I held my breath, flattened against the cold parquet floor beneath the huge mahogany bed, struggling to suppress a fit of laughter. My white bridal gown, which I hadn’t even taken off after the ceremony, billowed around me like a cloud, the veil clinging to the bed base slats above my head.
When Marcus sees me like this, I’m going to give him a heart attack, I thought, imagining my new husband entering the room. He would look for me everywhere, call my name in an anxious voice, until I would spring out and shout, “Surprise!” We would laugh until we cried, just like always.
Back then, Mark was different. Funny, light-hearted, eyes full of light and an infectious laugh. He would show up under my window at midnight with an acoustic guitar, singing the blues until the neighbors shouted they would call the police. I would come down in my pyjamas and little bunny booties, and we would run, laughing ourselves to death like two teenagers, even though we were both over thirty.
The door opened, but instead of the familiar steps of my husband, I heard the crisp click of my mother-in-law’s heels. Veronica entered the room with the aura of authority she always carried, as if this place was her territory, her kingdom, where she reigned as the absolute mistress.
“Yes, Denise, I’m home now,” she said into the phone as she sat on the edge of the bed where I was hiding. The springs groaned, forcing me to press myself even harder against the ground. “No, absolutely not. The girl seems very docile. Too much so, even. Marcus told me she was practically an orphan. That her father was a small-time, junk engineer in a factory, struggling to make ends meet. I went to see for myself where she lived. A slum in a broken-down building outside Decatur. A disgrace, really. But now, Marcus has the upper hand.”
I felt my blood run cold. Docile? Orphan? In fact, my father was an engineer, yes, but not just an engineer. He was the Director of Design at Kinetic Designs LLC, a defense company, a decent man who never boasted about his position. The apartment in that rundown building actually belonged to my late Aunt Clara, and my father kept it because he grew up there. In reality, we lived in a large three-bedroom apartment in the upscale Buckhead neighborhood of Atlanta. I just never felt the need to broadcast all this to my future mother-in-law.
“You understand, Dennis? The plan is simple,” Veronica continued. I heard the unmistakable click of a lighter. Marcus had told me his mother quit smoking ten years ago. “She’ll deal with her for six months, a year at most. Mark said they weren’t compatible anyway. I’ll do my part. I’ll say the daughter-in-law doesn’t respect me, that she replies rudely, that she doesn’t know how to cook, that the apartment is a disaster. You know, routine. They will divorce ‘amicably’, and the apartment – which is in her name, of course – we’ll take it back in court. The money was put in by Marcus. We have all the receipts. And then the kid won’t fight. What can a country girl do against us? Marcus and I have planned everything.”
Veronica’s cell phone rang again. “Hello, Marcus. Yes, my son. I’m here in your room. No, your little wife is not here. Maybe she’s out celebrating with her friends. Don’t worry, now she can’t escape. The ring is on her finger, the seal is on the certificate. The deal is done. The little bird is in a cage. Just remember what we said to each other. No weakness from the first day. She must understand who rules this house. And above all, she must not give in to her tears or her scenes. They are all the same. Give them a finger, they take the arm. Take care, my son. I’ll stay a little longer. I’m having a cigarette. I opened the window so as not to ruin the room. I don’t want your wife to complain.”
I felt the world crumble beneath me. I was trembling, not from the cold, but from betrayal, anger, and disgust. The man I had entrusted my life to was an impostor, an accomplice in his mother’s plan to steal from me. And the signs were always there.
I saw Marcus again insisting that the apartment be in my name only. “Honey, this way it’s easier for the papers, and you’re safer. It’s yours,” he said while kissing my forehead. I, a fool, believed him. I also remembered Veronica’s insistent questions about my family. “And your mother? You don’t have anyone else? Oh, what a tragedy. Poor girl.” The tunes I mistook for pity were actually pure calculation—the cold instinct of a predator measuring its victim.
Veronica stood up from the bed, paced back and forth across the room, and then stopped in front of the mirror. “Don’t worry, Denise. You just need to be patient. I endured my husband for thirty years until he finally slammed the door shut. And now the house, the property, the accounts are mine. He thought I was just a peasant who was good at cooking soup. Let this girl believe the same thing. Good. My dear, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you how the first night of the newlyweds went. Provided they at least find each other.” She laughed slightly and left the room.
I didn’t move for a long time, not daring to stir. Then, slowly, I crawled out of my hiding place, sat on the floor, and pressed my knees to my chest. My dress was covered in dust, the veil was ripped, but none of that mattered anymore. What mattered was deciding what to do. My first instinct was to grab my things and leave immediately, still in my wedding dress, in the middle of the night. But another one woke up in me: a cold and hard determination.
“No, my dears, you chose the wrong person,” I whispered as I stood up.
In my small bridal bag was my cell phone. I immediately opened the dictaphone application. Fortunately, I managed to start recording when I heard my mother-in-law’s footsteps, initially to capture Marcus’s reaction to my prank. Now I had an ace up my sleeve. But one trump card was not enough. I needed the whole game.
I quickly changed my clothes, putting on jeans and a sweater, putting the dress in the closet, and sitting in front of my laptop. Marcus was not coming home immediately, and I would make the most of that time.
The first call was to my father, Cameron. Despite the hour, he answered immediately. “Princess, why aren’t you sleeping? It’s your wedding night and you’re calling me,” he said with a mixture of tenderness and worry.
“Dad, I need to talk to you seriously. Do you remember when you offered to transfer your part of the company to me?”
A silence of a few seconds. “Abigail, what happened? Did that brute do something to you?”
“Dad, nothing has happened yet, but I need guarantees. Can you come to the notary tomorrow morning?”
“Of course, my daughter. And we will also transfer Aunt Clara’s apartment to your name. The papers are ready.”
“Thank you, Dad. I’ll explain everything to you later.”
“No need. The moment I saw this Marcus, I knew he was an opportunist. And his mother? Let’s not talk about it. But you wouldn’t listen to me. You were in love.”
“Not anymore, Dad. Not anymore.”
The second call was to Celia, my best friend and lawyer. “Celia, I’m sorry to call you at this hour. I need legal advice. If an apartment is in my name and I bought it before the marriage, does my husband have a right to it?”
“Abigail, what’s going on? Are you already thinking about divorce? You just got married today.”
“Celia, just answer me.”
“If you bought it before the marriage and it’s solely in your name, it is your separate property. He can only claim something if he can prove he invested money in work or improvements. Why are you asking that?”
“I’ll explain it to you tomorrow. Can you come to my house around ten in the morning?”
“Of course, my dear. Wait for me.”
The door opened. Marcus had arrived. “Abby, where have you been, darling? I’ve traveled halfway across the city looking for you,” he said in a worried voice that now sounded false to my ears.
I went down the stairs, forcing myself to seem calm. “Hi, my love. I just got settled a bit and changed clothes.”
Marcus hugged and kissed me, and I had to make a superhuman effort not to flinch. “Why are you so cold? Are you cold?”
“Just tired. Let’s go to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a big day.”
“Big? We’re on vacation for two weeks.”
“Yes, but the apartment is new. We need to get organized. In fact, your mother came by.”
“My mother? What for?” His voice tightened.
“I don’t know. I was in the shower. I only heard the door. Maybe she left a gift for you.”
We lay down and Marcus fell asleep almost immediately. My eyes were fixed on the ceiling, and I studied my plan. I had two weeks of vacation. During that time, I needed to gather evidence, protect my assets, and teach these two a lesson they would never forget. And I knew exactly how to do it.
The next morning, Marcus woke me up with a kiss. “Good morning, Mrs. Ronald,” he admitted.
I almost corrected him—my passport still called me Miller—but I held back. “Morning. Would you like some coffee?”
“Of course, and an omelette, if you don’t mind too much. Your mother said you were a great cook.”
I struggled not to laugh. The day before, his mother had told her friend that her daughter-in-law couldn’t cook. “Of course, darling. Go take a shower. I’m preparing breakfast.”
While Marcus was singing a pop song in the shower, I turned on the phone recorder and hid it among the spice jars. Then I took a package of frozen pancakes from the freezer. I heated them in the microwave and served them with whipped cream and jam. I had decided in principle not to cook an omelette. He would be satisfied with what was there.
“Wow, pancakes! Did you make those in advance?” Marcus came out of the bathroom wearing a bathrobe, drying his hair.
“Yes, especially for you,” I replied, smiling.
He sat down at the table, took a bite and frowned. “They’re a bit strange. A little rubbery.”
“It’s a new recipe. They’re annoying,” I calmly replied as I poured the coffee.
“Ah. Look, I was thinking… What would you say if you added me to the deed of ownership of the apartment? That way I could take care of things with the condominium or any repairs.”
I sipped my coffee, deliberately prolonging the silence. “And why do you need that? I can take care of it. Or do you think I can’t do it?”
“No, of course you can. It’s just that… I’m the man. The head of the family.”
“Of course, darling. We’ll talk about that later. For now, I have an appointment with a friend.”
“Which friend?” His tone became suspicious.
“Celia, you know her. We haven’t seen each other in a while.”
“Ah, her. Well, don’t come home too late. Mom is coming for dinner. Prepare something nice.”
I smiled. “Of course, darling. What does your mother love?”
“She eats everything, but she is demanding. First impressions matter.”
If only Marcus knew what impression his mother had made on me, he would surely have swallowed his pancake wrong. But I just nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
As soon as Marcus was gone—apparently to see friends, though I was sure he was running to his mother’s house to check on the plan—I checked the phone. The recording was perfect, very clear, especially the paragraph where he declared himself the “head of the family.”
Celia arrived around ten in the morning. “Tell me, what fire do we have to put out?” she asked.
I played her the recording from the day before. Celia’s eyes widened as she listened. “My God, Abby. This is pure and simple fraud. We can proceed.”
“We can, but I don’t just want to chase them away. I want them to learn a lesson once and for all.”
“Wow, the lion has finally come out. I always said you were too nice. Let’s see what we have. One record of the mother-in-law, another of Marcus. The apartment is in your name, but he ‘put in’ the money and has the receipts.”
“Wait a second. Actually, he did put it in. But in reality, it was my money. Do you remember the trust fund my father set aside for me? I gave him this money, theoretically for something common, but he withdrew it in cash, as if it were his, and handed it to the seller with great elegance, right in front of his mother. I thought he just wanted to show off in front of her.”
“How about the transfer from your account to his?”
“Of course. Everything was done by the bank.”
“Perfect. This is our smoking gun.” Celia laid the documents on the table. “Alright, listen. First: you transfer all your money to accounts that Marcus is unaware of. Second: you formally share your part in your father’s business. Third: You continue to accumulate evidence. And above all, you don’t let anything show. You play the loving little woman until everything is wrapped up.”
The doorbell rang. My father had just arrived with the notary. Mr. Miller, a gray-haired man in an impeccably ironed suit, placed the files on the table. “So, we are formally finalizing the donation of 49% of the shares in Miller Engineering and the transfer of ownership of 245 Republic Avenue, correct?”
I nodded.
“And this document,” my father added, “is a power of attorney to manage the remaining 51 percent in the event of my temporary incapacity. Be prepared for any eventuality.”
While we organized the papers, my father pulled me aside. “Now, can you explain to me what is happening?”
I played him the recording. He listened to her in silence, his face hardening gradually. “The devils,” he finally grumbled between his teeth. “I knew you could handle it on your own. You’re like your mother, firm and determined. She would be proud of you. But if you need anything, I’m here.”
By evening, everything was settled. The documents were signed, the money was moved to new accounts, and a very clear plan was in mind. All that remained was to execute it.
I went to the supermarket to buy food. Veronica eats everything? Perfect, I thought. She will definitely eat everything. I bought chicken gizzards for the soup, rice, margarine instead of butter and, with particular pleasure, a box of expired jellied meat. She said I couldn’t cook. We’ll see.
When I got back to the apartment, I got to work. I prepared a broth with excessive bay leaves and peppercorns to make it aggressive. I overcooked the rice until it became a sticky paste. I mixed the canned meat with boiled potatoes and mayonnaise, creating something vaguely reminiscent of a bad tuna salad. And my final masterpiece was a cake made of spoon cookies and a cream made of margarine and sugar. “A real work of art,” I said, satisfied.
Marcus arrived at seven, and at seven thirty Veronica walked in, wearing a new coat, with impeccable hair and expensive perfume. “Abby, sweetie,” she exclaimed, and blew me a kiss from afar. “So, what have you prepared for us tonight? I haven’t eaten anything all day. You know, the diet.”
With a smooth air, I began to serve. First the soup. Veronica took a sip and immediately started coughing. “What is that?”
“Spices. A recipe from my grandmother. She was from the countryside,” I replied, smiling.
“Ah, the countryside. Of course.”
Then came the rice cream. My mother-in-law looked at the gray mass on her plate barely concealing her disgust.
“It’s very well-cooked rice. Excellent for digestion.”
“I don’t think so, thank you. I’m on a diet.” She didn’t even touch the pseudo-meat salad, claiming she was allergic to mayonnaise. And when I proudly brought the cake, Veronica stood up from the table. “You know, I don’t feel very well. Maybe it’s just the stress from yesterday. Mark, accompany me to the car.”
As soon as she was out, I immediately went to the window. From there, I saw Veronica gesturing in all directions, pointing at her son while he tried to justify himself. She finally got into her car and left.
Marcus came back, his face miserable. “Abby? What was that?”
“What?”
“This dinner. You deliberately sabotaged it.”
“Why do you say that? I was in the kitchen all day.”
“Mommy said we wouldn’t even serve it to the soldiers.”
“Excuse me? I didn’t know your mother was so sensitive. She told me she eats everything.”
“Everything, but not trash!”
“How dare you speak to me like that, Mark! I was in the kitchen all day!” A tear rolled down my eyes. My acting classes in university had not been useless.
Marcus immediately softened. “Sorry, my love. I exaggerated. It’s just that my mom is used to a certain standard.”
“Now I understand. I will never cook for your mother again. She just has to bring her own dishes if I can’t live up to the task.”
“Come on, don’t be like that. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to a restaurant.”
“We’ll see,” I whispered as I walked into the bedroom.
The following days passed with a strange rhythm. Marcus complained about trivial things, controlled every expense, and continually returned to the idea of putting his name on the deed. I played the wounded but obedient wife, while continuing to accumulate evidence. My phone, still in recording mode, became my best ally. One evening, I found a real gem. Marcus and his friend Malik were drinking beer in the living room.
“Imagine, Malik. The girl planned to give back Abby’s apartment. Great, isn’t it?”
“And the woman, is she rich or something?”
“But no, just normal. But the apartment is in her name and the money is in mine. So in a year, I’m getting divorced, keeping the place, and I’m free as the wind.”
“What if she denounces you?”
“Where, please? Her father is a poor man who doesn’t have a penny for a lawyer. Mom and I eat them in two days.”
As I sat in the next room, I smiled. Poor man, really? We’ll see, darling.
A week later, I decided I had enough ammunition. It was time to act.
My first phone call was to my mother-in-law. “Veronica, it’s Abby. I wanted to apologize for the other night. Can you come to dinner tomorrow?” I want to prepare something special for you.”
“Oh, Abby? I don’t know…”
“Please. I want to improve our relationship. You are like a second mother to me.”
This last sentence seemed to flatter her. “Okay, okay. I’ll come. But I warn you, I am very demanding when it comes to food.”
“Of course. I’ll do my best.”
Then I called Celia. “Are you ready for the big day tomorrow?”
“More than ready. I have all the papers and a little gift for your mother-in-law.”
“What gift?”
“You’ll see. It will have the effect of a bomb.”
That night, I told Marcus his mother had accepted the invitation. “Seriously? Mom is coming back after that dinner?”
“I convinced her. I told her I wanted us to get along.”
“Very good. This is the right attitude. Mom loves respect.”
“I understand that. Say, Marcus, what if we also invite other people? For example, your friends.”
“What for?”
“To make the evening more cordial. A family dinner.”
“Hmm, good idea. I’ll call Malik and his wife Talia, and Amare. Mom will be happy. She likes them.”
The next day, I truly put on a spectacular show. I ordered food from an excellent catering service, meticulously decorated the table, and bought flowers. Guests began to arrive around 7 p.m. First Malik and Talia, then Amare, and finally Veronica.
“Wow, how beautiful,” the mother-in-law exclaimed, surprised. “Abby, well done. Here, we are talking about real standard.”
Everyone sat down at the table, made toasts, and complimented me. Veronica relaxed and launched into anecdotes about Marcus’s childhood. “Do you remember Mark, when you were five years old and said you would only marry a princess?”
“Mom, please.”
“Yes, such a beautiful childhood dream. You haven’t found a princess yet, but Abby isn’t bad either.”
This “isn’t bad either” hung in the air.
I stood up. “Friends, I want to toast our family. May there always be honesty, trust, and love between us.” Everyone raised their glasses. “And now,” I continued, “I want you to hear something interesting. It’s a recording I made accidentally on the wedding day.”
I took out my cell phone and started Veronica’s audio on the phone. A heavy silence fell in the room. Only my mother-in-law’s voice echoed over the loudspeakers: “The plan is simple. They break up without a scandal and stay with the apartment.”
Veronica turned pale. Marcus stood up from his seat. “Abby? What is that? Where did it come from?”
“Son, I was hiding under the bed. I was going to play a prank on you, but it turns out you were putting on the real comedy number.”
“It’s… It’s a montage!” Veronica screamed. “That’s not true!”
“Really? And is that also false?” I started Marcus’s recording with Malik. Talia looked at her husband with disgust. “And that’s not all.”
The doorbell rang. Celia walked in, holding a cardboard folder. “Good evening. I’m Master Celia Brooks. Veronica, this is for you.” She handed her an envelope.
Veronica took it, her hands trembling. “What is this?”
“A criminal complaint. You know, I did a little investigating. It seems your husband’s death wasn’t so natural. It’s strange, isn’t it, that a healthy man suddenly died of a heart attack just a month after his wife put all the property in her name. And, as if by chance, no autopsy. You insisted on cremation. But I have the testimony of a nurse who saw you with an injection near your husband’s drip.”
It was a bluff, a total deception. But Veronica didn’t know it. She let out a cry and almost fell onto her chair. “That’s not true! I didn’t do anything!”
Marcus froze. “Mommy, is what she’s saying about Dad true?”
I approached my husband. “Marcus, here are the documents: the transfer from my account to yours, the money you paid for the apartment with — my money. And this is my father’s tax return, a chief engineer at a defense company, with a salary that would make your mother lose her mind. And here are the deeds to our real apartment in downtown Atlanta, not the hole on the outskirts where your mother went to investigate. And you know what? I could call the police right now and report the two of you for fraud. But I won’t.”
“Why?” Marcus asked in a stammering voice.
“Because I’m not like you. I’m giving you a chance. Veronica is getting up. She will disappear and never reappear in my life. If one day I hear anything about her from you, all of this goes straight to the police. And not just for real estate fraud.”
Veronica stood on her feet. “Just go, Mom,” Marcus said in a low voice. “Just go away, that’s all.” My mother-in-law closed the door as she left.
The guests were shocked. Talia was the first to react. “Malik, we’re leaving. And at home, we’ll talk seriously about your role in this whole story.” They left. Amare said goodbye and disappeared as well.
Only Marcus, Celia, and I remained.
“Abby, I…” Marcus began.
“Don’t speak. Just pack your bags and leave. Tomorrow, we’re filing for divorce.”
“But we can’t… Try to fix things?”
“What, Mark? The fact that you honestly betrayed me? That you conspired with your mother to steal from me? That you treated me like a country bumpkin? No, my love. That doesn’t get better.”
He left, and finally, I allowed myself to cry. Celia took me in her arms. “You are amazing, woman. A true warrior.”
“You know, Celia, I loved him. I believed him.”
“I know. But it’s better to know the truth now than in ten years.”
The divorce was quick and discreet. Mark didn’t even ask for anything, perhaps out of fear of a scandal. Veronica vanished. It was later found that she was living with a sister in Savannah. I stayed in my apartment, washing my wounds and starting over. And in this new beginning, I discovered a strength within myself that I never knew existed.