er business trips.”

“Of course! Hey, maybe we can do something fun this weekend. Take a drive up to Millfield, check out that new farmers market you wanted to visit.”

The casual way he planned our weekend while hiding such massive deception made my skin crawl.

“That sounds nice.”

After dinner, Tyler headed to his office to “catch up on some paperwork.”.

I grabbed his phone from the kitchen counter.

His password was still our anniversary date

I stumbled upon the hidden folder tucked away in his utilities section, disguised to look like a simple calculator app. But inside, I uncovered an entirely different world.

Bank records revealed large sums of money moving in and out. A contact list filled with women’s names included chilling notes: “Single mom, desperate.” “Recent widow, big insurance payout.” “Lonely, easily manipulated.”

There were message threads with at least a dozen women, all echoing the same fabricated tale—he was single, launching a business, and just needed a little support to get started.

I took screenshots of everything, emailed copies to myself, and forwarded them to Jennifer’s number.

Then I carefully returned the phone to where I’d found it and climbed into bed, feigning sleep beside someone I no longer recognized.

The following days were the most difficult I’ve ever faced. I wore the mask of a devoted wife while quietly assembling a case against my husband—meeting with lawyers, collecting financial evidence, and working in lockstep with Jennifer and her legal team.

Tyler suspected nothing. He fixed his hedge, complained about disrespectful teenagers, planned weekend activities, and brought me flowers “just because he loved me.”

Every night after Tyler went to sleep, Jennifer and I would talk.

She opened up about Emma, the future they had once imagined together before Tyler shattered it, and the other women we’d uncovered. In total, twelve victims—each one deceived by the same manipulative story, each one left emotionally and financially drained.

“The hardest part,” Jennifer said during one of our late-night conversations, “wasn’t losing the money. It was realizing that everything I believed we had was a complete illusion.”

I knew exactly how she felt.

A week later, I told Tyler I wanted to plan a special dinner in the backyard.

“To celebrate us,” I said.

“I realized during my trip how much I appreciate what we have.”

“That’s beautiful, Mindy. I love that idea.”

He put on his lucky shirt—the one he always said made him irresistible. He wasn’t wrong about its effect, just mistaken about what kind of attention it would draw that night.

While he was in the shower, I borrowed a projector from work and set it up in the backyard.

I told him it was for a slideshow of our favorite memories.

“This is so romantic!” he exclaimed, settling into his chair with a glass of wine. “Just like when we were dating.”

“Funny you should mention dating!” I laughed, pressing play on my laptop.

The first image appeared on our white fence — a screenshot of his hidden banking app.

Tyler’s wine glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the patio.

“Mindy, what is this?”

“Keep watching!”

Next came the contact list featuring all those women’s names with his cruel annotations.

“This isn’t what it looks like. I can explain—”

“Explain what, Tyler?

Jennifer? Emma? Dorothy?

Or the money you scammed from a dozen women who trusted you?”

His face went white as paper.

The message threads came next. Love declarations, business proposals, requests for money… all lies.

“You went through my phone?” he gasped.

“Your phone? That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

That’s when Jennifer stepped out from behind our garden shed, pushing Emma in her wheelchair.

Tyler stumbled backward, knocking over his chair.

“Hello, Tyler!” Jennifer waved her hand.

“Or should I call you by whatever name you’re using these days? Is it Jacob? John?

Mark? Rick?”

“You sat at our dinner table. You told me I was like the little sister you never had.

You promised to help me get the equipment I needed to go to college,” Emma added.

“Thirty-two thousand dollars!” Jennifer continued. “Three years of saving. Three years of believing in a future you never intended to give me.”

I stood up and pulled an envelope from under my plate.

“Divorce papers, Tyler.

Already filed. The house is mine! Seems when you commit fraud, you forfeit certain rights to marital property.”

“Mindy, please.

This is all a misunderstanding. I never meant for things to go this far. I can fix this.

I can pay everyone back…”

“With what money? The money you stole from Sarah in Portland? From Rebecca in Denver?

From the widow in Phoenix whose husband’s life insurance you convinced her to ‘invest’?”

Jennifer held up her phone. “The FBI was very interested in your operation, Tyler. Turns out, when you cross state lines to commit fraud, it becomes a federal crime.”

Tyler tried to run.

He actually got to the gate before two federal agents stepped out of the unmarked car that had been parked across the street.

Six months later, I found myself sitting in that same backyard, though everything around me had changed. The hedge was gone—completely removed and replaced with a butterfly garden. Emma helped design it, giving instructions from her new wheelchair, the one Jennifer was finally able to buy using the restitution funds.

Tyler was serving an eight-year sentence in federal prison.

The house was now legally mine, along with whatever few assets he hadn’t already squandered. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was something—and it belonged to me.

Jennifer and Emma still come over every Sunday for dinner. What we have now is a genuine friendship, forged from the ruins of Tyler’s deceit.