I handed back the keys to my rental knowing the nightmare wasn't over.

I'd refused to cough up the increased rent which was now $900 a week for a cramped, mould-ridden apartment in Sydney with no air-conditioning and a grim external laundry... but the real battle was still to come.  

What followed was a masterclass in how some property managers treat tenants like second-class citizens - even after they've moved out.

The agent arrived with back-up for the final inspection.  

Together, they turned into CSI as they ran their fingers along every shelf, hunting for flaws.

After combing through every nook and cranny, they flagged a streak on the shower and dust on the front door jamb.

It made me wonder, if they were this forensic at the end of my tenancy, why was the place so dirty when I moved in?

Even my teenager, who will happily live alongside a science experiment growing on a forgotten plate under their bed, noticed the state of the place when we arrived.  

I went back and buffed the streak and dusted the rusty door jamb. 

I even gave the place a fresh vacuum before the Saturday open home inspection. And the oven, when I'd finished with it, was shinier than a showroom model in Harvey Norman.

But in reality, the pressure campaign started long before I moved out.

Despite giving the landlord more than a month's notice, I was forced to endure a string of open inspections while working from home and a daughter with gastro battling through Year 12 exam prep.

That was despite offering to organise private inspections from the start, even though I wasn't required to grant access until the final two weeks.

One Wednesday morning, as I worked from home, the agent marched prospective tenants through the apartment.

The couple looked visibly uncomfortable even though I had every right to be there. 

When the woman asked what it was like to live there, I didn't sugar-coat it: sometimes a homeless man sleeps in the hallway outside our door; when it's 42 degrees outside, it's 42 degrees inside; do you like mould? With no ventilation in the bathroom, it runs rampant in winter. 

This is what renting in Australia has become: pay top dollar, keep quiet (I decided not to) and hope you get your money back at the end. 

In the brutal rental market, tenants are constantly told to be grateful - grateful just to have a roof over their heads.

But my experience with a prominent real estate agency exposed just how warped that relationship has become, and why so many renters are too scared to speak up.

I asked for my bond details so I could take control of the process. They ignored me.

When I called, the property manager told me not to worry and that she'd handle it. I didn't back down.

I contacted NSW Fair Trading and set it up myself.

After fixing the so-called issues, the dust, the streaks, the oven, I received an email saying that the cleaning 'looks great'.

I asked for my bond to be released. 

Instead, I was hit with a fresh round of queries this time about cheap aluminium blinds that had slightly curled at the ends.

The same blinds I'd been forced to keep exposed to constant airflow because the unit had no ventilation and was riddled with mould.

Then, silence. Day after day, nothing. No reply. No update. 

I sat on edge, waiting out the two-week deadline for any claim against my bond. 

When it finally passed, $3,400 was released. So was my stress.

And here's the irony.

After being listed since April 28 and more than a dozen home opens in the middle of a housing crisis no one wants this apartment. 

I only took it because there was nothing else available at the time. 

In trying to squeeze an extra $50 a week, or $2,600 a year out of me, the owner has lost far more in lost rent, advertising costs and re-letting fees.

They lost a reliable tenant who always paid on time.

For what? To see how far they could empty my wallet before I walked?

It's unlikely the owner is struggling. The apartment was bought in 1995 for $178,000, and she owns two others in Erskineville. 

Now, the market has spoken: first they dropped the rent on the apartment from $900 to $890. Then to $850, less than what I was paying.

And while landlords chase every last dollar, tenants across NSW are losing theirs. 

Data from the Tenants' Union of NSW shows 13 per cent of renters lose their entire bond - an average of $2,314.

Nearly a quarter lose part of it, typically around $813.

In other words, nearly four in 10 renters lose money when they move out.

And yet, tenants are expected to stay silent for fear of a bad reference, or worse, not securing another home at all.

In a state with more than two million renters, that fear keeps people in line.

In a system like that, it's no wonder renters stay silent.

Because speaking up often comes at a cost, and too many already can't afford it.