I’m 65, and my daughter, Rita, is my entire world. After her father passed when she was seven, it was always the two of us against everything. I built my marketing consulting business from nothing, working 16-hour days so she could have the life she deserved.
Six months ago, she called me, ecstatic: “Mom, Simon proposed! I’m getting married!” I cried happy tears. Rita deserved a partner who would cherish her. I offered to pay for everything, and I meant it. No expense was too much, because I had an even bigger gift planned: after the ceremony, I would transfer ownership of my company—worth nearly three million dollars—to her. It would be entirely hers.
The only thing that truly bothered me, if I’m honest, was Simon himself. I met him three months before the wedding. He said all the right things, complimented my cooking, and told me how lucky he was to have Rita. But there was something cold behind his eyes that didn’t match his words.
“She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, Grace,” he promised. “I’m going to take care of her.” Even as he spoke, a chill ran down my spine. Call it mother’s intuition, but something about him felt fundamentally wrong. Still, Rita loved him. I swallowed my instincts, smiled, and welcomed him into our family.
The wedding day arrived, a perfect June afternoon. Rita looked absolutely radiant in her gown. We walked down the aisle together. When I placed her hand in Simon’s, I looked him straight in the eye—a silent warning to take care of her. He nodded with that smooth, unreadable smile. Rita’s vows trembled with emotion; Simon’s were equally beautiful and convincing. They were pronounced husband and wife. I thought, in that moment, that I’d never been happier.
The reception was in full swing. I stood off to the side, watching Rita glow, when I noticed something strange. Megan, Rita’s bridesmaid and college friend, wasn’t mingling. She was staring at Simon with intense focus. She walked over, whispered something in his ear, and Simon’s face flushed. He glanced around, quickly took Megan’s hand, and they walked toward the back of the venue.
My instincts screamed. Something was very, very wrong.
I followed them, my heart pounding. I saw them slip into a hallway leading to the utility area. A few moments later, the door to a service closet clicked shut. I stood, invisible in the shadows, waiting. When the door opened again, they emerged, smoothing their clothes and avoiding eye contact. They were two people hiding a massive, shameful secret.
I knew the truth, but telling Rita now would ruin her wedding and allow Simon to deny everything. I needed irrefutable proof. So, I waited.
A week later, a sick feeling guided me to their house. I parked down the street and waited until Rita left for work. Ten minutes later, a blue sedan pulled up—Megan’s. She walked straight into the house like it was hers, wearing leggings and an oversized sweater, with Simon’s sweatshirt tied around her waist.
“Oh, absolutely not,” I muttered, calling Rita. “Sweetheart, come home. I’m right outside your house. Don’t ask questions. Just come.”
I hurried to the living room window and peeked through the curtains. There they were, on the couch, kissing and laughing. Her hands were tangled in his hair. My chest tight with rage, I snapped a blurry photo through the glass. It wasn’t perfect, but it was proof.
I marched to the front door, threw it open, and stormed inside. They jolted apart like guilty teenagers.
Simon jolted up. “Grace! What are you doing?”
“I’m done watching you two play my daughter,” I spat.
They scrambled to look innocent. Megan pointed to some strewn papers. “We were just helping Simon sort out tax deductions.”
Simon smoothly walked toward Rita as she walked through the door. “Grace showed up and accused me of having an affair,” he said, smiling kindly. “Honey, I think she’s overwhelmed.”
Megan touched Rita’s arm. “We were just sorting taxes, Rita. I swear.”
Rita glanced between us. “Mom,” she whispered, “are you sure you didn’t… misinterpret something?” I saw her eyes catch on a faint smudge of lipstick on Megan’s mouth, which Megan quickly wiped away. The couch was rumpled. But Simon slid his arm around her. “I love you,” he murmured, clinging to her.
I stepped outside, breathing hard. I needed something stronger than a shaky photo or a smudged lipstick. I needed something final.
Rita followed me onto the porch. “Mom, everything feels… confusing.”
“Simon lies,” I said. “That’s what men like him do.”
“I don’t know what to believe,” she choked out, tears filling her eyes.
That was the moment I made my decision. “I’m done letting him manipulate you,” I said. “I’m ending them.”
We walked back inside. Simon’s smile tightened when he saw us. “Everything okay?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Not at all.” I walked toward them slowly, my voice cold and steady. “I know who you are. I know what you’re doing, and I know what you’re planning.”
“Grace, let’s all calm down—” Simon began.
“No,” I cut him off. “I saw you at the wedding. I heard your little scheme. The money. The plan to divorce Rita.”
I pulled out my phone, held it up, and dialed my lawyer, Jax, putting the call on speaker. “Hello, Jax,” I said loudly. “I need to change my will. Immediately. My daughter gets nothing. Everything goes to charity.”
Rita gasped. “Mom—”
“If Simon is the man he says he is, this shouldn’t matter,” I said, staring straight at him.
Simon froze. Then his mask cracked. His eyes filled with panic and rage. “What do you mean she gets nothing?” he snapped. “Are you out of your mind? Rita, tell her—”
That was the only proof Rita needed. She watched him, seeing the greed replace the charm, the true face of the man who had only married her for the millions she was supposed to inherit. Simon’s outburst exposed him completely, and my daughter was finally free.
