. “Why didn’t she care about me?” I whispered. “Why did she let me starve? Why did she hurt me? I was just a little kid.” Her warmth held. Her breathing stayed slow and even. I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in a bed. Across from me, seated in an armchair, was a little old lady. Her eyes were distant, as if part of her had wandered somewhere far away and hadn’t yet found its way back. Still, they stayed on me, steady and patient. We were still upstairs. The massive mat lay stretched across the floor, unchanged. The bed had been tucked into a small corner of the room, like it had been put there for me. “Who are you?” I asked. “What was that thing?” She didn’t answer. Instead, her gaze drifted to something beside me. I followed it and saw a folded note resting on the mattress. I picked it up with shaking hands. I cursed with size and hunger. But I protect sweet little boy cold and hungry I carry you to the stars where she not reach. lost myself when I took her. but she not hurt you anymore. forgive me. Please. When I drove home, I finally asked my uncle to tell me the truth. I’d always known something horrible happened to my mother. But there were details surrounding the event that deep down I think I never wanted to learn. But I felt stronger now. I was ready. He showed me the pictures first. They were of me as a little boy. My hair was long and scraggly. I wore dirty clothes that were torn at the seams. My body was mapped with bruises. And cuts. And burn marks. There wasn’t much to know in the end. Except the fact that my mother was a monster. And when she was found in the woods one day, half-eaten - a case that would quickly be declared as an animal attack - people called it karma after they learned what she did to me. I continued to visit Ramona. I brushed her hair and cared for her when she was a little old granny. I laid down and listened to her hums when she was something else. I wrote all of this down because unlike my mother, Ramona deserves to be remembered. I could never tell anyone about her; they would have hurt her, or killed her. But I needed someone to know. Ramona may have been a beast, but it wasn’t her fault. Even when she lost control, it all came down to an instinct to protect. When she was dying, I fell asleep holding her large hand. And when I woke up, there was nothing. She was gone. Even though she doesn’t live there anymore, even though the house is no longer occupied, I still go back to mow her lawn. And sometimes, when the lawn is done, I linger until the night swallows the sky. When I focus on the constellations, it almost feels like I’m rising, slowly, above the roof of the house. submitted by /u/sophiethetoad to r/nosleep [link] [comments]

This post reflects my experience as a manual labor migrant in the Netherlands. It is not written from the perspective of a corporate professional or a highly paid expat, but from someone who arrived without serious savings, connections, or a career that easily transfers between countries. I am not trying to blame anyone, or present myself as a victim. I am not looking for sympathy, simply describing what the process looked like from the position of someone doing low-skilled manual work as an immigrant. If someone in a similar position reads this and it helps them make a clearer decision, or prepares them better than we were prepared, then sharing it was worth it. My wife and I moved from Hungary to the Netherlands two years ago. We had a stable life at home. I worked in oversize transport logistics, a field I genuinely enjoyed. My wife worked in retail. We were not desperate, but we believed we could build something more stable in the long run. Housing was the first reality check. We rented a single room next to a bar. We thought it would be temporary. It was not. We stayed there for all the two years. The house had other tenants, but the real issue was the bar. Six or seven nights a week it went on until around three in the morning. Loud bass through the walls, shouting, people arguing outside. After a full workday and roughly three hours of commuting, evenings were mostly about waiting for the noise to stop, few hours of sleep and we had to go to work again. We kept applying for apartments. Whenever we were invited to a viewing, we sent all documents immediately. With two minimum wage incomes and my zero hour contract, we were simply not strong candidates. I was working at a coffee roasting company. At first I was genuinely excited. The brand talked a lot about ethics and sustainability. The work itself was physical and repetitive. Deliveries to cafés, grinding beans, labeling, folding thousands of boxes by hand. I did not mind that part. Over time, what became harder to ignore was the internal culture. There was a strong emphasis on values externally, but internally there was constant micromanagement and communication was not always clear. Recognition did not match the effort on the production floor. It often felt like the office and the floor operated in different worlds. I focused on moving forward. I worked five days a week and attended Dutch classes after work for months. I wanted to pass the required exams and return to my original profession. I went to interviews once my language improved, but I had no luck. Sleep deprivation slowly started to chew us up. My wife continued working retail, but the constant fatigue and pressure wore her down. She reduced to four days a week to cope, and over time she also developed an unhealthy relationship with alcohol as a way of handling the stress. I eventually stopped the language course because I could not focus anymore. During that period I gained a significant amount of weight and I began experiencing panic attacks. It became clear that the situation was affecting us more deeply than we initially admitted. Before the second year, I pushed for a proper 40 hour contract. After repeated requests, signing an interim version that did not fully reflect what we had discussed, and waiting about three months, I finally received the corrected contract and a small raise. It was not life changing, but it felt like progress. The workload increased. Our living situation did not improve. There were mornings standing on the train platform after broken sleep when my thoughts were not in a good place. We spoke less with family because it was tiring to keep saying everything was fine. Outside of work, life became very narrow. Certain patterns at work became clearer. Advancement was not always about competence. Information was sometimes held back. Not everyone behaved that way, but the atmosphere made it noticeable. The one thing that shifted my mental state was enrolling in motorcycle lessons. Once a week I had something that was mine. It caused some friction at work because I was no longer completely flexible, but it gave me a sense of direction again. I started training physically as well, although that left even less time for anything else. At work, the time was slowly approaching when we should have been discussing my contract for the following year, but nothing happened. There was always too much work, never time to talk about it. I had already decided I would not put myself in that vulnerable position again and sign anything in advance. Still, we never actually discussed the new contract. With less than a week left before it expired, I started pushing my manager to sit down and talk. He kept brushing it off, saying we would discuss it later because we were too busy. Then, two days before my contract ended, right before Christmas, he told me we could sit down if I wanted, but not to talk about the contract, because that had already been settled. According to him, we would only be discussing the plans for me for the next year. In the office he explained that weeks earlier, while I was folding boxes and he happened to walk past me, he had casually mentioned that my contract would be renewed. From his perspective, that counted as the discussion. At that point it was clear to me that we had very different expectations about how something like this should be handled. I told him I did not consider the contract properly discussed or agreed upon. Since it was about to expire and there had been no formal conversation, I informed him that I would not be continuing after the end date. This conversation made it clear that we needed to rethink our future. We moved back to Hungary. I returned to oversize transport and realized how much I had missed it. My wife found another retail job with a more relaxed atmosphere. In many ways, our life looks similar to what it was before we left. The difference is how we see it now. We appreciate the basics much more, like being able to sleep at night, feeling that our work actually matters and not being treated as cheap, replaceable labor filling a gap. The conclusion I draw from it is that without enough money, connections, or the kind of strategic edge that competitive systems reward, moving upward is much harder than people assume. You can keep hoping indefinitely that something will change just because you work hard and persevere, but in reality you simply end up grinding yourself down slowly and quietly. We do not regret going. It was a life-changing experience that helped us realize how privileged and stable our situation at home had actually been. In many ways, we also underestimated what it takes to build a new life from the ground up. The Netherlands is organized, efficient, and well structured. Infrastructure works, public transport is reliable, and systems generally function the way they are meant to. There is a reason so many people build successful and fulfilling lives there. Our story simply reflects what it looked like from our particular starting point. submitted by /u/Atankir to r/Netherlands [link] [comments]

I made more than 400 tiles for my kitchen, and I’m really happy with how they turned out! Here’s a little about my process: I used Georgie’s Timberline Sculptural Clay and a heavy duty hexagon tile cutter that I got from Georgie’s. I rolled the clay to 3/8” thick with my slab roller and dried it a bit before smoothing and cutting. This helped with warping. Then, I used cornstarch so the presser part of the cutter wouldn’t stick to the clay. After cutting, I dried the tiles between sheets of drywall until nearly dry. I also made bullnose tiles for the top and exposed sides of the installation, so I used a sponge to soften the edges of those tiles, as well as clean up the edges of the rest. Then I dried them the rest of the way on a shelf. After bisque firing the tiles to cone 04, I brushed on 3 coats of Laguna Power Turquoise and fired to Cone 6. I lost probably 15-20 tiles due to warping in firing. I had a professional install the tiles—no way I was going to do that much work and then screw it up, and I’ve never installed tiles before. I did map out for him on freezer paper exactly how I wanted each section of the wall. I have no idea the total amount of time it took—maybe 40-60 hours spread over 4 months. submitted by /u/Notaneditor10 to r/Pottery [link] [comments]

My name is Micali. I’m fifty-two years old, and I’ve spent the better part of my life erasing the worst moments of other people's lives. I’m a technician for BioClean Solutions, a company specializing in "biological risk remediation." That’s just a fancy term for saying we are the janitors of hell. When the police finish their forensics and the coroner takes the body away, we go in. We clean up the blood, the bodily fluids, the bone fragments, and the brain matter stuck to the walls and furniture. We sort of make the place "livable" again so the family can sell the house and try to forget that Dad killed Mom at the dinner table. It’s a job that pays well. Very well. You don’t see job postings for this kind of work just anywhere. It requires a specific type of emotional detachment. You need to look at a bloodstain on the carpet and not see a tragedy; you need to see a protein that requires a specific enzyme to be broken down. I don’t use tablets, I don’t use drones, I don’t use digital UV lights. My work is manual, chemical, and solitary. Mop, industrial enzymes, hydrogen peroxide, and thick red bags. I like the silence. I like the methodical repetition of turning red chaos into a clean, sterile floor. There are unwritten rules in our profession, passed down from veteran to rookie like campfire tales. Don’t take anything home. Don’t look at the picture frames (seeing the happy faces makes the blood on the floor unbearably sad). And the oldest one of all: If the landline rings, let it ring. Houses where violent deaths occurred are like bells that have been struck hard; they continue to vibrate long after the sound has stopped. The air is dense. The electricity is unstable. And the phones... well, there are still people with landlines in their homes, and sometimes the person calling doesn’t know there’s no one left to answer. Last Tuesday, I was called to the Vales Residence. It was an old mansion, colonial style, isolated at the end of a dirt road, surrounded by tall eucalyptus trees that blocked the sun even at noon. The crime had been brutal. A robbery-homicide that happened three days prior. The victim, an elderly lady named Helena, lived alone. The police had already released the scene. The body was gone. Only the "mess" remained. I parked my old van on the gravel. The silence of the place was absolute. No birds, no crickets. Just the wind making the eucalyptus leaves whisper like muffled voices. I put on my gear on the porch. The white Tyvek suit, the thick rubber gloves, the boots, the full-face respirator mask with activated charcoal filters. I looked like an astronaut lost on a hostile planet. I went inside. The house was a time capsule. Dark solid wood furniture, heavy velvet curtains, Persian rugs. And the smell... the metallic tang of blood was there, strong, fighting against the scent of lavender and floor wax. The "incident" occurred in the music room at the back of the house. I walked down the long hallway, my boots making a muffled thud on the hardwood floor. I opened the double doors to the music room. It was a devastating scene. There was a grand piano in the corner. Shelves with sheet music scattered everywhere. And in the center of the beige rug, a dark stain—dry at the edges, but still viscous in the center where the pool had been deeper. There were drag marks leading from the piano to the broken window. I took a deep breath, the filtered air entering my lungs cold. "Let's get this over with," I muttered. I started the routine. First, remove the glass shards from the broken window. Then, cut and remove the part of the rug that was unsalvageable. Finally, treat the hardwood that had absorbed the blood. I worked for two hours in silence. The sun began to set, dyeing the room a melancholic orange. The shadows of the furniture elongated, looking like stretched fingers trying to touch the stain on the floor. I was on my knees, scrubbing the floorboards with a stiff-bristled brush, when I felt it. A sudden drop in temperature. It wasn't a draft. It was as if someone had opened a freezer door right behind my back. The sweat inside my suit froze instantly. I gripped the brush. My instincts screamed. I raised my head. The room was empty. But it felt... full. The dust motes dancing in the rays of the setting sun seemed to have stopped in mid-air, suspended. I looked at the floor, at the wood I had been scrubbing for twenty minutes. The stain. I had just cleaned it. I had seen the clean wood, pale from the chemicals. But now, the blood was there again. And it wasn't dry. It was bright red. Shiny. Hot. It bubbled slightly between the cracks in the wood as if it were springing from an underground source. I scrambled backward, dragging myself away. "What the hell is this..." I whispered. That was when the phone rang. It was an antique device, a rotary phone made of black Bakelite, resting on a side table near the piano. The ring wasn't electronic. It was a mechanical, physical, shrill clatter that echoed through the empty room like a scream. I froze. I looked at the pool of fresh blood. I looked at the phone. The rule said: Don't answer. But the house seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for me to pick up. The air was so dense it was hard to move my arms. The sense of urgency was physical, a hand squeezing my chest. What if it was the realtor? What if it was the police saying they were coming back? Logic tried to rationalize the fear, even if it made no sense. I stood up slowly. I walked to the table. My hand, encased in the yellow rubber glove, was trembling. The phone rang for the fourth time. I lifted the receiver. I brought it to my ear, over the straps of my mask. "Hello?" my voice came out hoarse. There was only static at first. A white hiss, like distant rain. And then, a voice. A woman's voice. Trembling, whispering, terrified. "They are in the garden." I felt a chill run down my spine. It wasn't a recording. The voice reacted to my breathing. "Who is this?" I asked. "Please, you need to help me," the woman continued, ignoring my question, speaking fast and low. "I saw through the gap in the curtains. There's a man in the garden. He's standing there staring at the music room window." I looked at the music room window. The window that was broken when I arrived. Now, the glass was intact. There was no hole. No shards on the floor. The glass was perfect, reflecting my face covered by the gas mask. "Ma'am," I said, trying to keep calm, though my heart was hammering. "Who are you? Where are you?" "It's me, Helena," she sobbed. "I'm in the living room. I'm hiding behind the piano. I tried to call the police, but the line is dead. I only managed to call... to call this number. Why did you take so long to answer?" Helena. The victim. The woman who was taken out of this room in a black bag three days ago. I looked at the grand piano in the corner of the room. There was no one behind it. I had cleaned there ten minutes ago. "Ms. Helena..." I began, feeling a nauseating vertigo. "You aren't there." "Of course I am!" she hissed, panic raising her voice. "Shhh! He's moving. He's coming to the window. My God, he's huge. He's wearing... strange clothes. All white." I looked at my reflection in the window glass again. White Tyvek suit. Black full-face gas mask. Yellow gloves. I looked like a monster. An alien. A "White Demon." "Ms. Helena," I said, my mouth dry. "What are you seeing?" "He has a rubber face," she was crying softly now. "He has no eyes, just big glass circles. He has a tube coming out of his mouth, like a trunk. He's holding... a weapon. A silver thing." I looked at my right hand. I was holding the metal scraper I used to clean the floor. Under the setting sun, it shone like a broad knife. A horrible realization descended upon me. Time in this house wasn't a straight line. It was a scratched record, repeating the end of the song eternally. I wasn't just cleaning the crime scene. I was haunting the crime scene. "Ms. Helena, listen to me," I spoke, desperate. "I am not the killer. I am the cleaner. I came to clean... afterwards. I come from the future, basically." "What are you saying? You're crazy!" she screamed, and I heard the sound of her voice not just on the phone, but echoing physically in the room, coming from the corner of the piano, even though no one was there. "He's raising his hand! He's going to break the glass!" I raised my hand instinctively to touch the glass, to show I was real, that I meant no harm. "No! I just want to help!" "NO!" she screamed. The moment my fingers touched the glass, I heard a deafening crash. The glass exploded inward. But I didn't break it. The glass exploded through me. Shards flew, passing through my body as if I were made of smoke. I fell back, dropping the phone. The room changed. The light vanished, replaced by the darkness of night. But I still saw the room. And now, I saw Helena. She was there. Cowering behind the piano. An elderly lady with white hair, wearing a blue silk robe. She was terrified, clutching a cordless phone against her chest. She was looking toward the broken window. But not at me. She was looking at the figure entering through the window. A figure dressed in black. Hooded. Holding a crowbar. The real killer. I was on the floor, invisible, watching. I was a ghost at the moment of her death. I tried to scream, "Run!" But no sound came out of my throat. I was just a spectator. An echo. The killer advanced. Helena screamed and ran. She tripped on the rug. The killer caught her in the center of the room. He raised the crowbar. I closed my eyes. I heard the sound. The wet, horrible sound of metal against bone. Once. Twice. Three times. I heard her last breath gurgle out. I opened my eyes. The room was empty again. It was day. The orange sunlight returned. The window was broken (as it was when I arrived). The phone was on the hook. And in the center of the room... the pool of blood. Steaming. Fresh. She had just died. Again. I was shaking uncontrollably. The nausea was overwhelming. The blood I was cleaning... it wasn't old. It was her blood dying now. And now. And now. The house was trapped in a spasm of agony, reliving the trauma repeatedly, and I, by entering and cleaning, was just part of the cycle. I grabbed my things. I threw everything into the backpack haphazardly. I needed to get out of there. I ran to the music room door. It was locked. I turned the knob. Nothing. "It's no use." The voice came from behind me. I turned slowly. Had the phone rung? No. The voice came from the corner of the room. There was a stain on the wall. A shadow that didn't belong to the furniture. The shadow had the shape of a woman. And she was looking at me. It wasn't Helena's ghost. It was... the house's memory. The psychic imprint left by the pain. "Why do you clean?" the voice whispered, echoing inside my head. "You erase the proof. If you erase the blood, no one will remember I was here." "I need to clean," I stammered. "It's my job. It's so your family can sell the house. So they can move on." "Move on..." the shadow laughed. A broken laugh, like ground glass. "No one moves on here. Time is a circle, cleaner. And you just stepped into the wheel." The phone rang again. I looked at the device. I knew who it was. It was her. Again. At the beginning of the cycle. She was calling to say she saw the man in the garden. And if I answered... I would see it all again. I would feel her death again. "Answer it," the shadow ordered. "Maybe this time you can save me. Maybe this time you get to her before him." It was a trap. The trap of hope. Hell isn't fire and brimstone. Hell is the hope that you can change a past that is already written in blood. If I answered, I would be stuck in the loop. I would try to save her, fail, clean the blood, and the phone would ring again. I would be here forever, an idiot in a white jumpsuit pushing a boulder of guilt up a hill. I grabbed my bucket of chemicals. I walked to the phone. I lifted the bucket. And with a scream of rage and fear, I brought the heavy bucket down onto the phone. CRACK. It shattered. The ring died halfway through. Silence returned to the room. Heavy. Resentful. The shadow in the corner flickered and vanished. The pool of blood on the floor stopped bubbling. It darkened. Dried. Turned into just an old, sad stain. I unlocked the door. It opened easily. I left the house without looking back. I left the dirty rug. I left the broken glass. I left the job half-finished. I got in my van and drove to the nearest town. I stopped at a dirty bar and ordered a double whiskey, still wearing the Tyvek suit unzipped at the waist, my hands shaking. I never went back to the Vales Residence. The real estate agency called me, furious, saying the cleaning wasn't finished. They said they would send another technician. I tried to warn them. I tried to tell them not to send anyone. I said the house was sick, that the house was stuck. They laughed and hung up. Yesterday, I ran into an old coworker. I asked about the guy they sent to finish the job there. A young man named Marcos. "Marcos?" my colleague shook his head. "Poor guy. He quit. Lost his mind." "What happened?" I asked, feeling a pit in my stomach. "No one knows for sure. The police found him in the house two days later. He was sitting in the corner of the music room, staring at the wall." "Was he hurt?" "Not physically. But he was holding the receiver of a broken phone against his ear. And he kept repeating the same phrase, non-stop." "What was he saying?" My colleague took a sip of beer and shuddered. "He was saying: 'This time I almost made it. This time I almost made it. Just one more time. Just one more time.'" I paid the bill and left. The echo hasn't stopped. It just changed listeners. And sometimes, when I'm scrubbing a tough stain in a silent house, and the phone rings... I drop everything and run. Because I know there are calls that, if you answer, you can never hang up. submitted by /u/davidherick to r/stories [link] [comments]

Escalator side brushes, or skirt deflectors, are crucial safety features preventing clothing, shoelaces, and feet from getting caught in the gap between the moving steps and the stationary side panel (skirt). They aren't for cleaning shoes; instead, they gently push objects away, acting as a physical reminder for passengers to stay clear of the edge and avoid dangerous entanglement with the escalator's mechanics. Made from nylon with aluminum or steel brackets, these brushes are designed to be flexible and conform to safety standards. submitted by /u/NeatNo8582 to r/interesting [link] [comments]

No sanding, no priming, just big gobs of paint. submitted by /u/ConfusionOne241 to r/DiWHY [link] [comments]

I am NOT OOP, OOP is u/wifebackstabbedme Originally posted to r/TrueOffMyChest Wife used my secrets and past against me. I feel broken Thanks to u/soayherder & u/queenlegolas for suggesting this BoRU Trigger Warnings: child abuse, past childhood trauma, child abandonment/neglect, physical assault, attempted murder, choking, withholding food, exposure. mentions abortion and corporal punishment Mood Spoilers: horrific Original Post: August 23, 2025 I do not even know how to write this because my head feels like it is splitting in two. I keep hearing the words again and again and I cannot believe they came out of her mouth. Reposting cause ther were some grammatical mistakes. We have been married fourteen years. We built what I thought was a stable life together. Two kids, our son who is twelve and our daughter who just turned eleven. They are my entire world. When I look at them I feel the kind of love I never knew existed, because the truth is I never experienced that kind of love as a child myself. That is something my wife has always known about me, though it took years before I could say it out loud.When we first got married she noticed how I never talked about my parents. She noticed I avoided talking about childhood. She would tell me her stories, warm holiday memories, her parents decorating the house, sibling arguments that turned funny later. I would just nod and smile. She told me she wanted to understand me better, to really know me. Over the years she kept pressing, until one day she begged me to open up. So I did. Seven years ago I finally told her everything. I told her I was never meant to be here. I was the fourth child after three siblings, a failed contraception baby. An accident, that is the word my parents used. They reminded me constantly that they did not want me. It was not subtle. It was not hidden. It was spoken outright. I told her about the amusement park when I was nine. The day they tried to get rid of me. They left me behind on purpose. I knew it even at that age. They thought I would panic, wander off, disappear. What they did not expect was that I had already memorized the road home. Hours later they acted like it had been a mistake, like they lost me in the crowd, but I knew what it was. I knew what they had intended. I told her about the night my father wrapped his hands around my throat and squeezed until the world went dark at the edges. I could not breathe. My head felt like it would explode. To this day I do not know why he let go. Maybe my mother walked in, maybe something inside him pulled back at the last second. Whatever it was, I lived. Barely, but I lived. I told her about the food. How some nights everyone else ate and I sat there watching. Not because we were poor. We had enough. But because I was excluded. If they bought something good, they shared it among themselves, never with me. I remember sitting at that table as a child, stomach empty, watching them laugh while I pretended not to exist. I told her how they never missed a chance to remind me I was an accident. My parents said it. My siblings picked it up. It became the running joke. That I should not exist. That I was the mistake they could not erase. I told her how once they admitted they had planned to abort me but never went through with it. They said it with no hesitation, as if it were a casual piece of trivia, not a dagger to my chest. And I told her about the winter night when my father locked me outside as punishment for something I did not even do. I was maybe ten. It was freezing. I stood out there shivering, crying, my teeth rattling. I honestly thought I would not make it through the night. A neighbor eventually saw me and banged on the door until my mother opened it. That neighbor probably saved me. These are the things I poured out to my wife. It was not easy. I remember shaking as I said them. I remember how exposed I felt, like I had ripped open scars I had carefully hidden for years. She hugged me after. She told me she was glad I trusted her. She promised she would never throw those things back at me. Last night she broke that promise. We argued. It was stupid. It started with our son’s homework. She said I was too soft on him, that I let things slide. I said she was too harsh. It escalated. We were both defensive. One of those arguments where you forget the point and just keep trying to win. And then she said it. She looked straight at me and said maybe my father should have finished what he started that night, I don't even deserve to have a family let alone children. That maybe it would have been better if I had not survived. That I was never wanted anyway and I was the one who told her so. I froze. I actually thought for a second that I misheard her. But she said it again. Calmly. As if she believed she was simply pointing out a truth. I cannot describe what it did to me. I have had cruel things said to me before in my life. I have been insulted, mocked, belittled. I know how to brush words off. But this was different. This was the one person I let into the deepest part of me. She took my pain and turned it into a weapon. I just stood there in silence. I did not even yell back. I could not. It felt like something shattered inside me. The rest of the night I barely spoke. She acted normal. Like nothing had happened. I went to the spare bedroom and stayed there. I lay awake the entire night hearing her words over and over, blending with my parents’ voices from years ago. Their cruel jokes, their reminders that I was unwanted, all coming back with her voice layered on top. I thought about the rage I carried as a teenager. How I used to wish my mother would die painfully. I thought those feelings were buried deep, but last night she dug them up and threw them right back at me. I cannot move past it. This morning she was cheerful, as if none of it had happened. I could barely look at her. All I could think was that something inside me had broken. I do not know if it can ever be repaired. Now I am sitting here thinking about divorce. Or at least separation. I do not even know how to start. I do not know what lawyer to call. I do not know how to explain to the kids why their parents are breaking apart. Part of me wonders if I am overreacting, if this is just a fight gone too far. But I know myself. I know I am not overreacting. Because I cannot imagine ever forgetting what she said. Usually I move on. From almost anything. I swallow pain, bury it, keep going. But this is not something I can just swallow. This is different. She went to the deepest wound I have and drove the knife in. I need to say this clearly. I need validation. I need someone to tell me I am not crazy for feeling this broken. I need condolences, because I feel like I am spiraling replaying her words in my head. I thought my past was behind me. I thought I had buried it and moved on. Last night showed me I was wrong. It is not buried. It is alive and it can be used against me by the very person I trusted most. And I do not know how I could ever forgive that. Relevant / Top Comments Commenter 1: You shouldn’t. Divorce her. Words matter. It s over. OOP: Ig so, thinking of starting with separation so that the children adjust (a few weeks) then ofc I am asking some people for advice regarding lawyers Commenter 2: First, I’m so incredibly sorry that you were abused by your parents as a child. What you endured growing up is absolutely awful, and my heart breaks for you. It seems odd to me, that you describe the fight as “little” yet she went to such a drastic place as a weapon against you. If she can go that hard over a fairly common point of contention with raising kids, imagine what she’d pull out for something bigger. I know Reddit seems to jump to leave/divorce pretty quickly, but i think leaving would be something to seriously think about. If it were me, i don’t know that I’d ever be able to get past it. That was lower than a low blow. My goodness, the hurt she hurled at you. I’m so so so sorry. Sending you a hug from afar and wishing you find peace in your decision and are able to heal again OOP: Thank you. She believed that I should be more harsh to them like maybe little beating to get them to study or shout at them while I am more of a cool person, and would like to speak the same thing thrice over three days if they forgot it. And then we were battling about who does it better Is this the first time OOP's wife has used his secrets and past against him? OOP: She has done them, one more time related to my past too, but never this deep. That's why I can't help myself but feel this way. Downvoted Commenter: Here's what I would do; Have a normal conversation with her, and at some point ask her what she would suggest a wife do if in an argument her husband used her past trauma against her. Then as the conversation progresses, try to steer the example from a third party perspective to her own, and then do whatever she says and tell her exactly why. OOP: Nah, I don't feel like replaying my useless past life once again. And I don't think she is a sort of a person who will go through it like a play Commenter 3: OP, for the love of god, please file for divorce. What she said is unforgivable. It’s evil. No one with a soul or conscience would say something like that. The fact that it was cool and deliberate, and not in the heat of the moment, makes it worse. Commenter 4: You are not over reacting. She also knows what she’s done. She didn’t apologise. She didn’t come and find out why you were in the spare bedroom. She knows. She’s beyond all words and she doesn’t love you any more. She said it because she doesn’t want your relationship anymore. She wants you to look like the bad guy and be the bad guy. Don’t let that happen. First thing you should do is get a therapist. Somebody to talk to, talking things out will keep you sane and reinforce the knowledge that you are doing the right thing when she’s spinning things and you feel crazy. Secondly you want a divorce lawyer & they will point you to who deals with child custody if they can’t. Thirdly I would start looking for a place to live. You don’t need to move into it right away. But it can be a place you can go when things are getting to much and it gives you time to make it a home and a safe place. This way when you leave she can’t beg you to stay because you actually have somewhere to go, it will give you the strength to walk out. You are going to be okay. What has been forced upon you is not okay, but you still have a future. Make it how you want it   Update: August 27, 2025 (four days later) Wife used my past and secrets against me (UPDATE) I waited until Tuesday. She went through the weekend and Monday like nothing had happened, a little colder than usual, quick with her answers, acting irritated like I was the one who had caused all of this. No apology. Not even a hint. It felt like I was carrying something heavy while she just moved around it. By Tuesday afternoon I couldn’t hold it anymore. I asked her to sit down with me. The house was quiet. I told her I needed to talk about what she said during the fight, because this wasn’t something we could just shrug off. I reminded her that the fight had started because I refused to hit our son while teaching. I told her I don’t believe in beating kids to make them learn, and that she had pushed for it. That’s where the argument began, and somehow it slid into something so much uglier. I asked her why she used what I told her in confidence against me. I reminded her that she had asked me to open up years ago, and promised she would keep it safe. I asked her why she hugged me back then if this was where it would end up. At first, she was stiff. She said she didn’t know what else she was supposed to do at the time. She told me she just tried to act normal, to be supportive, because she didn’t know how to handle what I told her. She said she hadn’t realized how heavy it all was until later. Her voice was even, like she was just explaining facts. I told her the promise mattered. I said it wasn’t about a slip in anger. It was that she reached for the exact things I handed her in trust and turned them against me. I asked her again why. That’s when she admitted it. She told me she lost some respect for me after I opened up. I asked what that meant. She said it wasn’t one detail, it was the whole picture. She said she had always seen me as solid, someone who could carry weight without bending, the person she leaned on. But after I shared everything, she couldn’t stop seeing the breaks under the surface. She said parts of my story made me look fragile to her. Some of the darker pieces, the way those years sat inside me, gave her an uneasy feeling she couldn’t shake. Seeing me tear up and feel so nervous and like a wreck, made her look very differently at me. She actually used the word ick. She said sometimes when she remembered those things, it got in the way of how she looked at me. I asked if that meant she thought less of me for surviving. She said it wasn’t about surviving, it was about how it changed what she expected from me. She admitted she had built an image of me that didn’t include those kinds of wounds, and once she knew, she couldn’t put that image back. I asked her why she hugged me then, why she told me she wanted to know me fully. She said she didn’t know what else to do in the moment. She didn’t want to punish me for telling the truth. She said holding me and saying it was okay felt like the only decent response at the time, even though, inside, she had already started to see me differently. I let that sit, then asked the harder thing. She said she couldn’t control herself in that moment, and she reached for what she knew would hurt me most. She said she regretted it and that it would never happen again. I also thought about how it might sound from the outside, like maybe I had dumped too much on her back then. But the truth is, I never sat her down and unloaded everything at once. I gave her my story the way she asked for it, piece by piece, only when she pressed me. If she wanted to know something, I answered. I didn’t overshare, didn’t volunteer random details. And even then, she probably only ever heard a fraction of what I actually live with. What makes this worse is that I’ve been to therapy. I’ve done the work. I wasn’t unloading on her because I couldn’t carry it myself. The only reason she even heard those parts of me was because she demanded it. She insisted I open up, insisted she wanted the whole picture. She told me she wanted to know me fully. And I believed her. I trusted her enough to hand over things I never planned on saying out loud. That’s why this betrayal feels so much heavier. It wasn’t me blurting out things I couldn’t control it was me handing her pieces of myself because she begged for them, swore she’d hold them safe. And then she took those same pieces and cut me with them. It feels like giving someone your heartbeat because they said they wanted to hold it close, and then watching them drive a knife straight through it. After she said all of that, I just sat there for a while. It was like I’d finally gotten the truth behind everything, but it didn’t settle in cleanly. I wasn’t shocked anymore, more… resigned. I also thought about how it might sound from the outside, like maybe I had dumped too much on her back then. But the truth is, I never sat her down and unloaded everything at once. I gave her my story the way she asked for it bit by bit, only in response to her questions. If she wanted to know something, I told her. I didn’t add anything extra, didn’t volunteer random details. And even then, she probably only heard a quarter of what I actually carry. WHY WAS SHE SO INTENT ON ME BEING OPEN AND EMOTIONALLY VULNERABLE THEN?! I told her I didn’t think I could just go back to how things were. I said I felt like the foundation was cracked in a way I couldn’t ignore. I told her maybe the only way forward was to separate amicably, quietly, before things got any worse. I said I didn’t think I could keep looking at her the same way, not after knowing she could turn something so personal into a weapon. That’s when her whole tone shifted. The firmness she had when she explained herself dropped, and she sounded almost panicked. She asked me not to say that, said she didn’t want a divorce. She told me she still loved me, that whatever she had done in anger wasn’t bigger than the life we had built. She couldn’t imagine splitting the kids between us, couldn’t imagine them growing up in two houses. She told me leaving would scar them more than anything we had been through. I told her love isn’t supposed to look like tearing each other apart with the sharpest words we can find. She said she knew that, and promised again that it wouldn’t happen anymore. She said she had already admitted it was wrong and she meant it when she said she’d never go there again. She kept circling back to the same point: that we had kids, that they needed us together, that whatever issues we had, we had to fix them without breaking the family apart. She didn’t cry, but there was a kind of desperation in her voice. Almost like she was afraid I was already out the door and she was trying to pull me back any way she could. She didn’t apologize again for what she’d said, not directly, but she kept stressing that it would never happen again, that I shouldn’t throw everything away over one mistake. Right now, I haven’t made a final decision. I keep going back and forth in my head. Part of me feels like the damage is too deep and I’d be lying to myself if I pretended I could ever really see her the same way again. But another part of me hesitates, because walking away isn’t simple when there are kids and years of life tied together. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t leaning more in one direction(the end) than the other, but I’m not there yet. I feel heavy most days, caught between wanting to protect myself and not wanting to tear my family in half. Some moments I think I know what I have to do, then I second-guess it. It’s draining, but at least writing this down and hearing different perspectives has made me feel less alone in it. Thank you to everyone who’s taken the time to read, comment, or even send me a message directly. It means more than I can put into words. I couldn't respond to every single individual, but I have gone through all of the comments maybe even twice. Thank you strangers. Top Comments Commenter 1: She wants you to focus on her and the kids more than yourself and the hurt that she caused you. This should tell you more than anything else. What she did was essentially respond with emotional blackmail and make you think that your actions are the reason the kids are going to be hurt and that the relationship is potentially falling apart. Literally a narcissistic response Commenter 2: Ew she wanted you to hit the kids over homework?? As someone raised hit over homework, that is ABUSE. This is further reinforced by the fact that she was disgusted by the fact that you’re not abusive and have been abused and then abused you. SHE IS ABUSIVE! Not only do you need to get out of there, but I would suggest evaluating whether your kids are safe with her. Protect yourself and your kids. Commenter 3: OP, she’s trying to manipulate you. Her apology was a lie. She’s not sorry. Her promise was a lie, so you can’t trust her ever again. Go through with the divorce, but do NOT make it “amicable” or “as friends”. You didn’t just drift apart mutually, she abused you. Commenter 4: Her not apologizing is what tears it for me. It signals that she still feels what she feels about you as she had described in her explanation. And frankly, that’s what makes staying difficult, if not impossible. She can promise not to do it again, but if lack of control is the reason behind launching a devastating surgical attack with emotional abuse as her primary weapon of choice, then I’m afraid her promise might ring hollow. Lack of control is what a person with abusive tendencies say to excuse their behaviour. If you still have access to a therapist, I’d strongly encourage you to seek out their counsel to work through your feelings and help gain clarity in deciding what to do moving forward. I wish you good luck and light with whatever you decide to do.   DO NOT COMMENT IN LINKED POSTS OR MESSAGE OOPs – BoRU Rule #7 THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT OOP submitted by /u/Choice_Evidence1983 to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

am not OP. That is u/Brave-Company2867 who posted to r/MarkNarrations TW: entitlement, harassment/bullying, distressing materials, Trespassing, sexual intimidation, and domestic violence Original Post June 24th, 2025 I (33F) bought my home right before the pandemic. The world shut down and I shut into my remote work with the solitude and comfort of a natural introvert. The house was extra large and I only really could afford it because the family selling was in need of a quick sell. The house has a finished attic and basement, which were easily converted into not-so-mini apartments. The basement has its own entry point and also connects into the main house. There are four bedrooms, two baths and the master room has a walk in closet. During the pandemic, my sister both were hit hard and quickly needed to downsize as their own roommates moved back home. My sisters (25F and 27F) and I do not have such a luxury so I offered them rooms at below market rate and told them they needed to supply their own food. The rent was really to help with increase in bills. They were both still in school at the time but also working. This arrangement gave them more breathing room financially. Then, a girl they both knew was evicted from her home with her bf because the family they rented from needed the home back. I offered the basement at near-market rate, though still a little under as I felt bad and it is a basement apartment. After that, a friend of a friend heard about my arrangement and asked if there was any room left. I gave him the attic apartment for another near-market rent. Rental agreements were drafted up for each person. I explained the basic rules, the rent, and how long they would have if rent was not received. I told them to read it and return it to me when signed. I left them each with their own copy. I collect the rent the first Saturday of the month. They leave the name blank on the checks for me to fill out and I always thought it was because they were afraid of misspelling my stupidly unique name and having the check bounce as a result. Apparently not. The issue: I still have one "free" room in the main part of the house but I use it as my office and it locks up. My friend knows my sisters and they got to chatting up while out together, they bumped into each other during a day out. My sisters mentioned the "extra room" and my friend has a cousin (18F) who will be starting college in our city and asked if "my landlord" would rent it out to her. I brushed over the comment because I thought there was miscommunication and told her the room wasn't for rent as I use it for my at home office. She asked if I was paying for the room and I told her, "Why would I pay for a room in a house I own?" She got a little quiet, apologized for pushing and told me the struggle its been to find a spot for her cousin. I told her all of my tenants are solid until December when renewals go out. I can offer her a spot if someone moves but I stressed it was unlikely as everyone gets along, stays out of each others business, and it works well for them. We dropped the topic. A few days ago my sisters asked me how the talk went and I said it was ok, but her cousin won't be moving in. They asked why and I explained to them the situation above. They suggested I move my office to my bedroom or the main room and "stop paying rent for an extra room to save costs". When I asked what they meant, they said "well you do pay rent for the extra space right?" No. I then asked if they knew I was the landlord and they were floored. They never actually read the agreements they have been signing. They went off on me about how I should have told them and that they shouldn't have to be paying rent to family. I told them the rent was to cover their increase in bills. I wasn't going to house them for free when they made enough to cover a fair share on a shared expense. If they would rather full market rent on the rooms they were currently in, I could arrange that come renewal. By now they could afford it with their jobs and having saved money on rent for 5 years. They called me an asshole for holding rent above their heads. This then leaked to the tenants as they talked about the issue to their friends in the basement. While their rent is more than just for bills, it is not the market rent value I could get out of the space despite them each having income and no family to support. They came to me to ask that I LOWER the rent, as if being friends with my sisters was reason enough as I was the landlord and not "somebody they didn't actually know". The deal they had no longer seems in their favor, apparently. I told them they had until December to decide if they wanted a renewal because it was not going to be lowered. They are now acting like I am kicking them out, when all I said was now that they fully understand their position they needed to make a choice to stay as with current costs and annual adjustments as needed as was our agreement or begin the process of looking as rent prices have skyrocketed and its much harder to find a place. The adjustments do not include "knowing I am the landlord". My attic tenant asked if I was "cleaning house" and basically begged I don't kick him out. His family turned their back on him because of....conflicting views. Personally, his views don't bother me. His family's though. Eesh. I explained it all in detail and he was like, wait I always knew you were my landlord because its in the rental agreement. But he also never put my name down because "its hard to spell". Now everyone is upset with me and I feel unwelcomed in my own home. AITA? WIBTA if I didn't renew one or all of their leases because of this hostility I feel? Edit: word Quick Edit since I keep seeing a similar question: Our lives have been a mess of social services and foster care as children, all aging out at 18. I didn't go out of my way to tell them about my buying a house, partly out of guilt, and they came to me for leads on places to live in a time of need. The guilt comes from not taking them in when I had the opportunity at 18. I would have had to jump through massive loops and I did not feel prepared to care for myself, let another a couple of kids I hardly knew since we had been separated often. We reconnected when they aged out and built from there. We also do not share the same last names as we each have different fathers. Update June 27th, 2025 AITA for not telling my roommates and sisters I am the owner? Update Hello everyone. I wanted to thank everybody for taking the time to read my last post and offer up their advice, comments, thoughts, and judgment. I took some of the advice given and have taken the "don't rent to family or friends again" to heart. So I'm going to jump into the update. I'm going to try to break it down bit by bit before going into it all. Mr. Attic - I'm keeping him. I pulled him aside first and separately. I told him I would not be renewing the others' leases in December and asked if he would want to rent the basement for at market value. He turned it down, asking to keep the attic as he is comfortable there. I told him it would probably be in his best interest to let the others believe this is a whole house clean out so he doesn't get caught in the cross fire. He agreed and went out of his way to turn his social media to private. He also sent me screenshots of a group chat he had been added to. The group chat - My sisters and other pair of tenants started up a group chat to bitch about me being so uncompromising and greedy. They were coming up with ideas to not pay rent or to only pay in part. The basement tenants "joked" about one of them "losing" their jobs so they could ask for leniency since I was too "stuck up to be kind" to them about the rent. The harassment - My sisters and Mr/s Basement had told their friends (and the families of Mr/s Basement) about the rent, the "lies", and my "inability to consider outside perspective and need". I've had a steady stream of calls, DMs, texts, and posts directed at me since before I made my last post, which is what prompted me to post. I made my accounts private, disabled some of the messaging functions, and told the four of them to get this to stop before I got my lawyer involved. Spoiler: they didn't. So after taking a night to think about it, I brought the group together to have a discussion about the rent and situation. My sisters looked smug and Mr/s Basement kept sharing knowing looks. I told them bluntly I was not going to renew leases in December because their actions, attitudes, and lack of consideration has made me feel unvalued, humiliated by their family, and unwelcome in my own home. I told them if they found an apartment or place to go before December, I wouldn't charge them for breaking the lease but if there was ANY damage anywhere, they would not get their security deposits back until the pricing out was settled. If there was more damage than their security deposit, they would be taken to court. I told them I was done being kind and understanding to people who thought so lowly of me. I also warned them I could and would break the leases myself if I felt the need, in which case they would have 30 days. It was immediate chaos. A lot of yelling, insults, and cursing. Even Mr. Attic, but he was yelling at the others for "getting him kicked out when he didn't do anything". He made an epic show of storming up to the attic and slamming the door. He sent me laughing emojis and texted that he wasn't going to be able to keep a straight face a little later. I waited for them to stop yelling and when they demanded what they would do, I set a stack of ads for apartments and houses for rent in the nearby area and said they would have to start looking now. I told my sisters I would help pay for their moving truck but told the basement tenants they would have to ask their families for help moving out. Mr. Basement picked up the stack of papers and his eyes went wide. He stared at me and asked if I was fucking serious. I told him the prices listed were not mine to judge, change, or deal with. I reminded him his current place was below market because I had a say in it. Market prices for one bedrooms in the area are well over 1500$ a month, if he wants near his work and close enough to walk to stores and things. He currently has a two bedroom for less than that. My sisters grabbed some of the papers and the 27 year old started crying because she couldn't afford an apartment on her own. She told me about her student loans and credit card debt. I told her, Too bad. I gave you a good deal out of kindness and you sent an army after me. I would have considered letting you stay if you hadn't been so nasty. I told all of them they could probably swing a two bedroom between the four of them and got up and left. They refuse to talk to me now. My sisters spent the night in the basement apartment and I could hear shrieks and crying if I walked by the door that leads down there. I feel a little bad but I reread your comments to keep my sanity. As for if I want them out, I can give them 30 days notice since they are inside my own home. I checked and double checked with the lawyer and this information had been in their rental contracts. If I do have to kick them, and they try to refuse to leave and drag it out in court (which they don't have the money for) I have been given some handy advice by a fellow landlord who had to remove his own brother. I can't remove them by force but I can make "living" there entirely uncomfortable. Nothing stops me from taking doors off hinges or starting remodeling while their stuff is in the way. Nothing stops me from turning off the water or electric for their sections of the house during remodeling. (Quick edit: JUST for remodeling purposes. It wouldn't be done to make them leave. But they can't stop my remodeling as squatters.) It might seem like an asshole thing to do, but they would be the ones to start it and I actually do want to repaint and do some adjustments. The reason I am leaning on evicting them by August is because the harassment has gotten so much worse now that there is an actual non-renewal happening. I'm leaving my phone on silent and collecting messages, voicemails, emails, and other things to hand off to my lawyer next week. I told them to call off their dogs and they haven't. I asked Mr. Attic if he knew anyone who would need a place and to let me know. He has a few friends from his community who seem interested, as they either live with roommates or family and want out. If anyone has any questions this quiet morning, I will try to answer them. Quick Edit: I have cameras outside and in common rooms - facing the front and back doors, the hallways upstairs and the door leading to the basement. The tenants have access to the entry point ones like Mr Attic has the hallway to his area, Mr/s Basement have the feed that leads to their door inside the main house and they all have outside camera access. I'm thinking of cutting access to the outside cameras for them. They can't do anything to the feeds as they are guests in the system (so they can't delete anything) and my access automatically saves on extra external systems. I might just cut them all out of the system except Mr. Attic for piece of mind. Also, I keep seeing people ask about our family. There are no parents and no family from our side. My sisters have no relationships with their fathers or their families, mine had been killed due to his own actions (there is no sympathy for the likes of him) and his family shunned him so they shunned me as well, and our mother is a cup of ash left at the funeral home. Update 2 July 2nd, 2025 AITA for not telling my roommates and sisters I am the owner? Update 2 Hey everyone. I'm very tired. Thank you all for your kind words and wonderful advice. Onto the update. Mr. Attic's friends - Two have agreed to take the bedrooms my sisters are currently occupying when they move out. I've met them, we talked at length, and they are wonderful people. One helped me change the tire on my car because I ended up with a flat just after our meeting and she was incredibly kind and showed me how to change it. Like she walked me through it step by step, letting me do it but just explaining how. I can't believe I've never changed a tire before. Weirdly embarrassing. The harassment and lawyer - The lawyer sent a cease and desist to everyone that had contacted me. Then, he went on and filed for restraining orders/orders of protection and a claim for slander/defamations. There were many posts with me tagged or with my name claiming I was an unfit landlord, a slum lord, a greedy bitch, a homewrecker (because I apparently came onto MR. Basement - haha, so funny because he is fugly and you couldn't pay me to touch that) and more. These things take time but there was an almost immediate drop off of calls, messages, ect. Mr/s Basement - Have been served their notice. They helped spread lies and deception. They have ceased all communication with me but they only have 30 days and I have post it notes on their porch reminding them every day how long they have. I've seen them starting to take smaller things out today, which is what prompted this update. Mrs. Basement can be heard crying a lot if I stand by the top of the stairs. I think they might be moving back in with family, which is what they had been avoiding by moving into my basement. Her mother is toxic, her father has a new wife who hates her, and Mr. Basement's family dislikes her enough to outright ignore her or tell it to her face that she isn't family, especially because she "won't" give her bf a family. Spoiler: she can't have kids due to medical stuff. And they aren't even married. Group chat- I have screenshots of their group chat (curtesy of Mr. Attic) and there is a lot of evidence of them feeding lies to others, talking all about how they told this person this, or that person that. Mr. Basement made the claim I came onto him, and his girlfriend went nuts. I think she doesn't know he lied about it, just to make it more believable to others. When he first made the claim, she blew up my phone and social media before dragging it to others. My sisters "weren't surprised by my behavior". That....stung. I have never done anything like that in the past. My sisters- They also have their notices. The 25 year old is already moving in with a couple of friends who think I am horse shit. They come every so often to help her move things and they send me nasty looks or make loud, intentional comments for me to hear. She has been dumping my food into the trash and dumping it down the sink. I just got a minifridge for my room and she spends night screaming at my locked door. I take my work to a local cafe (rather, multiple ones) or library now because she will just shriek any time she thinks I'm working. I make it vary and don't go to the same place twice in a row. The 27 year old has turned to begging for me to let her stay as she can't afford to live on her own and she has no one willing to take her. Her boy toy (didn't even know she had one) broke up with her when he got the cease and desist from the lawyer. He was one of the ones causing problems but once the lawyer stepped in to bat, he bounced. According to Mr. Attic, he heard her telling someone something along the lines of he could move in if he helped her get me to leave or back down because "its family property". She had been taking a call outside and I caught the proof on camera because he told when and where to look for it. Quick Edit: My sisters are not moving in together because they each blame each other. They also blame the basement tenants while they blame my sisters. They all collectively blame me as well since I'm just pure evil but they think each of them pushed me to do it. Cameras- Only Mr. Attic still has access. The cameras were not part of the rental agreement and everyone lost their damn minds when I took away the access. They tried covering them or adjusting them but I warned them they would be held liable for damage and anything else I could get if they did that again. Now, I get middle fingers and aggressive stances and stares into the cameras. I'm sure I'm missing things. I just can't sleep and I'm swamped with getting them out, with work, and with trying to fill their places, and getting the basement redone before going back on the market. Update 3 July 7th, 2025 AITA for not telling my roommates and sisters I am the owner? Update 3 I really wasn't going to update again so soon. I was planning to wait til move out date or the few days following depending on how it all went but days ago a big thing happened and I just don't know how to feel about it. Also, I wanted to address a few common questions and concerns I got in comments and DMs. (If I haven't answered a DM, I am sorry. I wasn't expecting so many.) Sorry if this is long. Questions first: Is Mr. Attic still putting on his dramatic performance? : Absolutely. He has been bringing in boxes and leaving with boxes. The boxes are full of things he is donating or selling, or just empty. He is using this time as an excuse to declutter and redesign his space. I told him if he wanted to pick out new colors while I am redoing the basement to do it. He complains at my sisters in the kitchen or shared spaces when they try to talk to him about his plans, telling them he wouldn't have to make plans if it wasn't for them. Why not move into the basement and rent the house as a whole (possibly to a family)? : Children freak me out. (Kidding.) I have a pool and them being left unattended to drown is a big worry for me. I let the pool be communal. Children are naturally loud (stomping, slamming things, shrieking or laughing) and don't fully understand the concept of others and how they act infringing on their peace or the quiet. I work from home so I can't have that kind of noise above my head during meetings, or keeping me from sleeping. I also know from past experience that children are more destructive than pets (most times). I don't want crayon or marker on the walls, holes made from throwing toys, broken doors, or other things I've seen kids do during my time in the system. You leave a kid alone for a minute and they find all sorts of trouble. Did I get my restraining orders? : Not yet. I'm still collecting evidence for them. I've been collecting videos of the 25 year old screaming and the layers of harassment they caused. I also am elbows deep in an emergency one now. Call the police on the screaming : I've been advised by my lawyer to collect as many videos as I feel safe enough to do so first. Show a history, show a cause for concern. I will probably call sometime this week if she keeps it up but she has had a reason to stay very quiet. Change the locks when they leave: Every door is getting new locks, even Mr. Attic's. Charge the sisters for coffee and things: They supply their own food. They supply their own needs. My food has been moved into my room, thanks to the minifridge. Be careful they don't run up the bills: My sisters each pay equal parts of each bill in the main house. The tenants are responsible for their water and electric. If they run the bills up, they are responsible for them. The rent covers trash, wifi (no cable), heat. Onto the update. A comment mentioned that the flat tire I had might have been intentional. This left me very uneasy and I went to a friend to have it checked. He confirmed it has been slashed. I let him do a full body look over the car and he found an air tag in the bumper. We haven't figured out where it came from yet- or rather, who. He said that was outside his wheelhouse and I didn't want to keep it with me so I took it to my lawyer, who took it to the cops. I'm waiting to hear back. My 27 year old sister has been incredibly wired since it was taken to the cops, in my opinion. She has been constantly asking where I am going, what I am doing, who I am seeing. She didn't do that before. She has been trying to stalk my social media but I blocked her and a bunch of others. I know this because she keeps asking why I blocked her. She is demanding I unblock her because we are family and there shouldn't be any secrets. She also keeps pestering to know if I found their replacements yet, begging to stay, and demanding I apologize to her ex because I "terrified him with the lawyer". I am looking through my footage but I can't find anyone tampering with my car so I think the air tag was put on while the car was away from the house because whoever did it knew there were cameras facing the cars. The 25 year old started leaving big messes in the kitchen/ common rooms. She would leave dishes out overnight and a few days instead of cleaning up after herself and using the dish washer. She left clothes on the furniture and her muddy shoes in the hallway to trip people at the bottom of the stairs. I took pictures of the messes and reminded her that if I had to clean up her mess when she was gone, it would come out of her security deposit. When she cleaned the dishes, I took them all to my room. I did not supply dishes in the rental contract. Both of them are upset with me because they are back to living on paper plates. Onto the incident: Mr/s Basement do not have keys to the main house. He also didn't have cameras access to the main house except the door that connects the basement and hallway. I came home from my working day, spent at the library, to find Mr. Basement inside the main house. Alone. My sisters were still at work (I worked a half day) and Mr. Attic had left earlier that morning for a weekend get away - but he had told the others he was traveling to see a new apartment the next city over. Immediately on the edge, I called my friend and she stayed on the line while rushing over. I demanded to know what he was doing in the main house and how he got in. I had left after my sisters so I KNOW the house was locked up. He wanted to talk. He refused to answer how he got in. I figured it was a key from my sisters. He kept trying to get me to sit, to step away from the door. Eventually, he started telling me what I already knew about them moving in with family. How her family was terrible, how his family hated her, and he wanted to do anything he could to get an extension so they could focus on getting an actual apartment. When he said "anything he meant Anything" and as he said that, he stepped closer. He started to ramble about how he knew about "the way I looked at him" and he could "give me a good time". He talked about how "she didn't need to know of our time together" and "he knew I was lonely". While its true I have been single longer than I've known him, the single lifestyle has been entirely my own choice. Simply put, childhood trauma. I'm content with how I handle my life. I told him in no uncertain terms that what he was suggesting was exploitative, manipulative and downright disgusting. If he ever caught me staring, it was because of the weird 8 dot tattoo on his shoulder that I could never figure out the meaning behind. I like tattoos, I have a few myself, and I like figuring out the meanings. In no way do I find him attractive or appealing. In fact, he has the kind of red flags I would avoid in a man. I told him besides his looks, there are reasons I would never date him but I refused to list them for him. List (you can skip): He smokes, he vapes, he lights up Mary Jane. He hates animals. He wants a "brood" of children. He gets loud when he is mad, and will curse a person out over little things. He is jealous of others, men specifically. An example: He failed at being a gym bro so now men who work out are "compensating for something". He knows everything. He got angry and told me I "wasn't pretty enough to play hard to get" and that I was "lucky he was willing to help me out and maybe even give me a real reason to have such a big house". I think he was implying children. But as he was getting really nasty about it, my friend pulled up and honked loudly and for a long time. I took that distraction to get out and he followed, yelling about how it was a good deal and how I would regret being "old and alone". Minutes later, the cops rolled up. I hadn't called them, hadn't even thought to. My friend told her boss to as she left to come get me. I explained my side to the police, showed them the inside footage, and told them about his unauthorized access. They took back the key he had and trespassed him from the main part of the house. I forwarded everything to the lawyer and we should have an emergency protection order by tomorrow. I told Mr. Attic everything and he sent a small army from his community to his apartment and let me and them stay up in the apartment the last few days. I think I've been adopted? I had nowhere else to go. I have nowhere else to go. I am my only support. Or, I was. I now have these wonderful people as friends and they are willing to stay as long as Mr. Basement has access to the basement. Even after, if need be. But also, by not leaving I give the appearance I do not have the means to live in a hotel for the remainder of the month. (Who would?) I did the petty thing. I sent the video footage to Mrs. Basement. Its been radio silence from her, but she left me on read. I am shaken deeply from this. I am waiting anxiously to be told I have the emergency protection. But I have lovely people ready to toss him out if he manages to get back inside. I can't change the locks yet and even if I do, I can't guarantee my so-called sisters won't give him another copy. I changed the locks to my rooms and added extra. To be clear: because of the small army, my 25 year old sister hasn't been able to scream at odd hours. Any advice would be so appreciated. Update 4 July 11th, 2025 AITA for not telling my roommates and sisters I am the owner? Update 4 (+ The story of Mr. Attic) Hello everyone. I wanted to again thank everyone for their kind words, support, ideas and help. I cannot tell you how much your words and concern have meant, and how much the support has helped me keep strong and not back down. There have been times when I have wanted to crumble under the weight of all this stress but reading your comments has really helped me hang on. I wanted to update because so many seemed worried in my last post. I'm still here. The protection orders: I have one against Mr. Basement and he is officially not allowed to be on my property or contact me in any way, including through others like Mrs. Basement. I was unable to get one against my 25 year old sister because there hasn't been a threat of violence, even with police documentation of her screaming and the home security footage of her banging on the door. The move out date: July 26th (edited, my bad) Mrs. Basement: At first she tried to tell me she needed his help to pack and move things, and I had to repeatedly tell her he was not allowed on the property for any reason. I made it clear if I even so much as thought he was on the property, I would call the police to investigate. And I have done so. As of last night, Mr. Basement was arrested for ignoring the court ordered protection. He was in the basement helping pack at like 1AM. My new motion detectors in the back yard went off and sent me an alert. He had tried to sneak around the camera he knew was back there. But I have since upgraded and installed new hidden cameras. I was called an asshole for not informing them of the new cameras. Mrs. Basement is convinced I had seduced him and its my fault because I led him on. She yelled at me for trying to "take her man" and called me a lot of nasty things. She told me he only "offered" to do anything because they didn't want to move back in with family. It "was a sacrifice to keep her safe". There's no talking her down from that hill to die on so I have been keeping my distance. She has had a lot of "help" from family now and mostly, if I am home, I hear her family belittling her or her boyfriend's family scolding her. They think its her fault he tried to cheat and her fault they lost the apartment. They are not worried about staying quiet or calm because they are moving out anyway. 25 Year old sister: She only has a few big items left and has been mostlysleeping at her new place since it became apparent that I was going to have a rotating door of people staying with me. If she would try to leave a mess in the kitchen, she was met with judgmental stares. When she tried to take my TV in the living room while I was gone, Mr. Attic and a friend blocked her from leaving and called the cops. Its a newer smart TV. I had given Mr. Attic access to the other cameras until everyone was gone because I was worried for his and his friend's safety. She still curses me out when we manage to cross paths. She tried to cancel my internet and put "return to sender" on some mail that came in my name. The internet company has a special code for each account and she couldn't provide the code so they called me. My mail lady was confused and asked me about the mail, asking if I needed a forwarding address because I was moving. I'm going to get a lock box things for packages now. 27 Year old sister: I don't think she is looking for apartments. She keeps crying to me that she has nowhere to go. She tried to change the lock to her bedroom but I shut that down. I think she will try again. She has been bringing some guy around a lot but refuses to make introductions. He stays in her room mostly, only leaving to use the bathroom or watch her microwave ramen and eggs. He won't look anyone in the face and rolls his eyes when people try to talk to him. I'm worried this will turn into a squatter matter so I am working with my lawyer to have everything ready to remove him as well. Was he the boy toy from earlier?: I have no idea. I didn't know she had one and I don't know what he looked like. When I found out, it was only a name. Since she hasn't made introductions with him, I don't know who he is. Mr. Attic's blown cover: They haven't done much of anything to him since they seem to realize he was feeding me information. They blocked him. We are pretty sure they still think he has to move out too and him giving me stuff was a last ditch effort to stay. They won't even look at him anymore. The story of Mr. Attic (with his approval): Mr. Attic is the youngest of 7 (yes, that is right) kids. There would have 10 had there been proper medical care. His parents are heavily involved with their church and do not believe in a lot of things: modern medicine, birth control, non-traditional gender roles, ect. At this point, I'm pretty sure you can see where this is going. At 16, Mr. Attic was exposed to the outside world for the first time. Up until that point, he had been homeschooled and only knew people from his religious community. He started to sneak out to learn more. By 18, he had his childhood vaccines and a career picked out. When he told his family he wanted to learn medicine they tried to get him to "intern" with their family care people from the church. He perused real medicine and started classes to become a nurse. They were heavily resistant and hard to handle about it, but still talking to him. Mostly to try to force him back into the fold. He still lived at home so it was a constant battlefield. He began sleeping in his car on campus. But then he met a guy and his perspective on a lot more changed. They talked, they laughed, they danced. His family found out and went through the roof. They kicked him out with just the clothes on his back. They burned pictures of him, and any family photo that had him was either destroyed or he was cut out of. They cut him off from all family. They tried to take the car but it was in his name. They harassed and did a lot of terrible things to the guy he had been seeing. He was unable to handle the level of nuclear crazy that was Mr. Attic's family so he put a stop to their relationship. Mr. Attic, alone and desperate because of the upcoming winter, looked everywhere to get a place to stay. He crashed on a lot of couches for evenings at a time because fall hit fast and hard. No one could take him in long term because they were living at home or had roommates. He heard about my place from a friend of a friend and turned up one evening, asking like a small child if there was any room left. He offered to take the garage even, just a bed in the corner. I set him up in the attic and helped get him more clothes and a bed. I made intentional leftovers for the first few months and didn't take any rent until he had what he needed for class and himself. The rent started as just enough to cover his bills and after he got his career, it grew a little more. When I saw him on my porch, in dirty clothes and no jacket in October, I saw myself in January of the year I was shut out of my group home with just a bag of too small clothes, shoes with holes, an old hand-me-down ipad that hardly worked, and 50$ to my name. He told me he never forgot how kind I had been to him, and how kind I had been to let him bring in short term guests who also had nowhere to go until they could get on their feet. I hadn't known the full story when he first moved in, and I never pushed him. When he brought home a non-biological woman (I'm sorry, I don't know all the correct terms) and I didn't even blink, just offered spaghetti, he knew this was his place and I was his people. I didn't ask, didn't make a fuss, and offered some clothes for her. He always wanted to try to repay me but I always seemed to never need anything. He said I was always giving. I didn't see it like that. I've been invited to a cafe and bar. Ones that usually only caters to the LGBTQ+ community, but I am going to go and meet people. He'd like me to meet more of his friends. They really are wonderful people. Update 5 July 15th, 2025 AITA for not telling my roommates and sisters I am the owner? Update 5 I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words regarding Mr. Attic's story. I was honestly a little worried putting it out there like that but am glad I did. His friends have found the posts and have been reading off some of the comments for him. He turns red sometimes and tells them to stop. Someone in the comments had the idea to make "Team Attic" shirts and his one friend came by the cafe this morning with them. We were all wearing them when he came by before work and he laughed so hard he cried. And then he really cried. I felt bad but he told me he wasn't upset - he was just so warmed by all the kindness, grace, and wonderful vibes from the people reading my posts. He feels like he has a second community at his back now. This update isn't much: just the good, the bad, and the ugly. I really can't believe this is update 5 already. The good: I have been to the cafe twice now and both times have been charming, enlightening, and wonderful. I cannot stress how kind his friends and community are. They have spent their time teaching me, helping me navigate their terminology and have been so very patient with my relentless questions. (The food is kickass and they made me a pumpkin something that I could die for) The bad: I had the 27 year old's "friend" removed by police after he refused to leave of his own accord. He hit the number of days he was allowed to stay in the lease agreement and another handful of days would make him a tenant/squatter. I think they thought I didn't know that law or had forgotten or would be cool with him hanging around. (I did call him by the boy toy's name and he answered before immediately going back to her room.) So I think she was trying to get him to stay like their plan had originally been. He had a few bags of items and a laundry basket of clothes. He is well aware that I will call the police again if he shows up. She has not packed up a single thing. The ugly x3: My 25 year old sister is trying to sue me for "withholding inheritance". I don't know if she has a real lawyer, if its a cracker doing pro bono, or if its just an attempt to scare me into giving her money. I'm taking it to my lawyer in the next few days. Edit: I think she means my house. I never received anything from my parents - and my dad is not her dad so even if I had, she might not have been entitled to it. The police have not yet told me anything about the tracker found in my car. Mrs. Basement is trying to hide a bruise with some shoddy make up and big sunglasses. I can't say I know what caused the bruise, but I think we all have similar thoughts on the matter. She immediately goes inside anytime she sees me. Like, girl, I see you. Not a super big update or moving forward, but it feels nice to be able to type it all out. I am not the original poster. Please don't contact or comment on linked posts submitted by /u/secure-raspberry-763 to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

So my best friend (Sarah, F22) recently got a new boyfriend (James, M23) and she is over the moon into him. Sarah is one of the very few people I hangout with. She recently just met James’ friend group, a group of guys, and they invited her to go on a beach trip with them. Sarah begged me to go with and kept insisting I join even when I declined the offer about 4 times. Eventually, I just agreed to go to get her off my back about being sad and alone. I was told that I would have a ride. Sarah and I were the last to be picked up, and when they pull up, there are four guys in a five passenger car. I see this as my way out. I say, “oh! Looks like there isn’t enough room for both of us. You can go enjoy the beach with your boyfriend, I don’t mind staying behind.” Sarah tells me that it isn’t a big deal if she has to sit on James’ lap to make it work. Immediately I feel on edge. Turns out, James was the one driving and said he wouldn’t trust anyone else to drive his car. He told me that I would be the one sitting on someone’s lap because there’s no way that he would let Sarah do that. I don’t know these guys at all. I pull Sarah aside and tell her that im uncomfortable, thinking that she would help me out. Instead she encourages me, saying that she thinks I would have fun and maybe even get a date. She is so into James and has been talking about this trip nonstop for over a week, so I decided to just do it to make her happy. Two of the three guys in the back (Sarah sits up front next to James) offer up their laps. I just pick the guy with the most leg room. We live about 45 minutes from the nearest beach so I thought it wouldn’t be too bad, except that I was told ON THE DRIVE that we were actually going to a beach an hour and a half away instead. My mood just becomes more and more sour. I never once relax, and eventually find myself quietly fuming once my emotions set in. The boys that I am squeezed into the back with just talk around me, physically leaning over me constantly, brushing up against me. Once we get to the beach, we set up and I finally find a moment to relax. I eat a sandwich I packed and read a book while sarah and James are lovey dovey and the guys mess around in the ocean. I was asked TWICE about why I only packed a sandwich for myself. Not jokingly either. Not once had I been asked to bring a single thing. When it came to the part where everyone was getting in the car, I just told James and Sarah that I had called an uber to pick me up because I didn’t want to sit on anyone’s lap for another hour and a half. Sarah tried to argue, but my ride showed up, so I left. I got a call from Sarah a few hours later. She called me a bad friend for ditching everyone. When I told her how the whole day was making me feel shitty, she told me I was being selfish and that I had been acting like a bitch all day. I do not think I deserve that, but I am also pretty paranoid that I did something wrong. AITA ? submitted by /u/ThrowRA_natt to r/AmItheAsshole [link] [comments]

I am STILL NOT the Original Poster. That is ThrowRAannoyingBIL. She posted in r/relationship_advice and her own page Previous BORU here. New Update marked with ****\* Thanks to u/Choice_Evidence1983 Do NOT comment on Original Posts. Latest update is over a week old. I am not the Original Poster. Trigger Warning: homophobia; parental death of a child Mood Spoiler: things are better except for the recorder Original Post: November 12, 2024 This is a throwaway account as I have work colleagues on my main that I dont want to know about my family drama and spelling will be rubbish as I'm fuming right now. Obligatory all names have been changed. So,for the back story, I 36F and married to the love of my life 36F Kay. We met when we were 17, she was out and proud whilst I was still in the closet, so we didn't start dating until I came out at 21. We got married in 2019 and have an adopted 4 year old son Jack, this comes in relevant in a minute. My sister 27F Sarah, has a long term boyfriend 28M Steve who the family can not stand. They've been together for 8 years and the whole family has hated him from the first time we met him. He is rude, obnoxious, arrogant and all in all a crappy human being. He's also someone that likes to claim that he is just honest, but if someone is honest back to him he flips out and sulks like a toddler, in fact my toddler is better behaved than him. He isn't abusive to Sarah and doesn't direct these comments towards her its just the rest of us, he's actually a good partner to her and treats her well which is his one redeeming quality. My dad and Kay hate him the most and will do anything to avoid him at family gatherings. Kay usually just ignores him and brushes off anything he says to her as she doesn't like conflict. However, there have been a few occasions that she has said something back, but it's usually said in a joking manner which amuses my dad to no end. My mum is a peace keeper and will do anything to avoid drama so she just changes the topic whenever he starts, but she and my grandparents all hate him just as much as the rest of us. Sarah is the only one that obviously doesn't hate him. Our sons birth mother Tess was Kays best friend, who sadly died in 2021. This was a real shock as she had an underlying heart condition that she didn't know about and simply went to sleep one night and never woke up. Jack had been left alone in his cot all day screaming for his mum before Kay got worried that Tess wasn't answering her texts and went to their house to see if she was OK. She found Jack in his cot and Tess in her bed. We adopted Jack as no one in Tess's family was in a position to take him in. We raise him as our own but he knows who Tess is. Obviously this is a very sensitive topic for Kay as it was so traumatic for her and Jack. Now, onto what happened last weekend. It was the anniversary of Tess's death on Saturday, so Kay, Jack and I went to visit her grave. Kay is always quiet after going to see her and this time of year is especially hard for her. On Sunday we had a family gatherings at my parents house. These happen every couple of months as just a catch up for everyone. At first nothing was out of the ordinary. Kay and my dad were off to the side talking as usual, only I could see that Kay was obviously struggling so my dad and her went for a walk so she could clear her head, this is something they have done before so nothing too unusual. However, Steve had an issue with this and asked why they had left and why he wasn't invited to walk with them. I explained that about Tess and Kay just needed a minute. This wasn't good enough for Steve though and he said she should have gotten over it by now. At this my Grandad, who is naturally a very quite guy, said that his best friend had died over 20 years ago and he still had days where his missed him so much it hurt, you don't just get over something like that. Steve shut at that. Kay and my dad got back and she was in a much better mood. We all sat down at the table for our late lunch and started chatting. Everything was fine at first until Steve started trying to butt into Kays conversation with my grandad. When it was obvious that they wern't going to include him he very loudly stated, this is bullshit, she's getting all the attention of everyone because her friend died 3 fucking years ago. Get over it for fuck sake were all sick of hearing about it. The whole table went silent and I took one look at Kay and knew she was about to go off on Steve. Only it didn't happen the way I thought. Rather than exploding at him she looked at him very calmly and said that her and grandad wernt talking about Tess, they were making plans to take him to the Christmas Markets, but if he want to be a dick then no problem. She then went on to say to him that everyone in the family hates him because he's a toxic, narcissistic fuckwad. That whenever he can't come to a family gatherering the whole family is much happier. That there is a reason he has no friends and that his own family can't stand to be around him. That reason is that he's rotten from the inside out and that Tess may have only been on this planet for 32 years, but she made a bigger impact on people that he would if he live untill he was 150. That her funeral was rammed with people because she was so loved, where as he'd be lucky if anyone other than Sarah was at his. After that she got up and went to the back garden and I followed her. A few minutes later my dad came out and said that he'd told Sarah and Steve to leave. We went back inside and Kay apologised to everyone and said she should have just kept her mouth shut. Everyone other then my mum told her what she had done was right and it was about time someone told him. My dad then found it hilarious that a lesbian had been the one to tell him straight which lightened the mood alot. We spent the rest of the afternoon there before going to pick Jack up from Kays mums house as she had had him overnight on Saturday for us. The reason I'm making this post is that yesterday I got a call from sarah saying that her and Steve wanted an apology from Kay or they wern't going to Christmas. When i reminded her that we wouldn't be at Christmas either as it our year to spend it with Kays mum so it made no difference to us, she got really upset saying that she wanted an apology because Kay was way out of line. I said she wasn't and that I wouldn't even contemplate asking her to apologise because I agreed with everything she said and so did everyone else there. She ended the call and I just went back to work. Then today my dad called me and asked if Kays mum would mind a few more for Christmas as he was refusing to spend it with Steve so he and my grandad needed someone else to go. Apparently after Sarah had called me she is called mum and started ranting and my mum had told my dad to get Kay to apologise which he said no to and they had an argument and my dad has now decided that he's done with Steve even if that affects his relationship with Sarah. He's not having it anymore. My mum wants Sarah there, and she won't go without Steve so my dad is going somewhere else and my grandad agreed with him. I text Kays mum and she said they were welcome so now my mum is furious and saying that my dad and Kay are ripping the family apart. So basically this has turned into a shit show. Kay has said she will apologise if I want her to, just to keep the piece but I've told her no way. Everything she said was true. I just dont know where to go from here and the people in my life all hate Steve that much that Kay could have physically attacked him and they would all still think she is in the right. So, that's why I'm asking internet strangers who might have had to deal with difficult family members. What can we do to get into a place where we can be around each other amicably? I'm struggling to see a way right now. Wow, didnt realise how long this got until I went to post it. Sorry about that. Some of OOP's Comments: Commenter: For things to be peaceful, both parties need to want it. Kay did nothing wrong, I wouldn’t ever spend another moment with Steve. I would let Sarah know I love her and will see her anytime, anywhere but I’ll never see Steve again. If you have one guest that basically wants to sh!t on the holiday table, there is no path forward with them. OOP: If it was just Sarah upset, then I wouldn't care, but it's my mum. She tries so hard to keep the whole family together, and she is devastated by what's going on. If it wasn't for her, then Sarah could go take a running jump for all i care right now. Sarah: This is the issue that Steve and Sarah don't see anything wrong in what he's done. It was just him being honest. I would be happier for her to apologise if Steve and Sarah admitted that what he said was in the wrong as well. Without that, I'm being stubborn about it. My dad told Kay he will fall out with her if she apologise as she did nothing wrong. There was no screaming or shouting, she said it very calmly. I feel like I'm stuck between making my mum happy and doing what I believe to be right. To another commenter: My sister doesn't see anything wrong in what he says as he's just being honest, but loses it when someone is honest back. I dont understand her anymore. Mom: Take the high road and rise above it have been two of my mums favourite things to say to us over the years. I just feel like enough is enough. He crossed a line this time that he can't come back from. I especially don't want my son around him when he's saying things like that about Tess. To another commenter: If I hear my mum say take the high road one more time I'm gonna scream. I'm sick of the high road, I've been on it for 8 years. I'm happy on the low road now. Later that day: OOP: Well I've just found out that my Granny and Pa (my mums parents) are going to my uncles for Christmas and Steve is not invited, so it looks like it's going to be just mum, Sarah and Steve for Christmas this year. How OOP feels about that: Vindicated as my mum is like her parents, they're all peace keepers and if ever they have had enough then it just shows that's he's not just stepped over the line, he's ran right past it.b Mom: Kays mum has already told her that if she changes her mind, then she is welcome at her house. Even if it's Christmas morning, she is more than welcome. Obviously Steve and Sarah aren't invited at all, but it's good that my mum has the option at least. Later reflection: I have realised that he has been trying to target Kay and my dad's relationship as they're very close. They have travelled all over the country visiting class car shows together which Steve has tried to get in on, but he doesn't know anything about cars so there's no point in him going even if they did like him. I actually think he's been trying to push Kay and I out of the family so that he gets my dad to himself, even though my dad can't stand him. Update Post: November 20, 2024 (8 days later) Hi, I know how much this community loves an update so I thought i would give you one as things seem to be sorting themselves out, kind of. After I wrote my last post a few things happened in the next couple of hours. First thing was that I spoke to my grandparents on my mums side. They were there when this all happened, but they're like my mum and just constantly try to keep the peace, that's where she gets it from. They were supposed to be spending Christmas with my mum this year but had changed their minds and decided to spend it with my Uncle instead. They have made the decision to not be around Steve either as he causes too much drama. They asked if they could come and see us and Jack on the 23rd before they head off to my uncles which i happily agreed to. This really surprised me and it outright shocked my mum, as like I said they are the biggest take the high road type people I've ever met, but even they'd had enough. The next thing that happened was my dad called to let me know that Steve and Sarah had now decided that they want Kay to make a public apology infront of the whole family and admit she was lying and that the family love Steve. He was laughing as he told me this and called them delusional, so any small chance of a superficial apology went out the window. The third thing that happened was Jack getting home from after school club with a recorder that I am sorely tempted to shove up the teachers backside. So all in all it wasn't a great day. Through talking to people on here, I also realised that Steve has been trying to push Kay and I out of the family. Organising trips that he knows we would be able to go on, we wouldn't have gone on them anyway as a weekend away with him sounds worse than a paper cut to the eyeball, and him constantly trying to get my dad away from Kay whenever we are all together. I think this is because he is jealous of Kay and dad's relationship as they're very close and go on trips to classic car shows several times a year together, usually with my grandad as well. Anyway, things went quiet for a few days until the weekend. Our town has a big Christmas fair that runs from November through December and we always go to it with mum, dad, grandad, Kays mum. We decided to cheer my mum up a bit to go on Sunday and then out for dinner after. My mum was told that if Sarah or Steve showed up then we would all leave and she promised they wouldn't be there. Things were a bit awkward at first, but settled after a while. At one point Jack got my mum and dad to take him on the giant snow slide and as my mum walked back over to us she had tears in her eyes. I puller her to one side to see what was going on and she said that whilst waiting in line, Jack had said he was happy Uncle Steve wasn't here. When my mum asked why, he said that Uncle Steve was a bad man. My mum tried to say that he wasn't, but in typical stubborn 4 year old fashion, he had argued and said he learnt in school that people who say mean things all the time are bad people and uncle Steve said mean things all the time so he was a bad man and that he didn't like him. There had been a case of bullying in his class a few weeks ago and the teacher had done a lesson on how wrong bullying is, so I think that's where this came from. This finally broke through to my mum. If even a 4 year old can see what a horrible prick the man is then she had too as well. She said that she felt stuck because she hated Steve and agreed with everything that Kay has said but she loves Sarah and doesn't want to isolate her. I told her i would always be there for her, but I wasn't putting myself, Jack or Kay through being around Steve again and she needed to think about what she wants. Not what I want or dad or Kay or Jack or her parents or Sarah or Steve, but what she wants. She went quiet and then said that Kays mum had told her she was welcome at hers for Christmas if she wanted to and that she could decided on Christmas day if she wanted, Kays mum would save her a plate. We went back to the group and a little while later I saw mum and Kays mum having a deep discussion whilst walking behind us. Neither will say what they talked about, but mum seemed a bit happier after their talk. They have also been talking since, as yesterday my mum told me that she will be coming to Kays mums for Christmas and they've been talking about going shopping together next week. When mum told Sarah after calling me, Sarah predictably lost her mind and said that mum was choosing us over her. My mum told her she was choosing to have a good Christmas rather than being belittled and made miserable all for the sake of Steve and his so called honesty. Sarah then called me and asked if I was happy that I'd won. She then did the unforgivable and used a few homophobic slurs towards me and Kay and called Jack the bastard of a whore. I ended the call, blocked her everywhere and then let my family know what had happened and that I never wanted to speak to her again. They're all as appalled as I am and my Ganny (mum's mum) called Sarah and apparently told her she was dead to her as she won't have a bigot in the family. Sarah has been trying to reach out to apologise because she knows she has stepped over the unforgivable line, but I've just kept blocking the fake accounts that's she's making on IG. Steve tried reaching out to my dad after this and when he eventually answered Steve tried to say that Sarah was just angry and didn't mean it. According to mum, dad ended up giving him a verbal lashing and told him the he was the worst thing that had ever happened to Sarah and our family. My dad has told Sarah he is disgusted with her, but will be there for her if she leaves Steve, until then good luck. Mum has gone low contact as well, but wants to keep the door open so that Sarah isnt completely isolated. I had a few people saying that Steve may be abusive towards Sarah, but I really don't think he is. He usually acts like a dick when the attention isn't on him. He knows that when he says dickish things then all the attention is on him and he revels in it. After Sarah's outburst, I just think that they're both toxic and feed off each other's toxicity. She let's him get away with the things he says because she gets pleasure out of watching us all bite our tongues and keep quiet. So, mum's angry, dad's angry, our 3 grandparents are angry, extended family are angry and Kay is being my rock, but i can tell shes really angry about what she said towards Jack. I'm just sad and done with it all. At least now I know what she really thinks about Jack, Kay and myself, so there's that. Not the prefect update, but we move on. It will be nice this Christmas to have both sides of the family together for the first time and not have to worry about Steve being a dick, but i'm sad that is is how my relationship with my sister has ended. I'm trying to get into the Christmas spirit but its a tough one right now. The only things that are make me smile are Kay and Jack being goofy idiots to cheer me up, however the recorder can go to hell. I curse whoever invented the thing, like seriously, fuck you. Thanks for all the support in my original post and opening my eyes to a few things. Maybe internet strangers are the way to go for advice after all. Hope you all have a good Christmas/ Holidays. Some of OOP's Comments: Commenter: I don't think the dickish BIL and Sarah saga had concluded. I'm glad you'll have a peaceful Christmas in theory. I just think the pair of them are not convinced yet that they're shut out. OOP: It wouldn't surprise me if they try and turn up to my parents for Christmas, but we won't be there so they won't get far. As long as they stay away from me, Kay and Jack then I dont care what they do. Commenter: May small children playing recorders with more enthusiasm that skill follow Steve everywhere. OOP: This just made me laugh a little too hard. Thanks for that. *****New Update Post: December 28, 2024 (over 1 month later)****\* Hi all, relationship_advice only allow for one update so I thought I'd would post this here as I've still got people reaching out for an update about christmas. This might be a bit anticlimacti, but nothing much has happened. Sarah stopped trying to reach out to me the first week of December after one final message through a mutual friend saying that she loves me and is sorry. My dad has spoken to her once on Christmas eve to wish her and her alone a merry Christmas. My mum has spoken to her a few times and had breakfast with her on Christmas eve, but that's it. As far as I'm aware, Steve and Sarah spent Christmas at their house alone. I do know they went to party on Boxing day with one of Sarah's friends and Steve was on his best behavior according to someone I know who was there. Maybe he's learning, who knows. I did have a few people asking about why Steve and his family don't speak and after talking to my dad i found out that Steve said something to his brothers wife at a family gathering, that lead to his brother and him having a huge argument that turned physical. After that Steve's brother refused to have him around himself, his wife or his kids so Steve's mum and dad told he wasn't welcome to family events anymore and they went very low contact with him. He apparantly gets a phone call on his birthday and Christmas, but that's about it. My dad was told this by Sarah, who was there when it happened. As per usual she tried to downplay the whole thing and say that Steve's family were overreacting. Sounds oddly familiar. We spent Christmas at Kays mums house and my mum, dad and grandad all came as well. My mum and Kays mum haven't ever really spent alot of time together, but they have been recently and they've become good friends, meeting up for lunch and going shopping together a few times. Its a bit of an odd pairing as my mum is very straight laced and Kays mum was a Punk when she was younger and now is really into wicca and natural healing. Seeing my mum dressed in in her Sunday best and Kays mum in her Sex Pistols hoodie is an odd sight, but they get along great so thats nice. Christmas overall was good, nothing special, just relaxing. Without Steve being around, there was no need to be on edge. Jack was very spoilt and loved every second of it. I'll be honest and say I miss my sister alot and part of me really wanted to call her on Christmas day, but I know I can't have her in my life right now. Thats about it really, all very boring. I still want to launch Jack's recorder into the sun, but he loves it and his rendition of Londons burning is improving. Listening to 26, 4 and 5 year olds, enthusiastically try to play londons burning on recorder at the Christmas nativity play was one of the funniest things I've ever seen. That got the biggest cheer of the night that's for sure. I hope everyone had a great holidays and has a brill new year OOP's Comment: Commenter: This is not a recommendation, however a dog can really do a number on a recorder. Great chew toy. Just saying... OOP: Funny you should say that, we have been offered a rescue puppy that will be ready in a few weeks. So, if we get one then he/she could solve our problems. submitted by /u/LucyAriaRose to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

I (25F) cut contact with my family when I turned 18, and I’ve been estranged from them ever since—until recently. Growing up, I was part of what everyone else thought was a loving, close-knit family. We had regular family dinners, holidays, and vacations together. But beneath that picture-perfect facade, something terrible was happening. When I was 13, my older cousin (then 21) started sexually assaulting me. At first, it was subtle. He would brush against me “accidentally” or linger too close when no one was paying attention. I didn’t know how to process it at the time and tried to convince myself I was imagining things. But over time, his behavior escalated. He began cornering me during family gatherings, groping me, and making vulgar comments about my body. The breaking point came when he trapped me in a room during a family party, put his hand under my shorts, and touched my vagina. I froze, too scared to scream. He leaned in and whispered, “No one’s going to believe you,” before walking out like nothing had happened. For years, I carried the weight of that moment alone. I avoided him as much as I could, but he always found ways to isolate me. I felt dirty and powerless. At 16, I couldn’t take it anymore and finally told my mom. I remember sitting on the edge of her bed, sobbing as I explained everything. I thought she’d protect me, but instead, she said, “You must have misunderstood him. He’d never do something like that he’s family.” When my dad found out, he told me I was “being dramatic” and warned me not to “spread lies that could ruin lives.” Their reaction crushed me. Desperate, I confided in my aunt (his mom), hoping someone would believe me. Instead, she screamed at me, accused me of trying to destroy her son’s reputation, and told the rest of the family that I was lying. After that, everything changed. My siblings avoided me, and other relatives stopped inviting me to things. I became the black sheep, the troublemaker. Meanwhile, my cousin acted like nothing had happened, smirking at me during family events or brushing past me just to make me uncomfortable. I started skipping gatherings altogether, but that only made me look “difficult” in everyone else’s eyes. When I turned 18, I packed my things and left. I went no-contact with everyone, determined to start over. Therapy helped me process the trauma and the betrayal, and over time, I built a new life for myself. I went to college, started a career, and met my fiancé, who knows everything and has been my biggest support system. For years, I didn’t hear from my family. I assumed they didn’t care. But a few months ago, after I announced my engagement, my parents reached out. My mom left a long voicemail saying she missed me and wanted to “heal the family.” My dad sent an email saying they “regretted how things turned out” and wanted to be part of my wedding. At first, I ignored them. But they kept reaching out, so I finally responded. I told them I’d only consider reconciling if they acknowledged what happened and apologized for not protecting me. My mom started crying, saying she was “sorry for how things went” but refused to outright admit she’d failed me. My dad said, “We did the best we could at the time,” which felt more like an excuse than an apology. Then, other relatives started reaching out, saying I needed to “let it go” for the sake of the family. One even said, “He’s changed. Why hold onto the past?” But to me, it’s not just the past—it’s years of betrayal, silence, and being dismissed that still haunt me. Am I being too harsh for refusing to reconcile unless they take full accountability? Or am I justified in keeping my distance from a family that chose their comfort over my safety? AITA? submitted by /u/Which_Ad_2666 to r/AITAH [link] [comments]

I (26F) am getting married soon to my amazing fiance Liam (30M), and I’m struggling with whether or not to invite my cousin, "Tom" (29M). Tom has a developmental disability, and while he’s almost 30, he has the intellectual capacity of about a 7-year-old. I’ve always tried to be patient and understanding, but he has consistently crossed physical boundaries with me in ways that make me really uncomfortable. I have always been an early bloomer and I have a much larger than average chest and because of all the sports I did in high school and that continue to this day I would like to say I look good. I only say this because it's the main reason my family uses to justify Tom's behaviour. Over the years, Tom has touched my chest and butt quite a few times, he's also hugged me tight and tried to kiss me, and even though I immediately told him to stop each time, it never seems to stick. He also tells all of his caretakers, nurses and live in caregivers, that I'm his girlfriend. He also doesn't like Liam because he insists Liam isn't my fiance/boyfriend because he is my boyfriend. Tom also talks about how he will marry me. It kind of feels like when a little kid tells their parent they're going to marry them but it's still very uncomfortable. I’ve brought it up with my family, but they always downplay it, saying Tom “doesn’t understand” and that he’s just “showing affection.” The excuse used most often is "He's a little boy in a man's body and you're a conventionally attractive woman." When I told my mom how uncomfortable it makes me, she said I probably “entertained” his behavior too much and that he's harmless. She insists I should just be firm, but any time I’ve tried, the family accuses me of being mean to him. With my wedding coming up, I want the day to be relaxed and special without constantly worrying about Tom overstepping boundaries. When I told my family that I was considering not inviting him, they were outraged. They said I was being unfair, cruel, and that he’d be devastated not to come. My mom even said it would “ruin his day” and make it obvious that he’s different, which she thinks is heartless. I get that Tom can’t help certain behaviors, but I feel like my family has completely ignored my feelings in this. They always brush off my discomfort and say it’s my responsibility to manage it or that he “doesn’t know any better,” but it’s my wedding, and I don’t want to be on edge the whole time. Liam says I have every right not to invite him especially because of how he treats both of us like our relationship isn't real.. Still, I wonder if I’m being too harsh or unkind since Tom isn’t fully aware of boundaries and doesn't really know what he's doing is bad or harmful, especially because his parents and other family members encourage it. AITA? submitted by /u/JumpyThrowRA to r/AITAH [link] [comments]

Today I had an interview for a job that aligned with my experience very well. Hence, I was feeling very competent going into it but the moment the interview started all of that changed. The interview panel comprised of 2 women; a manager and a senior administrator. Firstly the manager told me she wasnt very comfortable with my background as I was coming up blur on her screen (I had team blurs filter on), so I removed the filter. Then she asked me a question about something very specific to the role. Now this isnt something you would usually know if you dont work in that particular area so I told them what I could read up online and just said I had a rudimentary grasp of it. Think someone asking about the specifics of the blood donor register when you apply as a receptionist in the donation centre. And the manager just went “so you dont know about it” in a rather rude tone but i brushed it off. Throughout the interview they kept mentioning how I would be working with a predominantly female population and if i am okay with that and how I would tailor my communication. This threw me off a little because why would i need to talk to women differently than I do men. By this point in the interview I had pretty much decided we werent going to gel well and I would most likely withdraw my application after the interview. Also because the hours of the job were different to what they advertised it as and it just wasnt gonna work very well. But in the end, I asked something I ask in every interview and that is “do you guys have any other questions for me at all”, its more so just out of formality and said just before the exit. I wouldnt normally phrase it that informally but I was a little on edge. This is when the manager just went off. “It isnt very appropriate to call two women “guys”, thats very sexist. You have to learn to communicate with women in an appropriate manner” to which i mentioned i apologise for being informal but i use guys as a gender neutral term (only way i have ever heard it tbf) to which she responded “yes men often dont realise their micro aggressions towards women.” I know i had a slip of tongue but I do think accusing me of sexism was a tad much. But I am open to learning if this was indeed inappropriate (I already realise it was informal, I mean more so in terms of sexism). submitted by /u/confusediguanaa to r/interviews [link] [comments]

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submitted by /u/Barney9081 to r/cats [link] [comments]