Well, almost empty.

Taped to the window was a single letter.

Dear Jeremy,

Hope you’re enjoying YOUR apartment.

Since you and your mother had such a great time scamming me for two years, I thought it was only fair to return the favor.

My rent for January? Already covered—by you.

And don’t bother trying to call me. You’re blocked.

Happy New Year, loser.

—Nancy

A week later, I ran into Jeremy’s mother at the grocery store.

“Nancy,” she gasped, gripping my cart. “Please, let me explain—”

“Explain what, Mrs. Lorrie?” I interrupted coldly. “How you and your son stole $24,000 from me?”

“We were planning to tell you—”

“Oh? And when exactly? After I’d funded another year of your mortgage?”

Her face fell, the guilt washing over her. “Jeremy’s a mess. He’s drinking, losing weight—”

I leaned in, my voice firm. “You’re going to tell your son that if he doesn’t agree to my divorce terms—including full repayment of every cent I covered—I’ll be filing fraud charges against both of you.”

Three months later, I sat in my new apartment, freshly signed divorce papers in hand.

Jeremy had caved—full repayment, plus interest.

Jeremy rang my phone 27 times that night. I ignored every single call.

His mother tried too. Blocked.

Then the messages started pouring in—friends warning me that Jeremy was spiraling, raving about how I had “taken HIS money.”

The irony was almost poetic. Did I feel guilty? Not in the slightest. Because for two years, I had been nothing but their pawn. For two years, they had drained me without hesitation.

Ladies, when something feels wrong, trust that feeling. And if a man thinks he can outsmart you, make sure you outplay him. Because in the end, con artists get exactly what’s coming to them. And I made sure Jeremy and his mother got what they deserved.

Some might see it as ruthless. I see it as justice.