Landlady demands painting and cleaning costs from tenant, but the court rules she can’t expect the home “as if no one had lived in it”

The walls were the color of late afternoon—soft, worn, a little scuffed where furniture had leaned and life had happened. When Maya closed the door of the flat for what she thought was the last time, she turned the key with a quiet, private satisfaction. She’d scrubbed the countertops until they squeaked, vacuumed every corner, wiped every window she could reach. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest: a home that had been lived in, cleaned with care, and left ready for someone else’s story.

A week later, an email arrived. Subject line: “Deductions from Deposit.” Her stomach tightened before she even opened it. Inside, a list: repainting all walls, deep cleaning of carpets, professional oven cleaning—even though she’d already done that part twice. The landlady, precise and polite, insisted the apartment be restored, in her words, “as if no one had lived in it.”

Standing at her kitchen counter with her phone in one hand and a mug of cooling tea in the other, Maya stared at that line. As if no one had lived in it. As though the last three years should be erased with a receipt and a fresh coat of white. The demand felt less like an invoice and more like a denial that her life had ever fit inside those four walls.

The Smell of Paint and the Shape of a Fight

It is funny how quickly money can turn memories sour. The plants she’d kept on the window ledge, the evenings she’d leaned on those very walls during phone calls with friends in other cities, the rainy Sundays when she’d watched clouds drift over the rooftops—they all seemed to be on trial now. Were those faint shadows on the wall damage? Were those soft tracks in the hallway carpet flaws, or just the imprint of routine footsteps?

Her landlady thought the answer was obvious. The email that followed was firmer. “The apartment was handed over to you in freshly painted, pristine condition. Reasonable wear and tear do not include visible marks on walls, minor abrasions, or carpet use.” That last phrase hit her like an absurdist punchline. Carpet use.

But the law, as it turns out, recognizes something landlords sometimes don’t want to admit: homes are not museum pieces. People live in them. They walk, cook, laugh, drop things, rearrange furniture, lean back in chairs and, yes, occasionally knock a suitcase against a door frame. What emerged from Maya’s dispute, and the court decision that followed, was something deeper than a quarrel over paint. It was a quiet affirmation that living leaves traces—and that those traces are not a crime.

When “Normal” Living Becomes a Legal Question

By the time the dispute reached a courtroom, the story of that little flat had been reduced to photos, invoices, and the careful language of legal submissions. No one was interested in the smell of coffee that used to linger in the mornings, or the way the sunset poured into the living room in summer. What mattered instead were marks, scuffs, shadows—those soft fingerprints of daily life.

The landlady’s argument was clear: she believed her tenant should fund a kind of time travel. The apartment, in her view, ought to be restored to that untouched, rental-agency perfection. Fresh paint, deep-cleaned carpets, professional services, all paid for out of the tenant’s deposit. Any deviation from that standard was “damage.”

The court took a different view. It acknowledged something quietly radical in its simplicity: no one can reasonably expect a lived-in home to look as though no one has ever lived in it. The standard is not perfection; it is fairness.

Reasonable wear and tear, the court explained, includes the softened edges of a space that has held human life. Slight shading on a wall where a bookshelf stood, gentle compression of carpet along a frequently used path, tiny nail holes where pictures once hung—these are signs of use, not abuse.

The Texture of “Wear and Tear”

If you were to walk through a truly un-lived-in apartment, your footsteps might echo sharply. The walls would feel too bright, too blank, almost sterile. There is a difference between that kind of emptiness and the quiet residue of a home that has done its job. The law, in its typically dry fashion, tries to describe this difference with the phrase “reasonable wear and tear.”

Imagine the surfaces you touch without thinking: light switches, door handles, the patch of wall where you always brush your hand as you turn toward the hallway. Over time, the paint softens, the color shifts almost imperceptibly. These marks are not carelessness; they are physical records of your passing days.

The court’s ruling in Maya’s case leaned on that reality. The apartment was not neglected. It was clean, functional, and free of any serious damage. There were no holes in the doors, no shattered tiles, no burns in the carpet. What the landlady wanted was not repair, but renewal—new paint, new finishes, a new start. A reset button, funded by someone else.

That distinction changed everything.

What the Court Considered Fair

In making its decision, the court walked through each supposed defect with a kind of forensic calm. Was that mark an inevitable result of normal use, or evidence of mistreatment? Was that cost about maintaining the property, or upgrading it at the tenant’s expense?

To make sense of what counts as normal living versus genuine damage, it helps to picture a simple comparison.

Seen this way, the court’s stance is almost intuitive. A landlord may expect a tenant to hand back a home that is clean, intact, and respected. But they cannot expect, at least not at the tenant’s expense, a home that looks as though no meals were cooked, no carpets were walked on, and no pictures were ever hung.

The Emotional Weight of “As If No One Had Lived In It”

Beyond the fine print of contracts and case law, there is a quieter question embedded in this ruling: what do we imagine a home to be? Is it a showroom, waiting for the next flawless inspection? Or is it a container for actual lives, with all their textures and small imperfections?

When landlords expect homes to be returned in an un-lived state, it is not just a financial expectation; it is a kind of erasure. The invisible message is that your presence should leave no trace. That your evenings, your laughter, your grief, your quiet breakfasts—all of it should wash away in a single round of billing.

The court, in refusing the landlady’s claim for repainting and excessive cleaning, did something quietly humane: it acknowledged that to live somewhere is, inevitably, to change it. Even gently. Even respectfully. A home that has never changed has never really been inhabited.

For tenants like Maya, this decision is more than a legal win. It is a validation that living is not damage. That the evidence of your existence is not something you are required to apologize for with your deposit.

What This Means for Tenants and Landlords

The ruling sends ripples far beyond a single, scuffed apartment. For tenants, it reinforces a crucial point: you are responsible for what you break, not for proof that you were there. If you crack tiles, punch holes in walls, leave carpets ruined by spills you never cleaned—that is on you. But if your only “fault” is that you lived there, day after day, with ordinary care, the cost of returning the flat to advertising perfection is not yours to shoulder.

For landlords, it is a reminder that renting out a home is not the same as lending a fragile heirloom under glass. It is a business that depends on people bringing their lives, their furniture, and their routines. Walls will witness it. Floors will bear it. Light switches will remember the constant, small pressure of fingertips.

Good tenancy agreements acknowledge this balance. They spell out clearly that repainting for purely cosmetic refresh, or professional deep cleaning when the place is already clean, cannot be billed automatically to the tenant just because time has passed. They distinguish between restoring function and chasing the illusion of untouched newness.

Leaving a Place, Letting It Remember You

In the end, Maya did not pay for fresh paint or a second, unnecessary cleaning. The court’s decision released her from those charges. But nothing could quite release her from the feeling that modern life sometimes wants us to move through the world without a trace—as if we are guests in our own homes, forever anxious about the invoice at the exit.

As she walked past her old building months later, she glanced up at the familiar windows. Somewhere behind those panes, someone else’s furniture now pressed gently into those same walls. Another set of footsteps traced the same path from kitchen to hallway. The apartment was already becoming a layered place, holding the echoes of more than one life.

That is what homes do, when we let them. They gather the soft patina of years and the small, ordinary scars of use. Our laws are learning, slowly, to respect that truth: that expecting a rented home to look “as if no one had lived in it” is not just unrealistic—it misunderstands what a home is for.

We are meant to inhabit the spaces we rent. To cook in them, to pace in them, to lean against their frames when we’re tired. When we leave, we owe those spaces care, cleanliness, and honesty. But we do not owe them amnesia.

FAQs

Can a landlord legally demand repainting costs when I move out?

Only if the walls are genuinely damaged or excessively marked beyond normal wear and tear. Natural fading, light scuffs, and small nail holes are typically considered normal use and should not automatically justify repainting at the tenant’s expense.

What counts as “reasonable wear and tear” in a rental home?

Reasonable wear and tear includes the minor, inevitable signs of everyday living: slightly worn carpets on walkways, gentle shading on walls where furniture stood, small nail holes, and normal fading of paint. It does not include serious damage, neglect, or deliberate harm.

Do I have to pay for professional cleaning if I already cleaned the place myself?

If the property is left clean, hygienic, and in a reasonable state, your landlord usually cannot insist on professional cleaning at your cost just to reach a “like new” standard. Charges are more likely justified only when there is clear evidence of heavy dirt, grease, or neglect.

What kind of damage can a landlord fairly deduct from my deposit?

Landlords can fairly deduct costs to fix clear damage: broken fixtures, burns or large stains on carpets, holes in doors or walls, cracked tiles caused by misuse, or severe dirt and grime. These go beyond normal living and require specific repairs or replacements.

How can I protect myself from unfair cleaning or painting charges?

Document everything. Take dated photos when you move in and move out, keep copies of emails, and, if possible, attend any final inspection. Clean thoroughly before leaving, but remember that you are not required to erase all signs that you lived there—only to return the home in a clean, undamaged, and respectful condition.