Jeremy was the one who found the apartment.

“Baby, you’ve got to see this place,” he’d called me at work, excitement bubbling in his voice. “It’s perfect for us.”

“Perfect how?” I’d asked, smiling at his enthusiasm.

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“Two bedrooms, modern kitchen, and that balcony you always wanted. And get this at just $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 showing off a new toy.

“We’ll split it, $1,000 each. Just like we planned,” he’d 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 looked legit — the lease, the payments, and the so-called landlord. Not a single red flag.

Then came one random December night, a busted elevator, and a conversation that shattered everything I thought I knew.

I stepped into the elevator, my feet aching in my heels after a 12-hour shift at the hospital.

The elevator suddenly stopped at the fifth floor. Taylor, my bubbly 20-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 Mrs. Lorrie and Jeremy’s apartment, right?”

The words hit me like a slap to the face. “Mrs. Lorrie?”

“Yeah, Jeremy’s mom. She and her son bought that place years ago, when the building first opened. Such a smart investment, you know! She was always talking about it at the building meetings.”

My world tilted sideways. “Building meetings?”

“Oh yes, she never missed one. Always going on about property values and how they made such 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 so hard my fingers ached. “His ex lived there too?”

Taylor’s smile faltered. “Oh… oh no. You didn’t know? I mean, Mrs. 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 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 started ringing as I walked down the hallway. 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. There was no rental agreement. The whole damn thing was a LIE.

I staggered to our door, my hands shaking. My husband had faked everything — the landlord, the lease, the entire setup. He took my hard-earned $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 digging. Real estate records were public, after all. And there it was — the property deed in both their names, dated five years ago. They’d even taken out a mortgage together. God, I had been 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. There we were, Jeremy and I on his mother’s couch, his arm around me while she served her famous eggnog. They’d 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.”

“What? Who owns what?”

“Jeremy and his mother. They own the freaking apartment. They’ve been charging me rent for an apartment they own.”

“Oh my God! Really?”

“Two years, Sarah. TWENTY-FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS.”

“Oh, Nancy, you poor thing. They won’t get away with this.”

“Of course not!” I replied, hanging up.

I stormed to the kitchen, yanked open a drawer, and pulled out the lease agreement he’d shown me when we moved in. I scanned every line. It looked real. It even had some guy’s name as the supposed landlord.

But now I knew better. He’d faked everything. He and his mother had been pocketing my money, splitting it between themselves, probably laughing at my stupidity the entire time.

I grabbed my phone and dialed him.

“Hey, babe,” I said, forcing my voice to sound light. “When’s the rent due again?”

“December 28,” he replied without hesitation.

I smirked. Perfect.

Because I had just decided exactly how I was going to make him pay starting with step one…. The Setup.

The next two weeks were an Oscar-worthy performance.

“Baby,” I called out one evening, “your mom invited us for dinner on Sunday. Should I make that butterscotch pie she loves?”

Jeremy looked up from his phone, smiling. “You’re the best, you know that?”

I smiled back. “Oh, I know!”

That Sunday, I sat at his mother’s dining table, passing the mashed potatoes and laughing at their jokes like I didn’t know they were thieves.

“Nancy, dear,” she beamed at me, “you seem extra cheerful today.”

“Oh, I just got some good news at work,” I replied. “Huge bonus coming up. Jeremy and I might even have enough saved for a down payment soon.”

The way they exchanged glances made my blood boil.

“That’s wonderful, sweetie,” Jeremy squeezed my hand. “But maybe we should keep renting for now. The market’s not great for buying.”

“Of course,” I nodded. “Why rush into buying when we have such a great rental situation, right?”

My mother-in-law nearly choked on her coffee.

The next two weeks, I played my part perfectly. I smiled, laughed at Jeremy’s dumb jokes, and let him kiss me goodnight. Hell, I even handed over my $1,000 like I did on the 27th of every month.

But behind the scenes, I was getting ready to destroy him.

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

Jeremy kissed me goodbye that morning, grabbing his travel mug of coffee… the last cup he’d ever drink from my coffee maker.

“Love you, babe,” he said, heading for the door.

“Love you too, honey,” I smiled sweetly. “Oh, and Jeremy?”

He turned, eyebrows raised.

“You really should have married an idiot.”

His face scrunched in confusion. “What?”

“Nothing,” I sang. “Have a great day at work!”

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

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

We 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. To the last cent. But I wasn’t done.

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

And now, it was time for step three: The Grand Finale.

By the time Jeremy got home, the apartment was bare.

No couch. No TV. No dishes. Just emptiness. Except for one thing. A letter, taped to the window. I could almost hear the panic in his breath as I imagined him tearing it open and reading the words:

Dear Jeremy,

Hope you enjoy YOUR apartment.

Since you and your mother had such fun scamming me for two years, I figured it was time to return the favor.

My new apartment’s rent is already paid for January — by you.

And don’t bother calling. I blocked you.

Happy New Year, loser.

—Nancy”

Then 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,” she grabbed my cart. “Please, let me explain —”

“Explain what, Mrs. 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 Mrs. 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 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. Mrs. 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. The view wasn’t as nice as my old apartment, but somehow, it felt a whole lot sweeter.

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

His mother tried too. Blocked.

Then came the texts from friends saying Jeremy was losing it, ranting that I had “stolen HIS money.”

The irony was delicious. Did I feel bad? Not even a little. Because for two years, I had been their fool. For two years, they had taken from me without a second thought.

But now? I was the one laughing.

Ladies, if something feels off, trust your gut. And if a man ever tries to play you, make damn sure you play him harder. Because in the end, scammers get what they deserve. And I made sure Jeremy and his mother got theirs.

They say living well is the best revenge. But you know what’s even better? Living well in an apartment you actually own, paid for with the money you got back from the people who tried to steal from you.

Some might call it cruel. I call it justice. And that butterscotch pie? Worth every granule of the “special” ingredient!