My Girlfriend Stopped Coming Over After Work — When I Found Out Why, I Went Pale

Like clockwork, my girlfriend would arrive at my house right after her shifts every morning. That changed one day for no apparent reason. What started out as silence evolved into an unexpected fact that altered my entire perception of my own house.

From 7 p.m. until 7 a.m., my girlfriend Rachel works grueling 12-hour overnight shifts at the hospital.

Before she abruptly stopped, she would typically arrive at my mom’s house right after work in the morning. When I learned the real reason for her altered conduct, I made a significant choice.

Since my house was closer to Rachel’s place of employment, she would typically come about 8:15 a.m. By 8:30 a.m., she would quickly take a shower before spending the rest of the afternoon on my bed. Our beat was that. It was ours, but it wasn’t fancy.

For weeks, everything stayed that way until I received a brief text on a Wednesday morning that read, “Heading straight home, will text later.” I didn’t give it much thought.

She most likely wanted her own place since she was tired. I let it go after DoorDashing her some breakfast.

However, the same thing occurred the following day. and the following day.

During the week, my girlfriend abruptly quit attending altogether. We began to only see one another on the weekends, and even then, it was rare for our schedules to coincide. We didn’t see one another for a few weeks.

She would either sidestep the question or shift the topic whenever I asked her why she was no longer coming around.

I once inquired, “Has something occurred here? With my mother, or what?” “No, just tired,” she responded, laughing uneasily. Don’t stress over it.

However, I was concerned.

When I left some crucial work documents at her house, it became even more strange. In order for me to get them during my lunch break, she was meant to bring them over and drop them off with my mom. Rather, she declined.

On the phone, she said, “I just… can’t,”

I pushed. Come on, Rachel. You are aware that I must get those documents immediately and that failure to do so will result in consequences. Only my mother is there. You two were always friendly.

“I understand. I simply can’t right now. Don’t make me, please.

I realized then that something was amiss. Something had changed; it wasn’t just that she was busy or exhausted. This was a problem we had never encountered before, and it was now bothering me.

I so asked her if I might visit her home that weekend. She appeared to have not slept well for weeks when she opened the door, wearing sweatpants and with heavy circles under her eyes. Her grandma was out, so she made me some coffee and we sat at the kitchen table.

“We need to talk,” I delicately stated. “What’s going on?”

As if the solutions were concealed in the foam, she gazed down into her mug. “I—You’re gonna be mad.”

“I won’t,” I said. “I just need to know.”

After a lengthy moment of quiet, she muttered, “It’s because of your mom’s friend who lives in the basement.”

I went cold. “What? How about him? “What did he do?”

She sighed and scratched her forehead. “When I was at your place the other morning a few weeks back… he—he said something.”

“What did he say?” I asked softly as my stomach began to flip.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He accused me of being impolite. I don’t respect the folks who live there, he said. He claimed that every morning he is awakened by the sound of the shower.

I held her hand and reassured her that she was going to break her resolve, saying, “It’s okay, babe, talk to me.”

She inhaled deeply and then went on.

“After that, he said something that truly unnerved me. “Maybe you should start paying rent if you’re going to be coming and going like you live here,” he added.

I blinked in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me or my mom?”

Rachel let out a sigh. That same morning, your mother came downstairs and, rather than standing up for me, advised me to take a shower someplace else or to wait until everyone else had woken up. You’re disturbing the home, and he works evenings too.”

What I was hearing was unbelievable!

I questioned, “She said that?”

Rachel nodded, looking down. “Yes. I stopped visiting because, as you are aware, I am unable to fall asleep after a long day of work.

I reclined in my chair in disbelief. I assumed she was simply stepping back all this time. However, she had been cruelly and secretly pushed out by those who were meant to value my relationship.

I got to my feet suddenly, feeling angry.

I was followed by Rachel. “What are you doing?”

“I’m done,” I declared. “If you can’t feel safe or welcome in my house, then I’m not staying there either.”

She questioned, “What do you mean, where will you go?”

“Wherever you are.”

After giving me a long look, she put her arms around me so closely that I could feel her heartbeat against mine.

I began packing my belongings as soon as I came home.

I filled two duffle bags with all I could fit. My mother tried to stop me when she noticed me packing and ready to go.

“Noah, where are you heading? Why are you packing your belongings?

“I can’t stay in a place where my girlfriend isn’t welcome because of some stupid reason from your tenant,” I responded with rage.

“Noah, I can explain—”

However, I interrupted her with a raised hand and walked out of the only house I had ever known.

Now that she knew what had happened at my house, Rachel’s grandma took us in for a few weeks while we searched for a rental. I returned to Rachel’s residence.

My mother called me that evening. I paid her no attention. Then she sent a text:

“Why are you being so dramatic?”

I wasn’t prepared to work things out with her, though.

The following morning, I answered her summons at last.

She said, “What’s going on, Noah?” right away.

“You told Rachel not to shower in the morning because it woke your ‘friend’ up?” I asked bluntly.

Defensively, she stated, “I didn’t mean for her to stop coming over altogether,” “He just needed some sleep, too.”

“You could’ve told me.”

“Well, I didn’t think she’d make such a big deal out of it.”

I stated, “She didn’t,” “You did. That guy and you! It’s unbelievable that you choose to pursue my girlfriend over him.

She laughed. “He’s not just ‘that guy,’ Noah!”

“Yeah,” I yelled. “I am your son, no matter what he is! Instead of turning on Rachel, you may have talked to me about your issues.”

“I could have shut down Roger, but he’s more than that! He is really important to me.

I paused for a long moment, trying to take in what she had just blurted out.

“Wait, you’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?!”

I went on. “When Dad leaves for months to work in Alaska, you’re playing house with a man in the basement the moment he leaves? And you allowed him to decide who was allowed in our home? A home for which I pay rent?”

“That’s not your concern—”

“It is when it costs me my relationship!”

I ended the call when she attempted to argue.

After then, everything made sense. The strange quiets. The truth that, contrary to what she said, Roger, the man from the basement, never paid rent. He began to come upstairs more frequently. how fervently my mother defended him. I had been blind.

Eventually, Rachel and I located a comfortable apartment near her place of employment on the west side of town. We decorated it ourselves, divided the rent, and stocked the refrigerator with snacks that we both like. It was quiet, safe, and ours, but it wasn’t fancy either.

That kitchen is where I proposed to her six months later! With a ring I had been saving for, I knelt between the dishwasher and the refrigerator. She responded yes with a laugh-cry hybrid that still rings in my mind when I recall that moment, and her eyes welled up with tears!

The following spring, in front of friends, her grandma, and most significantly, my dad, we were married in a modest ceremony in a garden.

For the event, he took a plane from Alaska.

I gave him the strongest hug I had in years when he arrived. I had already told him about Mom and Roger by then, and he was already divorcing her.

“I apologize, Dad. During our call, I informed him, “I discovered it too late.”

Silently, “I always suspected,” he said. “But I didn’t want to believe it.”

“Do you want to see her?” I inquired.

I thought he would shake his head. “No. She made her choices.”

And that was all.

I didn’t invite my mother to my wedding. The night before, she begged me to change my mind in a lengthy email. She wrote, “I’m still your mother,” “I made mistakes, but I deserve to see my son get married.”

I didn’t answer.

I experienced tranquility, joy, and light on my wedding day. I couldn’t take my eyes off Rachel since she looked so radiant in her plain white outfit. We danced beneath fairy lights, and I leaned down and said in a whisper, “Thank you for sticking with me.”

She grinned. “Always.”

We were both aware that the journey had not been simple. But out of the turmoil, we had created something strong. And it was all that counted in the end.