One night, Jason confessed he was $28,000 in debt. We were sitting on my apartment floor with takeout, and he looked broken. “I messed up,” he said. “But we’re engaged now, and you deserve to know.”
I held his hand. “We’ll fix this. Together.”
Over the next two years, I sacrificed everything — sold my car, skipped outings, took long train commutes — all to help pay off what I thought was his debt.
Then, one sleepless night, I overheard him on the phone: “She still thinks we’re broke. The house is in your name, Mom. She won’t get a dime when I divorce her.”
Turns out, there was no debt. Jason and his mother had been scheming — using me to build their future.
So I planned a surprise. I found the house, made a copy of his key, and plastered the walls with printouts of their messages and bank transfers. Then I invited our friends and family to a “housewarming.”
At 6 p.m., Jason walked in with champagne — and froze.
His lies were exposed. His charm failed him.
I filed for divorce that Monday. He lost everything he conned me for — and I made sure the truth was known.
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