When Jeremy and I got married, we agreed to split everything 50/50, including rent. He found the apartment, said it was $2,000 a month, and every month I handed him my $1,000 share while he supposedly sent it to the landlord.

For two years, I thought everything was normal.

Until one December evening.

I got stuck in the elevator with one of my neighbors. We chatted until she casually mentioned something that made my stomach drop:

“Oh, you live in Mrs. Lorrie and Jeremy’s apartment, right?”

Mrs. Lorrie. As in Jeremy’s MOM.

Confused, I asked what she meant. The neighbor, completely unaware of the bomb she’d just dropped, happily explained:

“Yeah, Jeremy’s mom bought that apartment years ago! Rented it out for a while, then he moved in with his ex. And now, you guys!”

My blood ran cold. I wasn’t paying rent. I was paying Jeremy and his mom.

For TWO YEARS, I had unknowingly handed over $24,000 straight into their pockets.

I barely made it inside before the rage took over. But I didn’t explode.
No, I called Jeremy instead.

“Hey, babe,” I said sweetly. “When’s rent due again?”

“December 28,” he answered casually.

Perfect.

I spent the next two weeks acting normal — laughing at his jokes, cooking dinners, etc.

Hell, I even handed over my $1,000 like I did on the 27th of every month.

But behind the scenes? I was plotting my re:ve:ng:e.

And with that, step two arrived — December 28, aka “The execution.”

Jeremy kissed me goodbye that morning.

I waited exactly ten minutes after he left before I got to work.

First, I packed every single thing I owned — shoes, clothes, the furniture I paid for, and even the coffee maker he loved. After that, I went to the bank.

Jeremy and I had a joint account, one where my paycheck had been going every month. And just like he had been stealing from me, I decided it was time to return the favor.

I emptied it.

I had already signed the lease on my own place, a small but cozy apartment, and paid my first month’s rent — Using JEREMY’S MONEY.

And now, step three: The Grand Finale.

By the time Jeremy got home, the apartment was bare. Except for one thing. A letter.

After that, I shut off my phone and drove straight to my new apartment, the place I’d be calling home long after I filed for divorce.

A week after I left, I ran into Jeremy’s mother at the grocery store. She looked like she’d aged ten years.

“Nancy. Please, let me explain”

“Explain what, Lorrie? How you and your son stole $24,000 from me? How you sat across from me at dinner every Sunday, asking when I was going to give you grandchildren, while you were robbing me blind?”

“We were going to tell you —”

“When? After the baby shower? After I’d spent another year paying your mortgage?”

Her face crumpled. “Jeremy’s devastated. He’s drinking, he’s lost weight…”

“Funny how karma works, isn’t it?” I leaned closer. “Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to let me finish my shopping. Then you’re going to go home and tell your son that if he doesn’t agree to my divorce terms, including full repayment of every cent I paid in rent, I’ll be filing fraud charges against both of you.”

“You wouldn’t —”

“Try me.” I smiled 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, looking at my newly signed divorce papers. Jeremy had agreed to everything— full repayment plus interest.

My phone buzzed with a text from Taylor: “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 to my reflection in the window.

Jeremy called me 27 times that night, but I never answered.

His mother tried too. Blocked.

Then the messages started pouring in—friends warning me that Jeremy was spiraling, raving about how I had “taken HIS money.”

The irony was almost poetic. Did I feel guilty? Not in the slightest. Because for two years, I had been nothing but their pawn. For two years, they had drained me without hesitation.

Ladies, when something feels wrong, trust that feeling. And if a man thinks he can outsmart you, make sure you outplay him. Because in the end, con artists get exactly what’s coming to them. And I made sure Jeremy and his mother got what they deserved.

Some might see it as ruthless. I see it as justice.