Emma had always been the frugal one, ensuring that after paying rent, she still had enough money to cover all her expenses. One day, while her husband Paul was away on a business trip, she decided to handle the rent payment herself. To her shock, she discovered that the rent she’d been paying for years was actually going toward her mother-in-law’s monthly allowance. Determined to right this wrong, Emma and Karma teamed up to serve justice.
I had always been meticulous with my budgeting. Every penny of my salary was accounted for, and luxuries like new clothes, makeup, and vacations were things I saw my friends indulge in but had to put on hold for myself.
“I just want to go on a vacation to a sunny place,” I confessed to my best friend, Jessica. “Just to lounge on the beach and sip cocktails.”
“Soon,” Jessica reassured me. “You’re close to sorting out the house and finally being free of rent and other financial burdens.”
Every month, a significant portion of my paycheck went toward the rent of our modest home. Paul and I both contributed to the rent, but he always handled the payments to our elusive landlord. I trusted him completely and never questioned his actions.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Paul would say. “I’ll take the money from our joint account each month and handle the rest.”
Years passed, and my sacrifices continued. Paul took care of the utility bills, and we both contributed to groceries. Despite the difficulties, we both knew these were necessary expenses.
One day, Paul had to leave early for a short business trip. We were both accustomed to his frequent travels.
“Do you want me to take care of the rent?” I asked as I helped him pack. “I know you’re traveling on the first of the month.”
“No, but thank you,” he replied. “I’ll try to log on from my laptop or handle it when I get back.”
“Honey, you’re already doing so much for us. Let me lighten the burden and help,” I insisted.
Paul sighed deeply, taking two ties from his closet. “It’s fine, Emma,” he said curtly. “I’ve got it under control.”
My husband left early the next morning, and that was the end of the discussion about rent. As the days passed and the rent was due, I decided to go to the bank during my lunch break to make the payment.
“Where are you headed?” Jessica asked as I gathered my handbag and cellphone before leaving the office.
“Just to the bank,” I replied. “I’ll be back soon, and then we can get something for lunch.”
I walked into the bank ready to make a payment, hoping to lighten Paul’s load. But what I discovered was a completely different reality. I approached a teller and explained my situation, giving her all my relevant details.
“I need to transfer rent money to my landlord,” I said. “My husband usually does this, but he’s away on business.”
The teller smiled and looked at my ID before continuing. “Certainly, ma’am,” she said, pulling up the account details. “Could you confirm the account number?”
I read the number off the notepad I had taken from Paul’s desk that morning. He always wrote his important information on that one notepad.
“Thank you,” the teller said, typing the number in. “A Mrs. Helen Parker? That’s your landlord’s account?”
I blinked in confusion. “Helen Parker? Are you sure?” I exclaimed, my hands feeling clammy.
The teller, sensing something was wrong, double-checked the records. “This account has been receiving money from your account for years.”
Paul’s mother. Helen Parker was Paul’s mother.
“There must be some mistake,” I said.
“I’m afraid not,” she replied. “This account has consistently received the monthly payments. I can print it all out for you if you’d like to review it.”
Numb with shock, I nodded. I left the bank and drove home in a daze, forgetting about work entirely. Once home, I went straight to Paul’s study and began searching through his drawers. I needed answers.
“How have I been paying for his mother’s lifestyle all these years?” I said aloud.
It didn’t take long to find everything I needed. There it was—the ownership document for our house, signed and dated years ago, with Paul listed as the sole owner.
I didn’t know what to think, so I sat in silence until my phone rang. “Emma?” Jessica’s voice came through. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you come back to the office?”
I quickly caught my best friend up on the drama. “So, the rent you’ve been paying is actually Helen’s allowance?” Jessica gasped. “That’s ridiculous!”
“Yes,” I replied, holding my head in my hands. “I don’t know what to do. Paul is away for the next few days.”
“Did he take his laptop?” Jessica asked.
“No, actually, he didn’t,” I replied.
“Then go through it! Look for more information!”
My hands trembling, I turned on his laptop and found a series of messages between Paul and Helen. They detailed their plan to keep me in the dark and ensure I continued to pay rent, funneling my money straight to her.
“What the heck?” I muttered.
As the full weight of the betrayal settled on me, karma arrived swiftly. That evening, a violent storm swept through our town, flooding our house. By the next morning, water started seeping through the ceiling, flooding the entire house.
I took my belongings and went to a hotel, not wanting to suffer through this alone.
“You can come to me,” Jessica offered when I called her.
“No,” I said. “I don’t plan on staying in the house long. When Paul returns, I’ll get the last of my things.”
On the day Paul was scheduled to come home, I went to the house and sorted through the undamaged items.
“Emma, are you okay?” he asked, stepping into the house. “What happened here?”
I turned to him, my eyes cold. “I’m fine. But the house isn’t. The ceiling doesn’t look good. But it’s a good thing it’s not our house, right? The landlord’s insurance can cover it.”
Paul paled, realizing he was trapped. “Emma, I can explain,” he said.
“Don’t bother,” I interrupted. “I found the bank records, ownership documents, and your messages to Helen. I know everything.”
Paul’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “How could you do that to me?” I asked quietly. “Especially after knowing I wanted us to make memories together. Instead, I was using my hard-earned money to take care of your mother?”
“What do you want me to tell you? That she’s old and needs it?” Paul asked.
“We both know that’s not true,” I retorted. “Your father left everything to her. She’s fine. It’s not that I wouldn’t have wanted to help Helen if I knew. It’s the fact that you’ve been lying for years.”
“Just wait,” Paul said. “We can work through this.”
“No, we cannot,” I replied. “You’ve been using me for years, and I’m done with this.”
I walked out of the house and returned to the hotel. The next day, I consulted a lawyer and fought to reclaim the money I had unknowingly given to Helen.
Justice prevailed, and the court ruled in my favor, ordering Paul and his mother to repay every cent. With my newfound financial freedom, I got myself a small apartment that I could easily lock up and leave when it was time for a getaway. As for Paul, after the money was settled, I filed for divorce and left him in the past with his mother.
What would you have done?
