At 25, I believed in fairytales—until I overheard Alex plotting with his mother, Martha,
to take my late mother’s lake house. They planned to pressure me into signing it over
before the wedding. I didn’t confront him; instead, I called a lawyer and learned my property was safe.
Two days before the wedding, Alex handed me papers, and I told him I’d sign them on the big day.
During the ceremony, I played the recording of their conversation for everyone to hear. I looked at Alex and said, “There won’t be a wedding.”
I walked away, leaving Alex humiliated. A week later, I mailed him a photo of the lake house with a note: You’ll never see it again.
Then, I drove to the house, opened the windows, and found peace. Some women save themselves. This time, that woman was me.
