I always believed in love, loyalty, and fairness in a marriage. For two whole years, I split the rent equally with my husband, completely trusting him. That trust shattered when I uncovered that he and his mother had been deceiving me out of thousands of dollars. I decided then that they’d have to learn a lesson they’d never forget.
They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but no one had ever experienced the wrath of being robbed by both her husband and her mother-in-law for two years straight.
I’m a firm believer in justice—I work hard, play fair, and expect the same in return. But sometimes, life throws you a situation so twisted that it shatters your heart and ignites your inner vengeful goddess.
For a long time, I truly thought Jeremy and I had built a solid foundation. We married young, started a life together, and divided everything down the middle—rent, groceries, bills, you name it.
It was Jeremy who discovered our apartment. Over the phone, he said excitedly, “Baby, you have to see this place—it’s perfect for us.”
I asked, “Perfect how?” amused by his enthusiasm.
“Two bedrooms, a modern kitchen, and the balcony you’ve always wanted. And it’s just $2,000 a month—pretty good for this area,” he replied.
Later, when I saw the apartment, he presented it like a child showing off his favorite toy. With pride, he declared, “We’ll split it—$1,000 each, just as planned. This is our first real home together.”
Everything seemed perfectly legitimate: the lease, the payments, and the supposed landlord. Not a single red flag appeared.
But one random December night, everything changed. After finishing a grueling 12-hour shift at the hospital, I stepped into the elevator with aching feet, only for it to suddenly stop on the fifth floor. My bubbly neighbor Taylor hopped in and greeted me. “Hey! Oh, I know you—you live in Lorrie and Jeremy’s apartment, right?”
The name “Lorrie” hit me like a punch. “Lorrie?” I echoed.
“Yeah, that’s Jeremy’s mom. She and he bought the place years ago when the building first opened—a brilliant investment, really! She’s always going on about it at the building meetings.”
My world spun. “Building meetings?”
Taylor continued, “Oh, yes. She never missed one. Always bragging about how the property values soared when the previous tenants left. And then Jeremy moved in with his ex—though that didn’t last long. And now, you!”
I felt my face go cold. “His ex lived here too?”
Taylor’s smile faltered. “Oh, you didn’t know? I assumed Lorrie mentioned it. She loves to boast about how beneficial it is having family manage the property.”
By the time the elevator doors opened, I was frozen in shock.
“Nancy?” Taylor gently touched my arm. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. I’m so sorry—I thought you knew.”
I could barely whisper, “No. But I’m certainly glad I know now.”
As I walked down the hallway, my head was spinning. Jeremy didn’t merely rent the apartment; he owned it along with his mother. For two years, I had been paying rent to them under the illusion of a legitimate arrangement. There was no independent landlord, no real lease—just an enormous lie.
I stumbled back to our door, hands trembling, realizing that my husband and his mother had swindled me out of $24,000. How could he betray me like this?
That night, I did some digging. Public real estate records revealed the truth—the property deed was in both their names, signed five years ago, and they even had a joint mortgage. I felt like an utter fool.
Then, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Jeremy: “Grabbing drinks with Mom. Don’t wait up. Love you!” Reading his carefree words sent a chill down my spine. I scrolled through old photos on my phone—snippets from last Christmas showing Jeremy and me on his mother’s couch, his arm around me as she served eggnog. It was then I realized they’d been robbing me even back then.
I immediately called my best friend Sarah.
“They own it,” I blurted. “The whole time, Jeremy and his mother have been charging me rent for an apartment they actually own.”
Sarah was stunned. “Oh my God, really?”
“Two years, Sarah—24,000 dollars!”
She promised, “They won’t get away with this.”
“Of course not,” I replied before hanging up.
Furious, I rushed to the kitchen and scrutinized the lease agreement. Everything looked genuine—even the supposed landlord’s name. But now I knew it was all a sham, and that they’d been laughing at my expense.
I called Jeremy. “Hey, babe,” I said, forcing a light tone. “When’s the rent due again?”
“December 28,” he replied promptly.
A smirk spread across my face—I had a plan.
The following two weeks were an elaborate performance.
One evening, I casually mentioned, “Baby, your mom invited us for dinner on Sunday. Should I make that butterscotch pie she loves?”
Jeremy looked up from his phone with a smile. “You’re the best.”
I returned his smile, knowing exactly what I was up to.
That Sunday, I sat at his mother’s dining table, laughing along with their jokes, playing the part of the devoted wife while silently plotting my revenge.
“Nancy, dear,” his mom remarked, “you seem especially cheerful today.”
“I just got some great news at work—a big bonus is coming, and Jeremy and I might finally have enough for a down payment,” I replied, watching their exchanged glances.
“That’s wonderful, sweetie,” Jeremy squeezed my hand. “But maybe we should keep renting for now. The market isn’t great for buying.”
“Of course,” I agreed, adding with a hint of sarcasm, “Why rush when we have such a perfect rental situation?”
His mother nearly choked on her coffee.
For the next two weeks, I maintained my act—smiling, laughing at Jeremy’s silly jokes, and dutifully handing over my $1,000 each month.
Then came December 28—the day of “The Execution.”
That morning, Jeremy kissed me goodbye, grabbing his coffee—the very last cup made by our coffee maker.
“Love you, babe,” he said.
“Love you too, honey,” I replied sweetly. Then I added, “Oh, and Jeremy?”
He turned with raised eyebrows.
“You really should have married an idiot,” I teased.
His confused look said it all.
“Nothing,” I chirped. “Have a great day at work!”
I waited ten minutes after he left before getting up to work.
I packed everything—clothes, shoes, furniture, even the coffee maker—and headed to the bank. I drained our joint account, every last cent. But I wasn’t finished. I had already signed a lease for my new place across town, and I used Jeremy’s money to cover the first month’s rent.
Then came the Grand Finale.
By the time Jeremy returned home, our apartment was completely empty—no couch, no TV, no dishes—nothing remained except for a letter taped to the window. I could almost hear his panic as he read:
Dear Jeremy,
Hope you enjoy YOUR apartment.
Since you and your mom had so much fun scamming me for two years, I figured it was time to return the favor.
My new apartment’s rent for January is already paid—by you.
And don’t bother calling. I blocked you.
Happy New Year, loser.
—Nancy
I turned off my phone and drove to my new place—the one I would soon call home, long after I filed for divorce.
A week later, I ran into Jeremy’s mother at the grocery store. She looked as if she’d aged a decade.
“Nancy,” she said, grabbing my cart. “Please, let me explain—”
“Explain what, Lorrie? How you and your son stole $24,000 from me? How you sat across from me every Sunday asking when I’d give you grandchildren while robbing me blind?” I snapped.
“We were going to tell you—” she started.
“When? After the baby shower? After I spent another year paying your mortgage?” I interrupted sharply.
Her face crumpled. “Jeremy’s devastated. He’s drinking, losing weight…”
“Funny how karma works, isn’t it?” I leaned in. “Here’s the deal: finish your shopping, then go home and tell Jeremy that if he doesn’t agree to my divorce terms—full reimbursement of every cent I paid in rent—I’ll press fraud charges against both of you.”
“You wouldn’t—” she began.
“Try me,” I replied sweetly. “Oh, and Lorrie? That butterscotch pie you couldn’t get enough of? Let’s just say it had a special ingredient—and it wasn’t love!”
Three months later, I sat in my new apartment, sipping champagne and reviewing my signed divorce papers. Jeremy had conceded everything—full repayment plus interest.
That same day, Taylor texted: “Saw your ex today. He looked miserable. Lorrie’s selling her unit and moving to Florida. Building meetings won’t be the same without her drama!”
I smiled, raising my glass. The view from my new apartment might not rival our old one, but it sure felt sweeter.
Jeremy called me 27 times that night—I didn’t answer. His mother tried too. Both were blocked. Soon, texts from friends started rolling in, raving about how Jeremy was losing it, claiming I had “stolen HIS money.”
The irony was delicious. Did I feel any remorse? Not in the slightest. For two years, I’d been their fool—and now I was the one laughing.
So, ladies, if something feels off, trust your gut. When a man tries to play you, make sure you outsmart him. In the end, scammers always get what they deserve—and I made sure Jeremy and his mother paid the ultimate price.
Some may call it cruel. I call it justice. And that butterscotch pie? Every granule of that “special” ingredient was worth it.