At seven months pregnant with twins, my world shattered. My husband’s boss, Veronica, sent me a photo of Eric in her bed, captioned: “He’s mine.” Hours later, they arrived—Eric was leaving me for her. Worse, she demanded one of my babies in exchange for housing.
Shocked and helpless, I feigned submission. “I’ll choose which baby you get,” I whispered. Believing me broken, Veronica agreed—on the condition she bought me a house. They never suspected my plan.
When I went into labor, I barred them from the room. Holding my two perfect daughters, I prepared my final move.
Three days later, they arrived, eager to claim a baby. “Which one is mine?” Veronica cooed.
“Neither,” I said, standing firm.
Veronica’s smugness evaporated. “Then you’re out of this house.”
I smiled. “No, I’m not. You both signed it over to me. This house is mine.”
Panic flashed across her face. “No, that’s impossible!”
I continued, “I also shared your scheme online. Everyone knows how you tried to buy my baby. Check social media.”
Eric snatched my phone, his face draining as he scrolled. “You ruined us!”
“No, you ruined yourselves.”
Eric was fired. Veronica was blacklisted, her reputation in ruins. And me? I rocked my daughters to sleep in our home, victorious.
I didn’t just get revenge. I won.
