Belle believes Jeffrey has been keeping up with the mortgage—until an eviction notice rips her reality apart. Desperate for answers, she unearths a devastating betrayal: empty bank accounts and a high-stakes child. With both her home and heart at risk, she faces an impossible choice—save him or destroy him?

Jeffrey and I have been married for eleven years. In the beginning, our financial setup seemed fair. I handled groceries, utilities, and all expenses for our two kids—clothing, school needs, extracurriculars. Jeffrey took care of the mortgage for the house we bought two years after saying, “I do.”

It worked. Everything feels balanced. Until the day I came home to an eviction notice taped to our front door.

At first, I thought there had to be a mistake. We were responsible. We never missed payments—or at least, I thought we hadn’t. My hands trembled as I read the brutal, impersonal message:

FINAL NOTICE: PROPERTY WILL BE SEIZED IN 30 DAYS.

The moment Jeffrey walked through the door, I shoved the paper at him. “Explain this!”

His face turned ghostly pale before he forced a nervous chuckle. “Belle, don’t panic. I—uh, hit a small financial bump, but I’m handling it. I promise.”

“A bump?!” My voice shook with anger. “We’re on the verge of losing our house! How long has this been happening?”

His eyes flickered everywhere but at me. “Just a few months… I swear, I’m taking care of it.”

A storm of possibilities crashes through my mind. Gambling? Drugs? Another family? He refused to give me straight answers, but something in his voice sounded… rehearsed.

That night, as he slept, I took his phone.

I pressed his thumb against the screen to unlock it.

And in seconds, my entire world shattered.

I tracked her down instantly. The source of our problems boiled down to one person—Vanessa.

And their messages are sickeningly affectionate.

I love you.

I can’t stop thinking about you.

But that wasn’t even the worst part.

There were also bank transfers.

Vanessa had convinced Jeffrey that if he just poured enough money into her father’s company, he’d be rolling in millions in no time.

Then I stumbled upon a recent message that sent a chill down my spine.

You’re amazing! I love that you’re doing this for us! Now, send another $10K before the week is over.

On a whim, I typed Vanessa’s name into Google.

A police report popped up. The name she was using this time wasn’t even her real one—she’d been running the same scam for years. I clicked on a police alert from just three months ago. A rough sketch of her face was included, and it was unmistakable—it matched the profile picture from Jeffrey’s phone.

The next morning, after dropping the kids off at school, I met with an attorney. I laid everything out for Hank, explaining the entire nightmare.

If I could pull together the overdue payments fast enough, there was still a slim chance I could save our home.

So, I gathered my proof and took it straight to the police.

“This is the best lead we’ve had in a long time,” one officer admitted. “Until now, she never met her victims in person—everything was done online. But your husband? He actually spent time with her.”

“If we can get him to arrange another meeting,” another officer added, “we might finally be able to take her down.”

That night, I waited for Jeffrey to come home.

“I know everything,” I said the moment he walked through the door. “You let us lose our home so you could bankroll your mistress’s lifestyle?”

“I…” His eyes darted between the evidence in my hands and my face, panic creeping into his expression. “I can explain.”

But then, the two officers stepped forward and laid everything out for him.

He had lost it all… and for what? A con.

A week later, Jeffrey arranged to meet Vanessa at a rundown motel. With a smug smile, he placed the fake diamond necklace in her hands. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, murmuring something saccharine and deceitful.

And then—bang! The door burst open. She bolted for the exit, but within moments, she was in handcuffs.

A large portion of the stolen money was recovered. Not all of it, but enough to save the house.

But there was one thing that couldn’t be salvaged—my marriage. The damage was too deep, too permanent.

Jeffrey pleaded with me, begged for another chance. But I had already made up my mind. I filed for divorce.

The court granted me the house and, naturally, full custody of the children—after all, I was the responsible parent.

As for Jeffrey? He had no choice but to move back in with his mother, spending the next several years drowning in the consequences of his foolishness.

And those grand dreams of striking it rich?

Well…

Let’s just say, I don’t think he’s exactly living the high life anymore.