My Perfume Started to Disappear — Its Mystery Led to My Family and Me Becoming Homeless

Moving in with my dad seemed like a smart choice at the time. I'm 33, my husband Tom's 35, and our son Jamie's four. We figured staying with Dad would help us save for our own place faster.

Dad's been alone since Mom passed away a few years back, so he was pretty happy to have us around. We thought it would be a temporary thing.

Life at Dad's was pretty routine. I kept the house tidy, Tom was working extra hours at his IT job to add to our house fund, and Dad was awesome with Jamie, telling him all sorts of old sailor stories after school.

We were doing our part, paying bills and buying groceries, trying to make sure everyone was comfortable. But then, something weird happened.

My expensive perfume, which I only use on special days, started to disappear. At first, I thought I was using it more than I remembered, but then it was obvious that someone was taking it.

One night while we were cleaning up after dinner, I just threw it out there, "Hey, has anyone been using my perfume?" Tom and Dad both looked surprised. Tom shook his head, and Dad laughed, "What would I do with your perfume?"

I might have dropped it, but then Jamie said something weird while we were chilling in the living room. "Mommy, I know who took your perfume."

I was like, "Really? Who?" trying to keep it light.

Jamie looked around and whispered, "I saw a blonde lady in your room, but Daddy said I shouldn’t talk to her."

That freaked me out. "When did you see her?" I asked, trying to stay calm. "Daddy told me not to talk to her," he repeated, looking really worried.

My mind was racing. A blonde woman? In our room? I was freaking out inside. Was Tom seeing someone else? It didn’t make sense. But then, who was this woman and what was she doing in our house?

I decided to figure it out myself. I took the perfume bottle and mixed in a strong dye that sticks to your skin and won’t wash off easily. If this woman was sneaking around our room, she'd end up with bright red hands.

A few days later, I got home earlier than usual. My heart was pounding as I quietly walked up to our front door, half-scared of what I might find.

The house was too quiet. I tiptoed to our bedroom and heard someone inside. I pushed the door open, and there she was—the blonde woman, with her hands all red from the dye. She looked shocked and dropped my perfume bottle. "Who the heck are you?!" I almost yelled.

She mumbled something and ran into the living room. I followed, and there was my dad, looking as shocked as I was. "Dad, who is this?" I asked, pointing at her. "Oh, that's Nancy," he said, getting up. "She's my girlfriend. We’ve been seeing each other for a while."

I was speechless. My dad’s girlfriend? Using my stuff? Jamie had seen her but Tom told him not to talk to her? I turned to Nancy, still angry, "Have you been taking my things? My perfume, my jewelry, even my lingerie?"

Before she could answer, Dad jumped in, "Hold on, Nancy wouldn’t steal from you. You must be mistaken."

"Mistaken? Look at her hands, Dad! She’s been taking my things!"

Everything got super awkward after that. Dad ended up telling us, pretty coldly, "If you can’t trust my judgment and respect Nancy, maybe you shouldn’t live here."

Just like that. I couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t just about perfume anymore. It was about trust and family, and here was my dad, choosing his girlfriend over his own daughter and grandson.

Tom was really torn about it. He didn’t want to go behind my back, but he also didn’t want to betray Dad’s trust right in front of Jamie.

Knowing all this didn’t fix everything right away, but it did help me understand why things went down the way they did. It was a mess, but at least now I knew we were still on the same page.

Things got really tense after, and within a week, it was clear we couldn’t stay. "I think it’s best if you find your own place," Dad told us. It hurt—a lot. He was choosing her over us.

So, Tom and I started house hunting right away. It was tough with our budget, but we had no choice. We spent nights scrolling through listings, desperate to find anything that felt like it could be home.

Eventually, we found a small apartment in a decent neighborhood. It wasn't what we’d been saving for, but it was something. Signing that lease was bittersweet—we were sad to leave, but also relieved to be out of that stressful situation.

Moving day was hectic. We packed up everything and said goodbye to the house I grew up in. Dad and Nancy didn’t even help—barely said goodbye. That stung, but Tom was there, holding my hand, reminding me we’d get through this.

We tried to make the new apartment feel cozy and welcoming. Tom set up Jamie's room first, making sure all his favorite toys were there. He hung some pictures and put up shelves around the apartment to make it feel like ours. It was smaller than where we'd been living, but it was our little place now.

In the next few months, we really settled in. Tom landed a better job, which helped a lot. I found some part-time work, which was great for bringing in extra money and getting to know people in the area.

Jamie adjusted well too, making new friends at his preschool quickly. Seeing him so happy made the whole move feel easier.

As time passed, we started feeling more at home and the pain of leaving my dad's place began to fade. We were building our own life, our own routines, and it felt good.

It was tough getting kicked out, but it forced us to stand on our own two feet, and honestly, we grew stronger because of it.

Looking back, I realize that what happened with my dad and Nancy pushed us to move on in a way we hadn't quite been ready to before. It was painful, but maybe it was necessary. It taught us about resilience, about standing up for ourselves, and about moving forward no matter what.

We still talk to my dad, but it's not the same as before. I hope we can fix things eventually, but for now, we're just taking it one day at a time and focusing on the positives—our new home, our little family, and building our future together.

Life threw us a curveball, but we managed to catch it and keep going. We learned that home isn't just a place—it's about the people you're with, and as long as we have each other, we'll be okay.

Did you enjoy this story? Here's another about a woman who becomes suspicious of her father's young wife after he leaves their childhood home to her.

My Father Left Our Childhood Home to His Young Wife – We Were Shocked When We Overheard Her Phone Call After That

I'm Kelly. At 29, life had thrown its fair share of curves my way, but none so sharp as the one I faced after losing both my parents. My brother, Jake, is a year younger, and we've been there for each other since childhood. We lost our mother during our college years, and that alone felt like being robbed of a cornerstone in our lives.

However, the real twist came not even a year after Mom's passing. Dad, Johnathan, seemed to leap at the chance to fill the void she left. Enter Alisa, his new girlfriend. She was amiable enough, with a smile that could light up any room and the kind of warmth that made you feel welcome. But to Jake and I, her presence felt more like an intrusion.

Despite our initial resistance, Dad and Alisa married exactly one year after they met. Their wedding, while beautiful, was a blur to Jake and me. We spent the event on the fringes, our smiles forced and our hearts heavy.

We couldn't shake off the feeling of betrayal, as if attending the wedding was an act of disloyalty to our mother's memory. Looking back, perhaps we could have been less cold, and more open to the healing Alisa might have brought into our fractured lives.

As the years ticked by, Dad aged, and the reality of life's shortness set in. He was significantly older than Alisa, a detail that didn’t escape him as he meticulously updated his will. Jake and I never broached the subject with him, but the unspoken understanding hung heavily between us—we were almost certain he would leave everything to her.

Then, it happened. Six years into their marriage, Dad passed away. Losing him compounded the grief we still nursed from our mother's death. By then, Jake and I were both established in our careers, living independently.

But the house we grew up in, the house that harbored every childhood laughter and every whispered secret under its roof, meant the world to us. It was our last physical connection to a past that featured a happy, intact family.

The reading of Dad's will confirmed our fears: nearly everything, including our beloved family home, was left to Alisa. The shock was a visceral punch to our senses. Anger seethed within me, not just at the loss of the house, but at being rendered insignificant in what felt like the final chapter of Dad's life.

Resigned yet resentful, Jake and I went to the house to gather our things. It was during this somber task that I overheard a conversation between Alisa and a friend of hers—words that would forever change the way I saw everything.