Two months. That’s how long I had been away, tending to my mother after her surgery. Two long, exhausting months of hospital cafeteria food, uncomfortable chair naps, and constant worry. The only thing that kept 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 an hour when I heard the front door unlock. Wrapped in my bathrobe, I peeked out—and saw her.
A young woman stood there, holding keys. She frowned. “Who are YOU?”
I folded my arms. “I live here. Who are YOU?”
“Michael gave me a key.”
Michael. My husband.
Rage boiled in me—until she added, “He told me he was single.”
Turns out, it wasn’t my Michael. It was his lying brother, Nick, using our place for dates.
So, we set a trap. Let’s just say revenge was sweet—and so was the lasagna.
