The Woman Unlocked My Apartment with a Key, Claiming My Husband Invited Her, but When She Saw Him, She Asked, ‘Who’s That?’

After spending two draining months away, anxiously sitting by my ailing father’s bedside, I finally came home—only to hear the unsettling sound of my front door unlocking. A young woman entered confidently, as if she had every right to be there. When I confronted her, demanding her identity, her response sent chills down my spine: “Michael gave me the key.”

Having endured two long months at the hospital alongside my mother while she attended to my father, all I wanted upon returning home was the comfort of my own bed. Yet the moment I stepped into my apartment, something felt immediately off.

A peculiar fragrance lingered in the air—distinctly sweeter than my usual lavender fabric softener and vanilla-scented air freshener.

Initially, I dismissed it as a consequence of my prolonged absence or perhaps just the lingering smell of hospital antiseptic clinging to me.

My body was stiff from countless nights curled awkwardly in a rigid hospital chair, watching anxiously as my father’s chest rose and fell in rhythm with the machines that reminded me of life's fragility.

Mom had practically forced me to return home to rest, arguing, “You won't help anyone by exhausting yourself.”

I’d quickly booked the earliest flight back and arrived home just as breakfast time approached. Michael, my husband, warmly embraced me at the door, eager to ask about my father.

“I’ll explain everything later,” I sighed, "but first, I need a shower."

As soon as I entered the bathroom, that oddly sweet scent intensified.

Deciding to question Michael about it later, I stepped into the shower, cleansing myself of hospital odors and the discomfort from the cramped plane seat.

Wrapped comfortably in my fluffy robe, I headed toward the kitchen, only to freeze at the unmistakable sound of the front door unlocking again.

My pulse quickened. Michael had promised to make breakfast while I showered, so who else could possibly have a key?

Instinctively grabbing the nearest potential weapon—a carved wooden horse—I turned toward the entrance.

A striking young woman stepped inside as if the apartment belonged to her.

She was stylish, elegant, and impeccably groomed in a way I could never achieve. Her luxurious handbag alone probably cost more than my entire closet.

She showed no signs of caution or hesitation, simply walking in like she was at home—perhaps even more so than I was.

Her gaze met mine, and confusion quickly turned into suspicion.

“Who exactly are YOU?” she snapped, her voice icy and sharp.

Gripping my robe tighter, suddenly self-conscious, I retorted, “Excuse me? I live here. Who are YOU?”

She tilted her head, scrutinizing me as if I were an obscure art piece she couldn't quite understand. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I've been gone two months,” I said, voice trembling with frustration. Feeling foolish, I lowered the wooden horse. “Who gave you a key to MY apartment?”

“Michael,” she replied confidently. “He said I could visit whenever I wanted, told me to feel at home.”

My heart sank. Michael—my husband, the man I'd desperately missed, fully trusted, and constantly defended to my skeptical mother. The same Michael who visited the hospital only twice, always blaming work commitments.

Taking a deep breath, I managed, “Well, I—his WIFE—am back now, so your visits need to stop.”

“Wife?” Her glossy lips parted in shock. “He said he was single… I should probably leave.”

Turning to go, her expensive perfume filled the hallway behind her.

A thousand unsettling realizations flooded my mind.

That floral scent matched exactly what I'd noticed since arriving home.

This stranger had invaded my space, touched my belongings, moved through my home freely while I suffered sleepless nights at my father’s side. While I'd agonized over Dad's health, she'd been comfortably settling in my sanctuary.

“No, wait!” I commanded sharply, surprising even myself. “Come with me.”

Together, we entered the kitchen. Michael sat casually at our table, sipping coffee, scrolling through his phone as if nothing unusual was occurring.

The young woman hesitated, confused. "Who's THAT?"

Michael glanced up with a friendly smile. “Morning guests! I’m Michael. And you are…?”

The urge to strangle him was nearly overwhelming.

“This woman unlocked our front door with a key,” I announced, searching his face for any trace of guilt.

Instead, genuine confusion clouded his expression. “Wait—what?”

The woman shook her head slowly, realization dawning. “That's not my Michael. My Michael gave me the key. I’ve visited here before—I even accidentally broke a perfume bottle on the bathroom floor tile.”

“That explains the smell,” I murmured, clarity dawning.

Still, something didn't add up. Michael's bewilderment appeared sincere.

“Show us your Michael,” I demanded firmly.

Reluctantly, she showed us her phone screen, and my jaw dropped instantly.

“Jason? Your irresponsible 24-year-old brother?” I exclaimed, turning incredulously to Michael.

Michael groaned deeply, burying his face in his hands. “I let Jason stay here while I traveled for work. I gave him a key, trusting he'd behave. Clearly, he lied—to her and to us.”

The woman crossed her arms angrily. “I suspected something was off. He’s ignoring my calls—that's why I showed up here today. Clearly, I've been deceived.”

Fury surged through me. “So, while I took care of my sick father, your reckless brother entertained women in our home, and you never bothered checking?”

Michael sighed regretfully. “You're right. It's my fault. I assumed he’d grown up.”

“Do you realize how humiliating this is for both of us?” I gestured toward the equally outraged woman. “We've been lied to while you sat here oblivious!”

Michael stood and gently touched my arm. “I'm sorry. I'll handle Jason. He needs to understand the damage he's done.”

“No—we'll teach him a lesson together,” I declared resolutely.

After assuring the woman we’d handle Jason, I escorted her out. Anger and frustration coalesced into a decisive plan.

Returning to the kitchen, I dialed Jason’s number, adopting my coldest tone. “I reported an intruder to the police—someone unauthorized entering my home. Guess whose name I gave them?”

Michael quickly caught on and added, “And Jason? That woman you lied to reported you for fraud, pretending to own property.”

Jason’s voice filled with panic, apologies tumbling from him as he pleaded desperately for forgiveness.

Michael shook his head resolutely. “You’re banned from our home, Jason. Permanently. Don’t even think of asking again.”

Untying my robe, I strode from the kitchen, calling over my shoulder, “Get ready, Michael—we’re going shopping for new locks immediately!”