I married Luke for his heart, not his family’s wealth, but his father, George, always saw me as a schemer. He barely acknowledged me at our wedding and ignored me at family events, his smile hollow. At a lavish Sunday dinner, surrounded by fine china and gourmet dishes, he erupted. Someone joked about my gym visits, and George sneered, “Maybe she’s off with a lover.” The room fell silent. I was stunned as he accused me of cheating and using Luke for money, his voice echoing.
Luke stood, furious, but George insisted, “She’s deceiving you!” I grabbed my bag, held Luke’s hand, and walked out. At home, he apologized, but I needed George’s remorse. The next morning, Luke’s mother, Helen, invited me shopping to lift my spirits. At the mall, her kindness anchored me until she saw George with a young woman, their laughter intimate. My breath caught, but Helen was unshaken. “We’ll set this right,” she said, guiding me to follow them.
We saw George part with the woman at a café. She sat inside, and we joined her. “You know George?” Helen asked. The woman, Ava, said he claimed to be divorced, promising a future. Betrayed, she agreed to help us. Helen planned George’s birthday at an opulent venue, with Ava hosting. George blanched when she appeared. At dessert, Helen announced Ava’s “pregnancy,” shocking the crowd. George pulled Ava aside, her live mic revealing his tirade: “You’re not getting my money!”
The room froze. Ava left, and Helen told George, “My lawyer’s calling,” citing their prenup. Luke drove us home, saying, “He’s done.” I said, “He did this.” Later, George showed up, desperate and broke. Luke was resolute: “You shamed my wife and hurt Mom. Go.” The door slammed. Helen’s cunning plan, with Ava’s bravery, turned George’s lies against him. I sleep peacefully now, knowing Helen’s faith in me brought justice, proving truth triumphs with elegance.
