AFTER TWO YEARS OF MARRIAGE, I FOUND OUT THE APARTMENT I PAID RENT FOR BELONGED TO MY HUSBAND AND HIS MOM
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.
But behind the scenes? I was plotting my revenge.
I spent the next two weeks acting normal — laughing at his jokes, cooking dinners, and playing the perfect wife. But behind the scenes? I was plotting my revenge.
I wasn’t just angry—I was betrayed. I married this man, trusted him, split everything 50/50 because that’s what we agreed on. And all this time, he was pocketing my money, lying to my face.
But I kept my cool. Because I had a plan.
The Setup
On December 28, I handed him my $1,000, just like always. He smiled, kissed me on the cheek, and said, “Thanks, babe. I’ll make sure it gets to the landlord.”
I smiled back, my heart racing. “I trust you.”
He had no idea what was coming.
Two days later, while he was at work, I went to the leasing office and asked to see a copy of the lease. The property manager was confused. “I don’t handle that unit. It’s privately owned by Mrs. Lorrie and managed by her son… Jeremy.”
My blood boiled, but I kept my voice steady. “Oh, I see. Could you tell me how long they’ve owned it?”
She checked her computer. “Looks like they bought it eight years ago.”
Eight years. He had been lying from day one. I felt sick. But I wasn’t done. Not yet.
I went to a lawyer, explaining the situation. He confirmed what I already suspected—there was no legal way to get my money back. But then he asked, “Do you want to hit him where it hurts?”
I leaned in, my eyes gleaming. “Absolutely.”
The Payback
Step one: I opened a separate bank account and rerouted my paycheck. Jeremy always insisted on handling the bills, so he never checked my finances.
Step two: I found a new apartment. I signed the lease, paid the deposit, and scheduled the movers—all in secret.
Step three: I packed my things. Every night after Jeremy fell asleep, I’d quietly box up my belongings, hiding the boxes in my trunk. By the time moving day came, I was ready.
Step four: The bombshell.
On January 1, Jeremy came home from the gym, sweaty and smiling. “Happy New Year, babe!”
I smiled back. “Happy New Year. Let’s celebrate.”
He looked delighted as I poured him a glass of champagne, clinking my glass against his. “To new beginnings,” I toasted, my heart racing.
He laughed. “I’ll drink to that!”
We sat on the couch, chatting and sipping champagne. When he was nice and relaxed, I set my glass down. “Oh, by the way, I won’t be paying rent anymore.”
His head snapped up. “What? Why?”
I shrugged, my voice casual. “Because I’ve been paying your mom for the past two years. And I’m done.”
His face went white. “I-I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I stood up, pulling out the lease documents I had printed from the county records office. “Your mom owns this place. You’ve been lying to me. And I want my $24,000 back.”
He stammered, his face pale. “I… I was going to tell you—”
“When?” I demanded, my voice cold. “After you bled me dry? After I paid off your mortgage?” I shook my head, my anger boiling over. “I trusted you. And you lied. For two years.”
He opened his mouth, but I held up my hand. “I’m moving out. Today. The rent you’ve been paying with my money? You can cover it yourself from now on.”
His eyes went wide. “You… you can’t just leave.”
I laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “Watch me.”
Right on cue, the movers knocked on the door. I opened it, waving them inside. “Take everything that’s mine.”
Jeremy stood there, stunned, as the movers carried out my furniture, my clothes, my life. He tried to argue, to reason, but I was done listening.
When the last box was loaded, I stood at the door, looking at him one last time. “You could’ve been honest. You could’ve trusted me. But you didn’t. And now, you have nothing.”
His face crumpled. “Please… don’t do this. I love you.”
I looked him dead in the eye. “You loved my money. Goodbye, Jeremy.”
And with that, I walked out, slamming the door behind me.
The Aftermath
I heard from mutual friends that Jeremy struggled to pay the mortgage after I left. His mom refused to help him, furious that he had involved her in his scheme.
He tried to reach out—calls, texts, emails—all of which I ignored.
I wasn’t interested in his excuses. I was free. And that was worth more than any apology he could offer.
I moved into my new apartment, surrounded by my own things, my own life. I changed my number, blocked him on social media, and started fresh.
It took time to heal. To learn to trust again. But I did. And I came out stronger.
Because I lost a liar… but I found myself.
