Two months. That’s how long I had been away, taking care of my mother after her surgery. Two long, exhausting months filled with hospital cafeteria food, uncomfortable chair naps, and constant worry. The only thing keeping me going was the thought of finally returning to my own apartment, my own bed, and, of course, my husband, Michael.
I had barely been home for an hour, fresh out of the shower, when I heard the front door unlock. My first thought? Michael had stepped out and forgotten something. My second thought? Why hadn’t I heard his car pull up?
I peeked into the hallway, towel wrapped around my head, still in my bathrobe. That’s when I saw her.
A young, pretty woman stood there as if she owned the place, her manicured fingers clutching a set of keys. She froze, her expression a mix of confusion and mild annoyance.
“Who are YOU?” she blurted out.
I blinked. “Excuse me? Who am I? I live here! Who are YOU?”
She frowned. “I’ve never seen you before.”
“Well, I was away for a couple of months. Who gave you a key to MY apartment?”
“Michael,” she replied, matter-of-factly. “He said I could come by anytime.”
Michael. My husband.
A cold wave washed over me, swiftly followed by a surge of rage.
“Oh, did he?” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Because I—his WIFE—am back, and that’s news to me.”
Her face shifted, registering the mistake, and she took a step back. “Wait… He told me he was single.”
I folded my arms. “Oh, did he now?”
She frowned harder. “Well, I guess I should go.”
I wasn’t about to let this go without answers. “No, wait,” I said. “Come with me.”
To her credit, she hesitated but eventually followed me. I led her to the kitchen, where Michael sat at the counter, casually eating a bowl of cereal, unaware of the impending drama.
She glanced at him, then turned back to me. “Who’s THAT?”
Michael looked up mid-bite, spoon frozen in the air. “Uh… what’s going on?”
I turned back to the woman. “That’s Michael. My husband.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s not Michael.”
Now it was my turn to be confused. “What?”
Michael, still looking bewildered, put down his spoon. “I feel like I should be in on this conversation, but I have no idea what’s happening.”
The woman pulled out her phone and started swiping through her dating app. After a few seconds, she held up a picture.
It wasn’t Michael.
It was Nick.
Michael’s younger brother. The one who constantly found trouble. The one who borrowed money and never paid it back. The one who had apparently been using my husband’s name—and our apartment—to impress his dates.
Michael groaned. “Oh, for—now it all makes sense! Nick kept asking about my schedule these past few months. I thought he was just being nosy.”
I turned back to the woman, who was now staring at Nick’s profile like it was a rare artifact she’d just uncovered. “Let me guess—he never let you come over when I was home?”
She shook her head, still stunned. “Yeah. He always said his ‘roommate’ was around.”
“Unbelievable,” I muttered.
Michael ran a hand through his hair. “I swear, I’m going to kill him.”
The woman—who, by now, deserved to have a name—let out a deep breath. “I can’t believe I fell for this. I knew something was off, but I ignored the red flags.” She sighed and extended her hand. “I’m Sonya, by the way.”
I shook it. “Nice to meet you. You know, aside from the fact that you broke into my apartment.”
“Technically, I was invited,” she said with a weak laugh. Then she straightened. “You know what? I want revenge.”
Michael grinned. “Oh, we can make that happen.”
Fifteen minutes later, Michael texted Nick.
Michael: Hey, bro. We’re making lasagna tonight. You should come over.
Nick’s reply came almost instantly.
Nick: Oh hell yeah, be there in 20!
Sonya rubbed her hands together like an evil genius. “This is going to be good.”
Twenty minutes later, Nick walked in like he owned the place, his usual cocky smirk on his face.
“Smells amazing,” he said. “Where’s the—”
Then he saw Sonya.
And Sonya saw him.
