Nancy believed in love, loyalty, and equality in marriage. For two years, she contributed half of the rent, trusting her husband. But when she discovered that he and his mother had been scamming her out of thousands during that time, she resolved to teach them a lesson they would never forget.
They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but they haven’t met a woman who’s been robbed by her husband and mother-in-law for two years straight.
I’m the kind of woman who believes in justice—someone who works hard, plays fair, and expects the same in return. Yet sometimes life throws you a curveball so twisted that it breaks your heart and ignites your rage, compelling you to embrace your inner vengeful goddess.
It’s ironic, really. I thought Jeremy and I had a solid foundation. We married young, built a life together, and divided everything equally as responsible adults. Our agreement was simple: 50-50 on rent, groceries, and bills.
Jeremy was the one who found our apartment.
“Baby, you’ve got to see this place,” he called me at work, excitement in his voice. “It’s perfect for us!”
“Perfect how?” I asked, smiling at his enthusiasm.
“Two bedrooms, a modern kitchen, and that balcony you’ve always wanted. And it’s only $2,000 a month—not bad for this area.”
He was practically bouncing when he showed me around later that day, pointing out every feature like a kid with a new toy.
“We’ll split it—$1,000 each. Just like we planned,” he said, wrapping his arms around me from behind as we stood on the balcony. “Our first real home together.”
I turned in his arms and kissed him softly. “Sounds perfect.”
Everything seemed legitimate—the lease, the payments, and the supposed landlord. Not a single red flag.
Then one random December night, a malfunctioning elevator led to a conversation that shattered everything I thought I knew.
After a long shift at the hospital, I stepped into the elevator, my feet aching in my heels. Suddenly, it stopped at the fifth floor. My bubbly neighbor, Taylor, hopped in, and I barely managed a smile.
“Hey!” she chirped, then tilted her head. “Oh, I know you! You live in Mrs. Lorrie and Jeremy’s apartment, right?”
The words hit me like a slap. “Mrs. Lorrie?”
“Yeah, Jeremy’s mom. She and her son bought that place years ago when the building first opened. Such a smart investment!”
My world tilted. “Building meetings?”
“Oh yes, she never missed one. Always talking about property values and how they made a killing when the previous tenants moved out. Then Jeremy moved in with his ex… though that didn’t last long. And now you!”
I clenched the elevator rail, my fingers aching. “His ex lived there too?”
Taylor’s smile faltered. “Oh… oh no. You didn’t know? Mrs. Lorrie always brags about having family manage the property… She was on the building board and everything.”
The elevator doors opened, but I couldn’t move.
“Nancy?” Taylor touched my arm gently. “You’ve gone completely white. I’m so sorry, I thought you knew.”
“No,” I whispered, stepping out. “But I’m certainly glad I do now.”
My ears rang as I walked down the hallway. Jeremy owned the apartment? No, not just him—his mother too.
For two years, I had handed over my hard-earned money to my husband, believing we were paying rent together. But there was no landlord, no rental agreement—just a lie.
I staggered to our door, my hands shaking. My husband had faked everything—the landlord, the lease, the entire setup. He had taken my hard-earned $24,000 and split it with his mother. How could he betray his own wife?
I needed to sit down and figure out how to burn Jeremy’s world to the ground.
That night, I did some digging. Real estate records are public, after all. And there it was—the property deed in both their names, dated five years ago. They had even taken out a mortgage together. I felt like such an idiot.
My phone buzzed with a text from Jeremy: “Grabbing drinks with Mom. Don’t wait up. Love you!”
I looked at those words and felt nothing but ice in my veins. I clicked through my photo gallery, finding a picture from last Christmas—Jeremy and I on his mother’s couch, his arm around me while she served her famous eggnog. They had been stealing from me even then.
I dialed my best friend, Sarah.
“They own it,” I said when she answered. “The whole time, they owned it