My Landlord Increased My Rent After I Received a Promotion — It’s a Huge Mistake to Cross a Single Working Mother of Three.

When Anna, a single mother of three, finally receives a promotion, her shady landlord raises the rent… simply because he can. However, he is soon to discover the difficult truth that undervaluing a fatigued woman who has nothing to lose is the gravest error of all. This time, Anna is finished being kind.

I don’t typically consider myself a trivial person. I lack the time. With three children to care for and a full-time job to manage, petty has always been absent from my schedule. However, when someone threatens my peace, my children, and the shelter we have… simply because I got a lucky chance? 

Alright. I don’t give up easily. I descend while planning. 

Allow me to clarify that for you. 

I am Anna. I’m 36 years old and a single mother of three children. My children mean everything to me; Liam is eleven and exemplifies a boy who opens doors without being prompted and perceives when I’ve had a tough day without uttering a word. 

Maya is seven, boisterous and fearless, constantly inquiring about things others won’t. Then there’s Atlas, my child who is four years old. He’s a whirlwind in Lightning McQueen socks, with curls that bounce back no matter how many times I attempt to control them. 

Our mornings begin even before the sun thinks about coming up. I’m awake early, making lunches, tying shoelaces, detangling hair, and warming up coffee I won’t be able to drink. I am employed full-time as a team lead at a logistics firm, but I recently received the title of Operations Manager. 

After eight years of working overtime, missing lunch breaks, and never taking a sick day, someone finally noticed me. The increase wasn’t significant, but it meant that perhaps, just perhaps, I could begin to say yes when my children requested something basic. 

Fresh footwear without any openings. A school excursion that doesn’t take from next month’s food budget. Brand-name cereal. 

We had been residing in a simple two-bedroom rental for five years. We arrived just before Atlas came into the world. Right before their father, Ed, departed the scene. The children occupied a room with bunk beds that squeaked whenever anyone turned over. I rested on the pull-out sofa, my back a map of stress and extended days. 

However, it belonged to us. 

Secure, tidy, only 15 minutes away from both school and work. It wasn’t a lot, but it felt like home. 

Frank, our landlord, was the type of person who enjoyed possessing things, particularly the silence of others. He overlooked messages, postponed fixes, and once remarked, “Considering all those children, you ought to appreciate having a home at all.” 

I let go of my pride and covered the rent. Since stability is invaluable… until someone attempts to resell it to you at an increased price. 

Frank had this delightful way of acting as though I were a squatter who had somehow managed to get a lease. He didn’t see a resident; he saw a woman just one missed payment away from being expendable. 

Maintenance requests received no response initially, then came slow, reluctant replies. The damaged heater in December? 

I messaged him three times before he eventually replied with, “Bundle up, Anna.” You and the children. “It isn’t that chilly.” 

When the kitchen tap burst like a corroded geyser, drenching my shoes and almost electrocuting the toaster, his reaction was equally poor. 

“I can stop by next Thursday if it’s truly urgent.” 

However, it was never pressing to him. Neither the ants, nor the mold, nor the issue of my front door lock getting stuck every time it rained. He made me feel that requesting basic safety was asking for too much. 

The most unfortunate aspect, however? 

It was how he gazed at me when we met, as if a struggling single mother was a warning story, rather than a person. He smiled smugly. 

“You ought to appreciate having any spot at all with so many children.” 

It felt as though my kids were like excess luggage. As if our house was a gift. 

Nevertheless, I continued to make payments. Punctually, each month. Since beginning anew was costly, and even as the rent gradually increased, it remained lower than in any other place that felt secure. 

Next arrived the promotion. 

It wasn’t a celebration or streamers, but it was my own. A silent victory, diligently acquired. I refreshed my LinkedIn. 

“After years of balancing work and being a mother, I’m pleased to announce that I’ve received a promotion to Operations Manager.” “Effort leads to success!” 

I wasn’t anticipating applause. However, I received kind messages from colleagues, former classmates, and even one mother from daycare whom I hardly knew. 

“You make it seem effortless to achieve the impossible,” she had remarked. 

I went through that one three times. 

I wept in the breakroom. It was merely a couple of tears. Reserved individuals. It seemed like someone truly noticed me, beyond just the weary eyes and the late entrances. 

Myself. 

Two days later, I received an email from Frank. 

Subject: Rental Adjustment Notice

He was raising my rent by $500. No upgrades. No justification.

“Saw your little promotion post. Congrats! Figured that now’s the perfect time to squeeze a bit more out of you.”

I stared at the screen, blinking like the words might rearrange themselves into something less vile. Surely, this wasn’t real. It had to be a mistake. Some glitch. Maybe he’d sent it to the wrong tenant.

He interrupted me with his humorous tone before speaking. Your objective of career achievement alongside numerous children means you’ll face additional costs in life. Your current financial status demands you get rid of giving away money. People who earn higher salaries need to pay increased amounts for services. It’s simple math, Anna. The business operates as an institution and not a child care facility so please understand.

Complete shock seized me as my mouth grew dry. My fingers remained on my lap, holding tightly to the mobile phone. The children beyond the living room doorway created childlike laughter that filled the space. The everyday innocent laughter that filled the living room provoked an urge to vomit inside me.

I ended the call without speaking anything more.

After evening routines finished I found myself in the laundry room holding mismatched socks as if they were about to result in punishment.

Time passed as I remained in that spot.

Holding back special types of tears determines whether children will acknowledge the sounds. Such a cry lodges deep within your chest before burning and convulsing inside you. That’s the one I swallowed.

Liam found me there. Barefoot, silent, gentle.

“You okay?” he asked.

A tired expression replaced my attempt at smiling.

He nodded and took the seat next to me while leaning against the dryer.

His eyes remained fixed on the floor as he spoke those words. “You always figure it out.”

Listening to these words from him shattered me deeper than any words Frank had ever spoken. At that point I made my choice.

I wasn’t going to beg. I refused to ask Frank for help or search for savings from my nonexistent funds while we needed food instead of payment for housing. I refused to act politely toward those who interpreted gentleness as a sign of inferiority.

I planned to give him valuable knowledge.

During that week I submitted my thirty-day resignation notice to the school. No drama. The letter carrying his resignation about nonsense mail-delivered to his home.

During that evening I used my phone to share information to every local parenting and housing group to which I belonged. Nothing flashy. Just the truth.

“Looking for a family-friendly rental? Avoid 116 Muscut Avenue. The rental price rose by $500 due to my professional advancement according to my landlord. Punishing working moms for succeeding? Not today, ladies and gents.”

I didn’t name him. I didn’t need to.

The post exploded overnight.

Various mothers began sharing tragic experiences of their own. According to the tenant Frank demanded women to prepay their rent for six months due to their supposed erratic behavior. He sent screenshots to Jane showing that he refused to address mold issues because it merely affected appearance.

There were eye rolls. Rage reacts. The letter writer addressed him as “a sleazy slumlord in a polo shirt.” One tenant revealed that once he had advised her to find wealth through marriage for better building upkeep.

Then came Jodie. She only appeared in my life during PTA activities. She messaged me privately.

The man approached me with the same apartment unit while asking whether my husband would serve as a co-signer. And do you want to know why? He needed his tenants to submit their signatures as a precaution against possible pregnancy and job loss.

Jodie had receipts. And she posted them.

Within two days the property listing appeared on the real estate watchdog page that monitors our county area. Users on TikTok presented his worn-out advertisements in a dramatic musical format emphasizing the difference between his obsolete listing and my first document.

It was glorious.

And then, what do you know? Old Frank texted me.

“Hey, Anna. I’ve been thinking. The fast rise in price might have been excessive for the market. Keep the rent at its current value according to him.

I didn’t reply right away.

I brought Maya home from dance even though she was heat-soaked with messages of dried sparkle on her clothing. My preschool teachers gave me Atlas as he had constructed a “rocket dog” from three taped pieces of colorful paper.

Liam spent long division time with his brows creased in deep focus as he dug into his pencil until it reached an unusable state.

I followed my daily routine by planting kisses on their heads while Maya received a fast kiss then Atlas got stickiness before Liam kindly bore with my affection. I prepared grilled cheese sandwiches using the remaining bread supply while ignoring the shortage of milk for the third time.

Atlas requested me to read “The Gruffalo” two times.

“Do the monster voice again!” he whispered excitedly. Therefore I forced myself to do it despite my burning throat.

The chipped wall paint became my focus as I remained on the edge of the pull-out couch before I finally answered.

“Thanks, Frank. I have already locked into another apartment space. Include a note in the listing that mentions pets are not allowed but all other parties need to know. The rats which reside in the sink area might face problems when the new tenant’s cat arrives.

He didn’t bother to respond. I thought he had acknowledged my decision to move out from this place.

We left our residence at the close of that month. When I shut the door that day I remained composed without shedding any tears. I didn’t look back.

A recommendation from my Housing Group friend opened a connection to the landlord of her cousin. Our search for a new apartment ended when this connection became available. The house is compact in size yet it includes genuine three bedrooms.

Our new place eliminates the bedframe noises of bunk beds while replacing them with proper mattresses on realframe beds. The backyard features an untamed grass area with its surface not even and disorderly.

Atlas calls it his farm. Maya fashioned dandelions into a headpiece as our initial weekend at that place began. Liam took possession of the sunniest room and is currently persisting in his artwork.

And our new landlord, Mrs. Calder?

A welcome sign for the new tenants included mini muffins and a handwritten card which she delivered. She retained the memory of the names the following week. Her sight remained fixed elsewhere while I shed a tear.

Following the disarray of moving boxes alongside tangled chargers and someone misplacing their sole remaining shoe we all settled down to rest in the living room floor together. For the initial time since my mom left I allowed myself to breathe deeply while looking at the ceiling.

“Is this our forever home?” Atlas wrapped himself around me while confiding his thoughts.

I declared as I spoke. I believe this could be our permanent residence to check out.

Frank’s property appeared on the internet three weeks after his first post. The rent was slashed by $300. Still no takers.

Sometimes, I still get DMs.

“I saw your post, thank you. I needed a push to get out.”

The person attempted to show me this approach. Not this time!”

The speed of rent increases exceeds the growth of hope therefore word of mouth operates as money.

And respect? That costs nothing.

Single moms resist attacks from people who think we are vulnerable targets after a day of hard work.

Each of us brings both baby bags and monetary records along. And we remember everything.

I initiated an invitation to Mrs. Calder to come visit our household weeks later after all the boxes became flat and the atmosphere no longer held cardboard scents nor dust.

I cooked a generous meal to express gratitude even though I had only a limited supply of food. I cooked a roast chicken with blended herbs and potatoes as well as carrots that came with ample gravy to satisfy every palate with cozy comfort.

During dinner preparation Liam pretended to be a chef by removing carrots because he hosted a cooking contest show. Maya poured rosemary on the dish with theatrical touches. The task Atlas had for dinner preparation involved spreading butter on the rolls by simply using his fingers to lick butter onto his face.

Mrs. Calder entered while carrying a peach cobbler along with sunflowers as a present. She wore a cardigan featuring cats while she provided a warm smile that demonstrated her genuine feelings.

After entering the house she shared “It has been years since I had such a meal prepared at home while children moved about the place.” The cobbler together with flowers made this evening become my instant top dinner choice.

The meal was filled with endless joy during which everyone added gravy to their food. According to Liam the taste absorption capacity of potatoes reaches its peak when they are slightly tenderized by smashing. According to Maya the chicken turned out juicer because she had silently complimented it during the roasting time.

After dropping his roll Atlas burst into crying until he cheered due to the roll bouncing onto his chair before hitting the table. During that moment I exchanged glances with my children instead of finishing my food. My children. Safe. Loud. Full.

Mrs. Calder expressed to Anna that she made the house become homelike. A few weeks stretch is too short for most people to accomplish this feat.

Myself remained unable to form any words. So I just smiled. A sense of thriving emerged that had been missing for a long period.

We were rooting.