My Roommate Has Been Charging All Her Expenses To My Credit Card For Two Years

I thought my roommate was just terrible with money.

I didn’t realize she had been spending mine.

For almost two years, I watched her complain about being broke while somehow always having groceries, a full tank of gas, new clothes, expensive coffee, and packages arriving at our apartment.

I never connected the dots.

Then I checked my credit card statement.

And I realized she had been using my card information for almost everything.

My roommate, Megan, and I met through a mutual friend.

When she moved into my apartment, we got along immediately.

She was funny, outgoing, and seemed responsible.

The first few months were easy.

We split rent.

We alternated groceries.

We had separate finances.

I never had any reason to think she would steal from me.

The first strange thing happened about six months after she moved in.

My credit card company sent me an email saying my card had been used at a gas station.

I wasn’t worried.

I had used the card earlier that week.

I ignored it.

A few days later, I noticed another charge from the same gas station.

Then another.

I assumed they were mine.

I had automatic payments set up, and I rarely checked individual transactions.

That changed when I started trying to save for a vacation.

I opened my credit card account and decided to go through the previous statements.

That’s when I noticed something.

There were dozens of purchases I didn’t recognize.

A grocery store near our apartment.

A gas station.

A clothing store.

A pharmacy.

A coffee shop.

A pet supply store.

At first, I thought my card had been compromised.

I called the credit card company.

The representative asked me whether I still had my physical card.

“Yes.”

“Has anyone else had access to your card?”

I thought about it.

“No.”

Then she asked whether anyone else knew my card number.

I said no.

But I suddenly remembered something.

When Megan and I first moved in together, she had helped me set up the internet.

I had left my wallet on the kitchen counter.

She had been sitting there with me while I entered my information.

I didn’t think anything of it.

Until that moment.

I asked the credit card company if they could tell me whether the purchases were made using the physical card or the card number.

Most of them were online or manually entered.

My stomach dropped.

Someone had my card information.

I went home and looked at the dates.

The purchases weren’t random.

They were happening almost every week.

And many of them happened when I was at work.

I started comparing the transactions with Megan’s schedule.

Gas station at 7:42 a.m.

Megan had told me she was driving to work that morning.

Grocery store at 6:15 p.m.

Megan had texted me that evening saying she was “too broke to buy dinner.”

Clothing store on Saturday.

Megan had come home carrying shopping bags that same afternoon.

I felt sick.

I didn’t confront her immediately.

Instead, I changed my credit card password and froze the card.

Then I waited.

The next morning Megan came into the kitchen.

“Hey, can you order groceries?”

I looked at her.

“Why?”

She laughed.

“Because I’m broke.”

I asked:

“Where have you been getting money for everything else?”

Her expression changed.

“What do you mean?”

“Your gas.”

Silence.

“Your groceries.”

Silence.

“Your shopping.”

She put her coffee down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I opened my laptop.

I had highlighted the transactions.

“Then explain these.”

She looked at the screen.

For several seconds, she didn’t say anything.

Then she started crying.

I wasn’t expecting that.

She admitted it.

She had taken my card information during the first few months we lived together.

At first, she said, she only used it for one grocery purchase.

She intended to pay me back.

She didn’t.

Then she used it again.

And again.

Eventually, it became normal to her.

I asked how much.

She said she didn’t know.

I did the math.

It was over $18,000.

Eighteen thousand dollars.

I had been paying interest on some of those charges.

I had been wondering why I couldn’t seem to get my credit card balance down.

I thought I was spending too much.

I wasn’t.

She was.

I asked her why she never told me.

She said she was embarrassed.

Then she said something that made me furious.

“You weren’t using the card anyway.”

I stared at her.

“That doesn’t make it yours.”

She started explaining that she had been struggling financially.

She had credit card debt.

Her car needed repairs.

She had medical bills.

I understood being broke.

I did not understand stealing.

I told her she had until the end of the week to move out.

She started crying again.

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re really going to kick me out?”

“You stole $18,000 from me.”

“I said I’d pay you back.”

“When?”

She didn’t answer.

The next day I contacted my credit card company and filed a fraud report.

I also made a police report.

That was when things became complicated.

Megan’s parents contacted me.

Her mother called me crying.

She said her daughter had made a terrible mistake and begged me not to “destroy her future.”

I told her that her daughter had spent two years destroying mine.

Her father offered to repay me.

Not the full amount.

He offered $5,000.

I refused.

I wanted every dollar back.

Eventually, after lawyers became involved, Megan’s parents agreed to cover the remaining amount under a repayment arrangement.

I recovered almost everything.

The credit card company also reversed several fraudulent charges.

Megan moved out.

For a while, I felt guilty.

Then I received an envelope in the mail.

It was from the credit card company.

They had completed their investigation.

There was one detail I hadn’t known.

The first fraudulent transaction had happened only eleven days after Megan moved in.

Eleven days.

That meant this wasn’t something that gradually spiraled out of control.

She had known almost from the beginning that she was taking my information.

She didn’t accidentally cross a line.

She crossed it deliberately.

And every time she used the card after that, she had a choice to stop.

She just didn’t.

The strangest part is that I sometimes miss the roommate I thought she was.

We used to watch TV together.

We cooked dinner.

We laughed about stupid things.

I thought I knew her.

Apparently, I knew the version of her that didn’t cost me money.

I’ve learned something from this.

Trust doesn’t mean giving someone unlimited access to your life.

And being someone’s friend doesn’t mean ignoring your bank statements.

If you share an apartment with someone, keep your financial information private.

Lock your cards.

Use separate accounts.

Check your statements.

Because sometimes the person sitting across from you at the dinner table isn’t struggling to afford the food.

Sometimes they’re charging it to you.