I believed that buying the house of our dreams would bring Nathan and me closer together. Instead, it became the place where I learned the truth about my husband’s character and discovered just how far some people would go to achieve their goals.
When Nathan and I first met, we were both working our first real jobs and completely broke, just after graduating from college. Back then, we had nothing but high hopes and empty pockets. Sitting in his tiny studio apartment, we’d snack on instant noodles and dream about our future.
As he pulled me close on his worn-out couch, he would say, “One day, we’ll have a real house.”
“And a yard, nothing more,” I teased.
Laughing, I added, “And a kitchen where we can cook together.”
Every penny we could spare went into saving for our wedding. I remember counting coins to buy flowers to decorate our table.
After the wedding, we immediately started saving for our future home. It wasn’t easy. Some months, we had to choose between going out to eat and saving every possible dollar. Yet, it felt like we were a team, building something wonderful together.
When we finally bought our house, I felt invincible. Five years of hard work, tiny apartments, and financial stress had led us here. We were ready to start a real life together—maybe even a family. Everything we had dreamed of was finally ours.
Our house had two stories, a spacious backyard with a white picket fence, perfect for barbecues. I felt everything was finally falling into place. My graphic design business was thriving, we had some breathing room, and Nathan and I even talked about children.
One morning, Nathan stood by the kitchen window with his coffee and said, “I can see them running around in this backyard.”
“Me too,” I replied, full of hope for our future.
Weeks after moving in, Nathan knocked on our door. “Come meet our neighbor,” he called.
I stepped outside to find an elderly woman with silver hair and kind eyes, wearing a floral dress and white shoes. Short in stature, she radiated warmth. Nathan introduced her as Mabel, who lived next door.
Mabel took my hands in hers, her grip stronger than expected. In a honeyed voice, she said, “Oh, dear, welcome to the neighborhood. It’s wonderful to have young people living nearby.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Mabel. The neighborhood seems lovely.”
Yet something felt off. Her eyes lingered on me, analyzing every detail—my appearance, my speech, my habits. It felt like she was scrutinizing me.
Later, I mentioned it to Nathan. “Did you notice how Mabel kept staring at me?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Honey, she’s just an elderly woman. Probably lonely. Her husband passed away years ago, and she doesn’t have much family around.”
“I know,” I said, “but there was something about the way she looked at me…”
“You’re overthinking,” he said. “She reminds me of my grandmother—kind and gentle.”
I wanted to believe him. At first, I did.
But Nathan began spending more time over there. A Saturday morning visit to fix a dripping faucet turned into weekly chores—furniture moving, fence repairs, gardening.
“Don’t you think it’s strange how much she needs help?” I asked one evening as he reached for his hammer.
“What do you mean?” he replied, avoiding my gaze.
I tried joking. “You spend more time with Mabel than with me,” I teased one Thursday evening.
He chuckled. “Lena, you’re overreacting. I’m just helping a neighbor.”
Then came that Saturday morning. Nathan walked by carrying a trowel and flower seedlings while I made coffee.
“Where are you going with those?” I asked.
“Mabel’s garden,” he said casually. “Just helping out a little.”
Something about him felt wrong. I followed, heart racing, and grabbed my old binoculars. From the small hill in our backyard, I had a clear view of Mabel’s garden.
At first, everything seemed normal—Nathan kneeling in a flowerbed, planting seedlings carefully. Then, another person appeared: a stunning young woman in her early twenties, long blonde hair, and an impossibly attractive figure.
“Who is that?” I whispered.
She knelt next to Nathan, handed him a red rose, and then… kissed him. Right there in Mabel’s garden.
My vision blurred. I could barely breathe. And it got worse. Mabel appeared with a tray of lemonade, seemingly enjoying the scene.
I rushed to the fence, pressed my forehead against a gap, and recorded everything. The young woman sat on Nathan’s lap. They kissed like teenagers, completely oblivious to the world.
Mabel moved around, refilling lemonade glasses, as if orchestrating a romantic picnic.
This was the man who had sworn to love me forever—the man who, just a week ago, had talked about having children with me.
I shouted, “Nathan!”
He looked up, startled. The young woman’s face, flushed, revealed anger.
I stormed to Mabel’s gate and demanded answers. “I thought you loved me! All this time, you’ve been bringing him here to set him up with a young woman?”
Nathan stammered, “It’s not what it looks like—”
“Really?” I snapped at the young woman, Mara. “Didn’t you know he was married?”
Her face paled. “He told me he was divorced. I swear I didn’t know about you.”
Mabel dropped her sweet persona, revealing a cold, calculating glare.
“You planned this from the start,” I said.
“Yes,” Mabel admitted. “From the very beginning, I’ve been guiding him to Mara. All the chores, repairs, and help were just excuses to get him here faster.”
Nathan… had fallen for it, thinking he was doing the right thing. Meanwhile, his wife—me—was planning a future and children.
“He’s married!” I yelled.
Mabel snapped, “He told her he wasn’t. If you were a better wife, maybe he wouldn’t be looking elsewhere.”
I turned to Nathan, still on the bench, desperate to be anywhere else. “Do not come home tonight,” I said simply.
“Please, Lena, we can fix this—”
“No. We cannot.”
I packed his belongings into trash bags and left them at the doorstep. Three weeks later, I filed for divorce.
We sold the house and split the proceeds. Nathan pleaded, called it a mistake, said it meant nothing, that he was confused—but I was done.
Nathan never ended up with Mara. Word spreads fast in small towns. A few weeks after the divorce, another neighbor told me Mabel had confronted Nathan at his mother’s house, yelling about his lies and deceit. They had realized too late that they had been played, just like I had.
To be honest, I was just relieved to move on from the disaster.