I held my breath, pressed flat against the cool hardwood floor beneath the enormous mahogany bed, barely stifling a laugh. The white wedding dress, which I still hadn’t changed out of since the ceremony, billowed around me like a cloud, the veil tangled in the box springs above my head. If Jake sees me like this, looking like a tiny angel climbing out from under the bed, he’s going to have a heart attack, I thought, picturing my new husband walking into the room. He’d search every corner, calling out worriedly until I burst out yelling, “Surprise!” And we’d laugh until we cried, just like in the old days.

Back then, Jake was different. Fun, carefree, with bright eyes and a contagious laugh. He used to show up under my window at midnight with an acoustic guitar, singing the blues until the neighbors started yelling and threatening to call the police. I would dash out in my pajamas and fuzzy bunny slippers, and we’d run off, giggling like teenagers, even though we were both well over thirty. The door creaked open, but instead of my husband’s familiar footsteps, I heard the distinctive clack of my mother-in-law’s heels. Deborah swept into the room with that air of authority she always carried, as if this were her territory, her domain, where she was the absolute queen.

“Yes, Lena, I’m home now,” she said into her phone, settling down precisely on the edge of the bed I was hiding under. The springs groaned, forcing me to flatten myself even further against the floor. “No, no way. The girl turned out to be very docile. Too much so, I’d say. Jake says she’s practically an orphan. That her daddy is some nickel-and-dime engineer at a plant, barely scraping by. I went personally to see her place. A hovel in some run-down building out in Decatur. A shame, truly. But now my Jake has leverage.”

I felt my blood run cold. Docile? Orphan? My father was an engineer, yes, but not just any kind. He was the head of design at Horizon Designs LLC, a defense industry firm, a modest man who never boasted about his position. The apartment in that old building actually belonged to my late aunt Clara, and my father kept it for sentimental reasons because he’d grown up there. In reality, we lived in a spacious three-bedroom condo in the affluent Buckhead neighborhood of Atlanta. I simply hadn’t felt the need to flaunt any of that to my future mother-in-law.

“You understand, Lena? The plan is simple,” Deborah continued. I heard the telltale click of a lighter. Jake had sworn to me that his mother had quit smoking ten years ago. “They’ll live together for six months, a year at most. Then Jake starts saying they’re not compatible. I’ll play my part. I’ll say the daughter-in-law doesn’t respect me, talks back, can’t cook, the house is a mess. You know, the usual routine. They’ll get an amicable separation, and the condo—which is in her name now, of course—we’ll claim it in court. Jake put up the money. We have all the receipts saved. Besides, the girl won’t put up a fight. What can a girl from the country do against us? Jake and I have it all mapped out.”

Deborah’s phone rang again. “Hello, Jake. Yes, son. I’m in your room. No, your brand-new wife isn’t around. She’s probably out celebrating with her friends. Don’t worry, she can’t escape now. She’s got the ring on her finger, the seal on the certificate. Done deal. Bird in a cage. Just remember what we talked about. No weakness from day one. She needs to understand who runs this house. And don’t you dare give in to her little tears or tantrums. They’re all the same. You give them an inch, and they take a mile. Drive safe, son. I’ll stay a little longer. I’m going to smoke a cigarette. I’ll open the window so the smoke doesn’t stink up the place. Wouldn’t want your little wife to start complaining.”

I lay beneath the bed, feeling the world crumble around me. I was trembling, not from the cold, but from betrayal, rage, and disgust. The man I had entrusted my life to was a fraud, an accomplice in his mother’s scheme to rob me. And the signs had always been there.

I remembered how Jake insisted the condo be put solely in my name. “Baby, it’s easier with the paperwork, and you’ll feel more secure. It’s yours,” he’d said, kissing my forehead. And I, the fool, had believed him. I also recalled Deborah’s probing questions about my family. “And your mother? You don’t have anyone else left? Oh, what a tragedy. The poor little girl.” Those looks, which I had mistaken for tenderness, were actually pure calculation—the cold instinct of a hunter sizing up her prey.

Deborah stood up from the bed, paced the room, and stopped in front of the mirror. “Don’t worry, Lena. Patience. I put up with my late husband for thirty years until he finally kicked the bucket. And now the house, the properties, and the accounts are mine. He thought I was some country bumpkin only fit for making soup. Let this one believe it, too. All the better. Well, darling, I’ll let you go. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you how the lovebirds’ first night went. If they even find each other, that is.” She let out a nasty little laugh and left the room.

I remained motionless for a long time, afraid to move. Then slowly, I crawled out, sat on the floor, and hugged my knees. The dress was covered in dust, the veil ripped, but none of that mattered. The important thing was deciding what to do. My first impulse was to grab my things and leave immediately, in my wedding dress, in the middle of the night. But something new awakened in me: a cold, hard determination.

“No, sweethearts, you messed with the wrong one,” I murmured, getting up.

In my wedding purse was my cell phone. I quickly opened the voice recorder app. Luckily, I had managed to start recording when I heard my mother-in-law’s footsteps, initially wanting to capture Jake’s reaction to my joke. Now, I had an ace up my sleeve. But one wasn’t enough. I needed the whole deck.

I quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a sweater, packed the dress away in the closet, and sat down at my laptop. Jake wouldn’t be back for a while, and I planned to use the time well.

The first call was to my father, David. Despite the late 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 affection and worry.

“Daddy, I need to talk seriously. Do you remember offering to put your share of the company in my name?”

There were a few seconds of silence. “Abigail, what happened? Did that idiot do something to you?”

“Daddy, nothing has happened yet, but I need a guarantee. Can you come to the notary first thing tomorrow morning?”

“Of course, baby girl. And we’ll transfer your aunt Clara’s condo into your name, too. I already have the paperwork ready.”

“Thank you, Daddy. I’ll explain everything later.”

“No need. The minute I met that Jake, I knew he was an opportunist. And his mother? Forget about it. But you wouldn’t listen to me. You were in love.”

“I wasn’t, Daddy. I wasn’t.”

The next call was to Celia, my best friend and lawyer. “Celia, I’m sorry to call you so late. I need a consultation. If a condo is in my name and I bought it before the wedding, does my husband have any right to it?”

“Abigail, what’s going on? Are you already thinking about divorce? The wedding was today.”

“Celia, just answer.”

“If you bought it before the wedding and it’s only in your name, it’s separate property. He could only claim something if he could prove he invested money in renovations or improvements. Why are you asking?”

“I’ll explain tomorrow. Can you stop by my place around ten?”

“Of course, girl. Hold tight.”

The door slammed shut. Jake was back. “Abby, where are you, baby girl? I drove halfway across the city looking for you,” he said in a worried voice, though I could now hear the falseness behind it.

I walked down the stairs, trying to appear calm. “Hi, my love. I was just tidying up a little, and I changed my clothes.”

Jake hugged and kissed me, and I had to make a huge effort not to pull away. “Why are you so cold? Are you freezing?”

“I’m just tired. Let’s go to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a heavy day.”

“Heavy? We’re on vacation for two weeks.”

“Yes, but the condo is new. We have to organize it. By the way, your mother was here looking for you.”

“My mother? What for?” Jake’s voice tightened.

“I don’t know. I was in the shower. I just heard the door. Maybe she left a gift.”

They went to bed, and Jake fell asleep right away. I, on the other hand, lay there with my eyes open, planning. I had two weeks of vacation to put everything in order. In that time, I had to gather proof, protect my assets, and teach those scoundrels a lesson they would never forget. And I knew exactly how to do it.

The next morning, Jake woke me with a kiss. “Good morning, Mrs. Miller,” he hummed.

I almost corrected him—It’s Harrison on my passport—but I stopped myself. “Good morning. Do you want coffee?”

“Sure, and an omelet, if it’s not too much trouble. Your mother says you’re a wonderful cook.”

I almost burst out laughing. Yesterday, that same mother told her friend that her daughter-in-law couldn’t cook. “Of course, sweetheart. Go take your shower. I’ll make breakfast.”

While Jake showered, humming some pop song, I turned on my phone’s recorder and hid it among the spice jars. Then I took a package of pre-made pancakes from the freezer. I heated them in the microwave and served them with whipped cream and jam. I decided not to make the omelet out of principle. He could be satisfied with what he got.

“Wow, pancakes! Did you whip those up so early?” Jake came out of the bathroom in a robe, drying his wet hair.

“Yes, especially for you,” I replied with a smile.

He sat down at the table, took a bite, and frowned. “They’re weird. A little rubbery.”

“It’s a new recipe. They’re low-fat,” I replied calmly, serving the coffee.

“Oh. Well, hey, I was thinking, what if you include me on the condo paperwork? You know, so I can handle things with the HOA or repairs.”

I took a sip of coffee, deliberately drawing out the pause. “And why would you need that? I can take care of everything. Or do you think I’m not capable?”

“No, of course you are. But… well, I’m the man. The head of the household.”

“Sure, honey. We’ll talk about it later. I have plans with a friend today.”

“Which friend?” His tone turned suspicious.

“Celia, you know her. We’ve been meaning to catch up for a long time.”

“Ah, her. That’s fine, but don’t be late. Mom is coming for dinner. Make something delicious.”

I smiled. “Of course, love. What does your mother like?”

“She eats everything, but put some effort into it. The first impression is important.”

If Jake only knew the impression his mother had already made, he probably would have choked on his pancake. But I just nodded. “Will do.”

As soon as Jake left—supposedly to see his friends, though I was sure he was running to his mother to report on the progress of the plan—I checked my phone. The recording was perfect, clear, especially the part where he talked about being the head of the household.

At ten, Celia arrived. “All right, tell me what dumpster fire we need to put out,” she said.

I played the recording from the night before. Celia listened, her eyes widening. “Good lord, Abby. This is blatant fraud. We can sue them.”

“We can, but I don’t just want to sue. I want them to learn a lesson forever.”

“Whoa, the lioness has finally come out. I always said you were too nice. Let’s see what we have. A recording of the mother-in-law, another of Jake. The condo is in your name, but he put up the money and has the receipts.”

“Wait a minute. He formally put up the money. But it was actually mine. Remember the trust fund my dad set up for me? I gave that money to Jake, supposedly for something shared, but he withdrew it in cash, as if it were his, and theatrically handed it to the seller right in front of his mother. I thought he just wanted to show off for her.”

“And the transfer from your account to his?”

“Of course. It was all done through the bank.”

“Perfect. That’s our smoking gun.” Celia spread documents on the table. “All right, listen up. First, transfer all your money to accounts Jake doesn’t know about. Second, formalize your stake in your father’s company. Third, gather more evidence. And most importantly, show nothing. Act like the adorable wife until everything is ready.”

The doorbell rang. My father had arrived with the notary. Dr. Harrison, a gray-haired man in a crisp suit, placed the documents on the table. “So, we formalize the donation of forty-nine percent of the shares in Harrison Engineering and the transfer of the property at Republic Avenue 245, correct?”

I nodded.

“And this other document,” my father added, “is a power of attorney to administer the remaining fifty-one percent in case of my temporary incapacitation. Just in case.”

While the papers were being signed, my father took me aside. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

I played the recording for him. He listened in silence, his face hardening. “The devils,” he muttered finally through gritted teeth. “I know you can do this alone. You’re just like your mother, strong and determined. She’d be proud of you. But if you need anything, I’m right here.”

By nightfall, all the documents were ready. The money had been transferred to new accounts, and I had a plan perfectly mapped out. All that was left was to execute it.

I went to the grocery store to buy what I needed for dinner. Deborah eats everything? Perfect, I thought. She will eat everything. I bought chicken gizzards for the broth, rice, margarine instead of butter, and with special pleasure, a can of expired corned beef. She says I can’t cook? We’ll see.

Back at the condo, I got to work. I prepared the broth with lots of bay leaves and peppercorns to make it spicy. The rice I overcooked until it looked like glue. I mixed the canned meat with boiled potato and mayonnaise, creating something that vaguely resembled a tuna salad. And the final gem was a cake made with ladyfingers and a filling of margarine and sugar. “A work of art,” I said, satisfied.

Jake arrived at seven, and at seven-thirty, Deborah appeared, dressed in a new pantsuit, her hair impeccable, wearing expensive perfume. “Abby, darling,” she exclaimed, blowing a kiss in the air. “And what’s for dinner? I haven’t eaten all day. You know, the diet.”

With an innocent face, I began to set the table. First came the broth. Deborah took a sip and immediately coughed. “What is this?”

“Spices. My grandma’s recipe. She was from the country,” I replied unperturbed.

“Ah, the country. Right.”

Next was the rice cream. The mother-in-law looked at the grayish mass on her plate with obvious repulsion.

“It’s overcooked rice. Very good for digestion.”

“I don’t think so, thank you. I’m dieting.” She didn’t even touch the tuna salad, claiming an allergy to mayonnaise. And when I, with a triumphant air, brought out the cake, Deborah stood up from the table. “You know, I’m feeling a little unwell. Must be the stress from yesterday. Jake, walk me to the car.”

As soon as they left, I went to the window. From there, I could see Deborah gesticulating furiously, lecturing her son while he tried to justify himself. Finally, she got into her car and drove away.

Jake returned, frowning. “Abby? What was that?”

“What thing?”

“That dinner. You ruined it on purpose.”

“Why would you say that? I worked so hard.”

“My mother says they don’t even serve stuff like that in basic training.”

“Excuse me? I didn’t know your mother was so delicate. You said she ate everything.”

“Everything, but not trash!”

“How dare you talk to me like that, Jake! I spent all day cooking!” A tear escaped my eye. My college drama classes had not been in vain.

Jake softened instantly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I overreacted. It’s just that my mother is used to a certain standard.”

“I understand now. I won’t cook for your mother again. She can bring her own food if my standard isn’t good enough.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. I’ll take you out to a restaurant tomorrow.”

“We’ll see,” I murmured and went to our room.

The following days unfolded at a strange pace. Jake complained about trifles, demanded an account of the money spent, and insinuated they should register his share in the property. I pretended to be a hurt but submissive wife while continuing to gather evidence. My phone, always recording, became my best ally. One night, I got a gem. Jake and his friend Brian were drinking beers in the living room.

“Imagine, Brian. My old lady set up a plan to take Abby’s condo. Great, right?”

“And is the chick rich or something?”

“Nah, she’s just average. But the condo is in her name and I put up.