and Lexie’s Loving Kitchen.”

By four in the afternoon, guests started arriving. First came Matt’s boss, a stern man named Harold, who looked at me like I was a miracle worker.

“We’re all so proud of him,” he said. “To renovate a house while going through chemo, what a story!”

Then came the neighbors, our parents, and church friends. Even Matt’s cousin from Nashville drove in.

I stood at the end of the walkway, welcoming each one. “So glad you could make it, Matt will be thrilled!”

By five, the house was full. People were sipping wine, nibbling canapés, and murmuring about the romantic photos on the walls.

Everyone was confused but excited by the development because they thought Matt was dying. At exactly five fifteen, the front door opened. Matt walked in, a paper grocery bag under one arm, Lexie trailing behind him with a bag of lemons and soda water.

They stopped in their tracks! The air snapped like a live wire! Lexie gasped!

Matt dropped the bag. Oranges rolled across the hardwood floor. The room fell silent.

I stepped forward, heels echoing on the tile. I leaned in close to Matt’s ear and whispered, “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell them.

Your walls did.”

His eyes were wide with shock! Then I turned to the guests. “Welcome, everyone.

Please, enjoy!”

The silence shattered into whispers. Seeing Lexie, people started scanning the photos even closely. Love notes taped to the fridge.

A water bill with Lexie’s name next to Matt’s. Harold turned to Matt. “So this is where our sick leave money went?!”

Matt opened his mouth but couldn’t form a word.

His mother collapsed into a nearby chair, face pale! Lexie backed away slowly, heels clicking, then bolted out the back door! I stayed for twenty minutes, calmly chatting to our shocked guests.

Telling them what I knew about the house and Lexie. Then I drove home. The next morning, Matt showed up at my driveway.

Bags packed. Face hollow. “Rachel,” he whispered, begging.

“Please. I’m sorry. She’s gone.

I don’t have anyone. I didn’t mean for this to happen—”

I handed him an envelope. Inside: divorce papers.

Reimbursement demand with every expense from his “treatment.” Even the catered lasagna! “You wanted a new home,” I said, keeping my voice even. “Now you can live in it, alone.”

He dropped to his knees right there on our lawn!

I turned, walked inside, and locked the door. Two weeks later, I sat in my lawyer’s office opening a new account. I called it the “New Beginnings Fund.”

I deposited half the money he paid back.

The rest I spent on a vacation overseas. In the end, he faked his sickness, and I cured mine. I stopped loving a liar.

In the following story, a woman’s husband hires a woman claiming she’s a caregiver, only for the wife to discover she’s his lover. When the wife finds out the truth, she makes a cunning plan, assisted by her mother-in-law.