By the time I picked Tyler up from school, I had the beginnings of a plan. Not just to get my money back, but to make sure Brandon and my mother paid for what they’d done to me. But I had to be smart about it. They thought I was weak and emotional. That was going to be my greatest advantage.
«How was school today?» I asked Tyler as we drove home.
«Good. We’re learning about the Revolutionary War in history class. Did you know that sometimes the colonists pretended to be loyal to the British while they were actually planning to fight them?»
Out of the mouths of babes. «That’s very interesting, sweetie. Sometimes the best way to win a war is to let your enemies think they’ve already won.»
That night, I cooked Brandon’s favorite dinner: pot roast with potatoes and carrots. I wore the red dress he’d complimented me on our anniversary. I smiled and laughed at his jokes and asked about his day with genuine-seeming interest.
«You seem happy tonight,» he said, reaching over to squeeze my hand.
«I am happy,» I said, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. For the first time in months, I had a purpose. A plan. A reason to get up in the morning.
«I was thinking,» I continued, «maybe we should have my mother over for dinner this weekend. It’s been a while since we all spent time together.»
Something flickered in Brandon’s eyes. «That sounds great, sweetheart. I’m sure Helen would love that.»
Helen. Not «your mother» or «Mom» like he usually said. Helen, like they were close. Like they knew each other well. Which, of course, they did.
«I’ll call her tomorrow,» I said.
That night, as Brandon slept beside me, I stared at the ceiling and planned. Phase one was information gathering, and that was almost complete. Phase two would be preparation: making sure I had everything I needed to destroy them both. But phase three, that would be the most important part. That would be making sure they both understood exactly what they’d lost when they decided to underestimate Rebecca Miller. In the darkness, I smiled for the first time in weeks.
The call to my mother the next morning was a masterpiece of acting. «Mom,» I said, letting my voice sound small and uncertain. «I was wondering if you’d like to come over for dinner Saturday night?»
«Oh, sweetie, that sounds lovely,» she said, and I could practically hear the satisfaction in her voice. Poor, pathetic Rebecca, reaching out for the comfort of family she didn’t deserve. «Is everything alright? You sound a little down.»
«I’m fine,» I said, injecting just the right amount of fake cheerfulness into my voice. «Maybe a little tired. Brandon’s been working so much lately, and I feel like I barely see him.»
«Men work hard to provide for their families, dear. You should be grateful, not complaining.» The casual cruelty in her tone was so familiar I almost missed it. But this time, instead of making me feel small, it fueled the fire burning in my chest.
«You’re right, of course. I just miss him, you know.»
«Well, a good wife finds ways to keep herself busy instead of bothering her husband with neediness.»
«You’re absolutely right. I’ll see you Saturday around 6.»
«Perfect. Should I bring anything?»
«Just yourself, Mom. That’s all we need.»
After I hung up, I sat in my kitchen and marveled at how easy it was to play the role they expected: the weak, grateful daughter; the needy, pathetic wife. I’d been playing that role so long I’d forgotten it was a performance. But now that I was acting consciously, I could see exactly how they’d manipulated me. Every criticism disguised as helpful advice, every backhanded compliment designed to keep me grateful for attention I didn’t deserve, every time they’d made me feel like I was lucky to be tolerated. The rage that filled me then was clean, cold, and purposeful.
My next stop was an office supply store where I bought a small digital recorder, the kind college students use to record lectures. Then I went to an electronics store and bought a tiny wireless camera, supposedly for home security. If Brandon and my mother wanted to have secret conversations, I was going to make sure I had evidence of every word.
That afternoon, I did something else I hadn’t done in years. I went shopping for myself. Not for practical clothes that would help me fade into the background. Not for modest, conservative outfits chosen to avoid attention. I bought a black dress that actually fit my figure instead of hiding it. I bought makeup that would bring out my eyes. I even bought a pair of heels that made me feel taller and more confident. The woman in the dressing room mirror looked like a stranger, like someone who might actually deserve good things in life.
When I got home, I hid my purchases in the back of my closet and went back to being the old Rebecca, at least on the surface. Saturday came quickly. I spent the day cleaning the house and preparing dinner, just like I had hundreds of times before. But this time, I also spent time setting up my equipment. The wireless camera went in the living room, disguised as a decorative piece on the mantle. The digital recorder went in my pocket, already turned on.
Brandon arrived home from work at 5:30, giving us just enough time to get ready before my mother arrived. «You look nice,» he said when he saw me in the kitchen checking on the roast. I was wearing one of my old outfits—simple slacks and a plain sweater—nothing that would indicate any change in my personality or circumstances.
«Thank you,» I said, smiling at him the way I always did, like his approval was the most important thing in the world.
My mother arrived exactly at 6, carrying a bottle of wine and wearing the kind of outfit that cost more than I usually spent on clothes in a year. She hugged me and kissed my cheek, the picture of a loving mother. «Rebecca, darling, you look tired. Are you getting enough sleep?» The first shot, delivered with surgical precision. A criticism disguised as concern, designed to make me feel self-conscious and inadequate.
«I’m fine, Mom, just busy with Tyler and work and everything.»
«Well, you know what they say: a woman’s work is never done.» She laughed and handed Brandon the wine. «Hello, Brandon. You look wonderful as always.»
The way she looked at my husband made my skin crawl. There was something possessive in her gaze, something that suggested ownership. But I smiled, thanked her for the wine, and served dinner like nothing was wrong.
The conversation during dinner was torture. My mother and Brandon kept exchanging glances when they thought I wasn’t looking. They had inside jokes I wasn’t part of. They talked about people and events in ways that made it clear they’d discussed these things privately.
«Oh, Brandon,» my mother said at one point, «did you ever get that permit issue sorted out with the city?» My blood went cold. Brandon hadn’t mentioned any permit issues to me, but he answered easily, like this was a topic they’d discussed before.
«Yeah, finally got it handled. Thanks for asking.»
«What permit issue?» I asked innocently.
«Just work stuff, babe, nothing to worry about.» But my mother was nodding like she knew exactly what permit issue he was talking about.
After dinner, I excused myself to get dessert from the kitchen. While I was gone, I could hear them talking in low voices in the dining room. I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was intimate, familiar. When I returned with the pie, they were sitting just a little too far apart, like they’d been closer before I walked in.
«This looks delicious, sweetheart,» Brandon said, but his smile seemed forced.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of small talk and fake smiles. My mother left around nine with another hug and kiss that felt like acid on my skin. «Thank you for a lovely evening, dear. We should do this more often.»
«Definitely,» I agreed. «Family is so important.»
After she left, Brandon helped me clean up the dishes. «Your mother seemed to enjoy herself,» he said.
«She did. I’m glad you two get along so well.»
«She’s a good woman. She raised you right.» The lies came so easily to him. The casual deception was breathtaking in its completeness.
That night, I lay in bed listening to Brandon sleep and planned the next phase of my revenge. I had evidence now: recorded conversations that would make it clear they were having secret discussions about things they kept from me, video footage of their body language and interactions. But I needed more. I needed proof of the financial theft. I needed documentation of their affair, because I was now certain that’s what this was. Most importantly, I needed them to incriminate themselves completely. And I knew exactly how to make that happen.
The opportunity came sooner than I expected. The following Wednesday, Brandon announced he’d be working late again. «Big deadline on the Jackson job,» he said, kissing my forehead at breakfast. «Might not be home until after midnight.» But when I drove past the Jackson house at lunchtime, there were no work trucks there, no sign of construction activity.
That evening, after Tyler went to bed, I did something that would have seemed impossible just a month ago. I got in my car and drove to the construction site where Brandon kept his equipment. His truck was not there, the lights were off, and there was no sign of activity. From there, I drove to my mother’s house. Brandon’s truck was in her driveway.
This time, I was prepared. I parked two blocks away and walked back, staying in the shadows. I had my digital recorder in one pocket and my phone in the other, ready to take pictures if needed. The conversation I overheard that night was the final nail in their coffin.
«When are you going to tell her?» my mother’s voice was sharp with impatience.
«After Christmas. I promised Tyler I’d make it a good Christmas for him.»
«You’re too soft. She doesn’t deserve consideration.»
«Look, Helen, I know you’re eager to get this over with, but I have to think about my son.»
«Your son will be better off without that pathetic woman dragging him down. You both will.»
There was a long pause, then Brandon’s voice again, quieter. «Sometimes I think about what our life could have been like if I’d chosen you from the beginning instead of settling for her.»
My mother’s laugh was low and pleased. «Better late than never, darling. Once you’re free of her, we can finally be together the way we should have been all along.»
The way we should have been. The words hit me like a physical blow. This wasn’t just about money or convenience. They’d been in love all along. My husband and my mother.
«Have you figured out how to get the rest of the money?» my mother asked.
«Most of it’s already moved to our account. She’s so trusting she signs whatever I put in front of her. The house will take more work, but I’ve been forging her signature on refinancing documents. By the time I file for divorce, there won’t be anything left for her to fight over.»
«What about Tyler?»
«I’ll get custody. Who’s going to give a child to a woman with a history of depression and mental instability?»
«Does she have a history of that?»
Brandon’s laugh was cold. «She will by the time my lawyer is done building the case.»
