Nancy believed in love, loyalty, and fairness in marriage. For two years, she faithfully handed over half of the rent, trusting her husband. When she discovered that he and his mother had been scamming her out of thousands the entire time, she decided to settle the score with a lesson they would never forget.
They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Well, they’ve never met a woman who was robbed by her husband and mother-in-law for two years straight.
I’m the kind of woman who believes in justice. The type who works hard, plays fair, and expects the same in return. But sometimes, life throws you a curveball—one so twisted, so perfectly designed to break your heart and ignite your rage—that you have no choice but to embrace your inner vengeance goddess.
A Perfect Lie
You know what’s funny? I really thought Jeremy and I had a solid foundation. We got married young, built a life together, and split everything 50/50 like responsible adults. That was our deal—rent, groceries, bills. Everything.
Jeremy was the one who found the apartment.
“Baby, you have to see this place,” he said, calling me at work, excitement bubbling 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 we got it for just $2,000 a month… not bad for this area.”
Later that day, he was practically bouncing as he showed me the place, pointing out every detail like a kid showing off 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 legit—the lease, the payments, and the supposed landlord. Not a single red flag.
Then came one random December night, a broken elevator, and a conversation that shattered everything I thought I knew.
The Shocking Revelation
I stepped into the elevator, my feet aching in heels after a 12-hour hospital shift.
The elevator suddenly stopped on the fifth floor. Taylor, my bubbly twenty-something neighbor, hopped in, and I barely had the energy to force a smile.
“Hey!” she chirped, then tilted her head. “Oh, I know you! You live in Lorrie and Jeremy’s apartment, right?”
The words hit me like a slap to the face.
“Lorrie?”
“Yeah, Jeremy’s mom. She and her son bought that place years ago when the building first opened. Really smart investment, you know! She always talked about it at the building meetings.”
My world tilted.
“Building meetings?”
“Oh yeah, she never missed one. Always going on about property values and how well they did when the last tenants moved out. Then Jeremy moved in with his ex… though that didn’t last long. And now you!”
I gripped the elevator handrail so hard my fingers ached.
“His ex also lived there?”
Taylor’s smile faltered. “Oh… oh no. You didn’t know? I mean, Lorrie always brags about how well the arrangement works, having family manage the property… She was on the building board and everything.”
The elevator doors opened, but I couldn’t move.
“Nancy?” Taylor gently touched my arm. “You’ve gone completely pale. I’m so sorry—I thought you knew.”
“No,” I whispered, stepping out. “But I’m really glad I do now.”
As I walked down the hallway, a deafening buzz filled my ears.
Jeremy owned the apartment? No, not just Jeremy. His mother, too.
For TWO YEARS, I had been handing over my hard-earned money to my husband, thinking we were paying rent together. But there was no landlord. No lease.
The whole thing was a LIE.
The Perfect Scam
I stumbled into our apartment, my hands trembling. My husband had faked everything—the landlord, the rental contract, the entire setup.
He had taken my $24,000 and SPLIT IT with his mother.
How could he betray his own wife?
I needed to sit down. And I needed to figure out exactly how I was going to burn Jeremy’s world to the ground.
That night, I did some research. Property records were public, after all. And there it was—the deed to the property, in both their names, dated five years ago. They had even taken out a mortgage together.
I had been a fool.
My phone buzzed with a message from Jeremy:
“Grabbing drinks with Mom. Don’t wait up. Love you!”
I stared at those words and felt nothing but ice in my veins.
I pulled up my photo gallery, finding a picture from last Christmas. There we were, Jeremy and me on his mother’s couch, his arm around me while she served her famous eggnog.
They had been robbing me since then.
I called my best friend, Sarah.
“They own it,” I said when she picked up.
“What? Who owns what?”
“Jeremy and his mother. They own the damn apartment. They’ve been charging me rent for a place they already own.”
“Oh my God! Are you serious?”
“Two years, Sarah. TWENTY-FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS.“
“Nancy, you poor thing. They are NOT getting away with this.”
“Damn right they’re not.”
I opened the kitchen drawer and pulled out the lease agreement Jeremy had shown me when we moved in. I scanned every line. It looked real. It even had some guy’s name listed as the “landlord.”
But now I knew better.
They had faked everything.
Jeremy and his mother had been pocketing my money, splitting it between them, probably laughing at my stupidity the entire time.
I picked up my phone and dialed him.
“Hey, babe,” I said, forcing my voice to stay light. “When is rent due again?”
“December 28,” he answered without hesitation.
Perfect.
Because I had just figured out exactly how to make him pay.
The Execution
For the next two weeks, I put on an Oscar-worthy performance.
I smiled, laughed at Jeremy’s stupid jokes, and let him kiss me goodnight.
On December 27, I even handed over my $1,000 like I did every month.
But behind the scenes? I was preparing to destroy him.
On December 28, I waited ten minutes after Jeremy left for work before I got to work.
First, I packed everything I owned—clothes, shoes, the furniture I had paid for, and even the coffee maker he loved.
Then, I went to the bank.
We had a joint account, where my salary had been deposited every month. And just like he had been stealing from me, I decided it was time to return the favor.
I emptied it. Every last cent.
Then, I signed the lease for my own apartment across town—paid with Jeremy’s money.
And finally, I left my masterpiece: a letter taped to the window.
“Dear Jeremy,
Hope you enjoy YOUR apartment.
Since you and your mother had so much fun scamming me for two years, I figured it was time to return the favor.
The rent for my new place is already paid—by you.
Oh, and don’t bother calling. You’re blocked.
Happy New Year, loser.
—Nancy”
I never looked back.
Three months later, I sat in my new apartment, sipping champagne over my divorce papers—fully signed. Jeremy had agreed to repay me in full, with interest.
I smirked, raising my glass to my reflection.
Some say living well is the best revenge.
But you know what’s even better? Getting your money back.