The night had everything I’d planned for: candlelight, wine, and the promise of a deeper connection. But when my colleague burst through the door with her kids in tow, the evening spiraled into a disaster I never expected and a truth I wasn’t prepared for.
The third date with Susan was supposed to be the charm. We’d met on Tinder — her profile was a perfect mix of witty banter and effortless beauty. After two great dates and a dreamy stroll in the park, I was ready to take things to the next level.
Couple on a date during sunset | Source: Pexels
That night, I picked a cozy Italian restaurant tucked away from the usual hustle. It was the perfect backdrop for soft candlelight and deep conversation over wine and pasta.
Susan arrived in a navy dress that hugged her figure just right, her hair cascading over her shoulders. She smiled, and I thought, Wow, this might actually be something.
The waiter had just set down a basket of fresh bread when the sound of the door swinging open grabbed my attention. At first, I ignored it. But then I heard a familiar voice.
Couple on a fancy dinner date | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, hey, Rob! Fancy seeing you here!”
I froze mid-reach for the breadstick. Standing at the entrance, unmistakably Linda from accounting. Her bright floral dress clashed with the scene, but that wasn’t the real problem. No, the real problem was the three kids clinging to her, each armed with loud, sticky energy.
“Linda?” I managed, blinking.
She marched over with her kids toward our table. “You didn’t tell me you were coming here tonight!” she said.
Mother and her children walking into a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
Susan’s confused glance darted between Linda and me. “Friend of yours?” she asked, her tone cautious.
“Colleague,” I corrected, a forced smile plastered on my face as Linda plopped her kids into chairs at our table.
“It’s packed tonight,” Linda said, casually stealing a breadstick. “I figured we’d join you. You don’t mind, do you?”
Oh, I minded. I really minded.
Linda had always been an enigma. A single mom of three — ages two, eight, and 12 — from two failed relationships, she was equally magnetic and intimidating.
Woman walking into a fancy restaurant with her three children | Source: Midjourney
Around the office, she commanded attention with her sharp intellect and striking beauty, though she kept everyone at arm’s length. I admired her resilience, devotion to her kids, and ability to balance chaos with grace.
But that admiration was from afar — strictly professional. Besides, a woman like Linda? She’s completely out of my league.
But tonight, as she slid into the booth beside me with her kids, her aura wasn’t awe-inspiring. It was suffocating.
“Linda, what are you doing here?” I stammered, my voice low, my eyes darting toward Susan, whose confusion had quickly hardened into annoyance.
Tense man talking to two women at a dinner table in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Linda replied, casually placing her hand on mine. I instinctively pulled back. “You promised to watch the kids tonight, and here you are… having dinner with her?” She nodded toward Susan as if she were an unwelcome guest.
Susan’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?” she said, her voice sharp.
Linda wasn’t fazed. “I mean, we’re a family.” She gestured to her children, now happily devouring the breadbasket. “The kids were so excited to see you tonight!”
“Linda, I never promised—”
Tense man talking to two women at a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
She cut me off. “Really, Rob? You’re going to pretend this isn’t a thing in front of her?”
“Pretend what’s a thing?” Susan demanded, standing now, her face a mix of disbelief and fury.
Linda shrugged, a smug grin spreading across her face. “I didn’t mean to ruin your date, Susan. But you should know the kind of man you’re seeing. He’s been leading me — and the kids — on for months.”
My heart stopped. “What? Linda, stop this!” I hissed, glancing around. Other diners were starting to notice.
Susan grabbed her purse. “You two clearly have… unfinished business,” she snapped, glaring at me like I was something stuck to her shoe. She turned on her heel and stormed out.
I stood to follow her, but Linda’s toddler, an adorable baby girl, clung to my leg.
The restaurant went silent.
Toddler smiling while sitting in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
I turned to Linda, my voice barely contained. “What are you doing? You just ruined my date!”
She didn’t even flinch. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, her toddler now happily munching on a breadstick. “You should thank me.”
“Thank you?” I mumbled, my anger rising. “For what? Publicly humiliating me?”
Linda calmly pulled out her phone, scrolling with deliberate precision. “No. For saving you.”
“Saving me?” I stared at her like she’d lost her mind.
Man with a confused expression | Source: Midjourney
She flipped the phone around, holding up an image. “Recognize this?”
I squinted at the screen. It was a grainy photo, but there was no mistaking the face.”That’s… Susan. Why are you showing me this?”
“This,” Linda said, zooming in on the photo, “is a mugshot.”
The words didn’t register at first. “A mugshot?”
Linda nodded, her expression grave. “My brother’s a cop. Last night, I stopped by the station to drop off some paperwork for him. While I was there, I noticed her face on the bulletin board. She’s wanted for fraud.”
“Fraud?” I echoed, my brain struggling to keep up.
Man with a confused expression during dinner | Source: Midjourney
“Yeah,” Linda continued. “She’s been conning men. Gets into relationships with them, gains their trust, and then scams them out of thousands. I didn’t put two and two together until I saw the picture you posted on Instagram before your date tonight. So, I called my brother, and — well, here we are. She’s probably being arrested as we speak.”
The room tilted, or maybe it was just me. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” she said, her tone softening. “Look, Rob, I know this was… a lot. But I couldn’t just stand by and let her take advantage of you. You’re a good guy. You don’t deserve that.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The anger drained from me, replaced by something else — disbelief, confusion, maybe even gratitude. “Why didn’t you just… tell me? Why the whole spectacle?”
Man with a confused expression having a conversation with his coworker | Source: Midjourney
Linda sighed, her gaze flickering toward her kids. “I tried calling you before your date, but you didn’t answer. And once I saw you here, I panicked. I didn’t want her slipping away. I did what I thought was best.”
I sat back, rubbing my temples as the weight of her words settled in. “So… you’re saying Susan is—”
“Gone,” Linda finished, her voice firm. “And you’re welcome.”
I stared at her, my emotions swirling into chaos. If she was telling the truth, then maybe she’d saved me from disaster. But the way she’d done it? I wasn’t sure I could forgive that.
Tense, confused man with arms crossed, talking to his coworker in a fancy restaurant | Source: Midjourney
The realization hit me like a freight train. Susan — charming, witty, and gorgeous — was a scam artist. And Linda, with her kids and bold, chaotic interruption, had just saved me from walking straight into a disaster.
The table fell silent, the air thick with unspoken tension. For a moment, I couldn’t look at Linda. My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions — gratitude, embarrassment, and something else I couldn’t quite name.
Then her eldest broke the silence, kicking his legs under the table. “Are we getting pizza or what?”
I couldn’t help it — I laughed. A real, unfiltered laugh that seemed to cut through the tension in the room.
Man laughing while seated at a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
Linda smirked, leaning back in her chair. “You know, Rob, you should thank me right about now.”
I shook my head, half-amused, half-exasperated. “You’re unbelievable.”
She shrugged. “And yet, here you are. Not scammed out of your life savings.”
As I looked at her — tired but radiant, her kids clearly hanging on her every word — I felt something shift. Linda wasn’t just the brave, maddening woman who had bulldozed into my evening; she was something more. She’d saved me tonight, but she’d also shown me what I’d been too blind to see.
Man and woman in a fancy restaurant having dinner | Source: Midjourney
“Linda,” I began, my voice steadier than I expected, “can I buy you dinner? All of you.”
She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You want to buy us dinner? After all this?”
“Yeah,” I said, glancing at the kids. “I think you’ve earned it. And honestly? I could use the company.”
Her oldest grinned. “I vote pizza!”
Linda studied me, her expression softening. Then she smiled — a real, genuine smile that made something stir in my chest. “Alright, Rob. But only if you’re buying dessert, too.”
“Deal,” I said, grinning.
Man and woman sharing a happy moment | Source: Midjourney
Two years later, Linda and I are still together. I’ve adopted her kids, and every day, they remind me what it means to love and be loved.
As for Linda? She still insists I should thank her for that night.
And every single day, I do.
Happy couple enjoying breakfast in their home | Source: Midjourney
My MIL Turned My Bathroom Into a Spa Using All My Stuff So I Planned the Perfect Revenge
I came home to find my MIL soaking in my tub, using my candlelight, my gel, and my towel. That’s when I knew — she hadn’t moved in. She’d taken over. So I smiled… and got creative.
I liked our life.
I really, really did.
There was something deeply satisfying about the way our apartment smelled like vanilla and order. The way the sun hit the kitchen counter at exactly 4 PM.
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The gentle silence after work — no one talking, no TV blaring, just me and the soothing gurgle of my espresso machine. Our space was calm. Predictable. Mine.
Then husband, Daniel walked into the laundry room with that cautious look husbands get when they know they’re about to ruin your day.
I was pulling socks from the dryer, feeling rather proud of my folding technique, when he cleared his throat.
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“Babe… We need to take in my mom for a few days.”
I paused, holding one of his socks.
“She okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. But her building had a pipe burst. Whole apartment’s soaked. Just a week. Maybe less.”
A week.
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I nodded. What else could I do? I wasn’t heartless.
“I’ll survive,” I muttered.
He kissed my cheek.
“You’re the best.”
Turns out, I overestimated myself.
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By day two, our apartment was unrecognizable. And not in a “cute makeover” kind of way.
My framed photos — gone. Just gone. Replaced with my MIL’s Linda sepia-toned portraits of her.
And with her first husband (Daniel’s dad, may he rest in peace). And her friend Carol from the hospital.
And a photo of a Chihuahua I’m 90% sure had been dead since the Clinton administration.
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And the smell. It hit you every time you walked into a room.
I found reed diffusers in the bathroom, little perfume balls on my vanity, and even a small pouch of potpourri in my underwear drawer. My underwear drawer.
Still, I didn’t say anything.
Linda was a guest. Until that night.
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I walked into the bathroom and saw her standing there, rubbing something into her décolletage.
It was MY precious, outrageously expensive, only-on-special-occasions, shipped-from-New-York-like-royalty cream.
“Oh, Emily! This cream! It’s divine. Where did you get it?”
My jaw made a noise but no words followed.
“It’s like silk!” she continued, squeezing out more. “You have such amazing taste.”
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She didn’t ask. She didn’t pause. She just helped herself.
I smiled. Nodded. Said nothing.
This is still tolerable. Barely. As long as she doesn’t cross the line.
***
The following day was brutal. Emails, phone calls, two back-to-back meetings, and a passive-aggressive lunch with my manager.
I just wanted peace at home. A shower. Ten minutes of being alone in my skin. I slipped off my shoes, turned on the kettle, and… froze.
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Singing. High-pitched, cheerful, and distinctly coming from the direction of our bedroom. I followed the sound. The door to our ensuite bathroom was cracked open. A thick curl of steam escaped into the hallway.
The scent hit me instantly — sweet, lush, unmistakably familiar. MY passionfruit bath gel. I pushed the door open, and there she was.
Linda. In MY tub!
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Reclining like she was in a commercial. Surrounded by candles, MY candles. Steam rising dramatically as if the universe was mocking me. She had MY bath brush, MY scrub, and MY purple towel folded nearby like a personal butler had placed it there.
“Emily!” she squealed, completely unbothered. “I thought you were asleep already!”
I just stood there.
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“Linda… this is our private bathroom.”
She waved a hand through the steam like she was shooing a fly.
“Oh, come on. We’re both women. You’re not using it right now, and this tub is perfect. Yours is so much nicer than the guest one.”
She picked up MY rose scrub like we were about to have a spa night together.
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“I didn’t think you’d mind. We girls share everything, right?”
I turned. Walked out.
That evening, I told Daniel — calmly. He slurped his soup and shrugged.
“She probably just needed a moment to herself. You know how she is. Besides, don’t women… do that? Share stuff?”
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I stared at him. Long and hard.
“You think this is normal?”
“It’s not not normal.”
I got up, went to the drawer, and found the old key to our bedroom. I had never used it before — but seemed like the time. Or so I thought.
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Because the following morning, I realized…
Locks mean nothing when the intruder has already decided she owns the place.
***
It was supposed to be my Saturday. My one day. No emails, no meetings, no small talk.
Just me, a yoga mat, lemon water, and my favorite playlist humming soft Tibetan bells. And finally — finally — felt like I could exhale.
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Until I heard it. Loud laughter. Music. Something clinked downstairs. Then footsteps — multiple — in heels.
No. No, no, no. Not today.
I grabbed my hoodie and padded down the stairs, barefoot and still slightly zen. But the moment I turned the corner into the living room, all chakra alignment vanished.
It looked like a senior prom with a dash of bingo night.
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There were at least six people — four older women in glittery tops and way-too-bold lipstick, two silver-haired gentlemen in suspenders sipping wine, and at the center of it all…
Linda! Waltzing.
With a tray of cheese cubes and mini crackers.
And what is she wearing? MY blouse.
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The one I bought three weeks ago to wear to my best friend’s birthday — silky, deep blue, low-cut but elegant.
I hadn’t even taken the tags off until the day before when I gently steamed it and hung it in the hall closet so it wouldn’t wrinkle. I felt my soul briefly leave my body.
“Emily, darling!” Linda beamed, spinning with a giggle. “We started without you! Come, meet everyone!”
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I stood frozen. Hair a mess, and barefoot, in my yoga top. One of the older gentlemen approached me with a charming bow.
“Care for a dance, my lady?”
Before I could respond, he took my hand and spun me once, twice, and I awkwardly stumbled right into a sequin-covered bosom.
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The woman he came with gave me a look that could curdle milk.
“Linda, honey… And who is this? What’s she doing in your house?”
My house?
I pulled away gently and marched Linda into the kitchen, still gripping the lemon water bottle like a weapon.
“What is this?” I hissed.
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“A party! Just a little something to lift the spirits. You weren’t using the living room anyway!”
“In my blouse? In my house?”
She gave me a look — sweet, almost maternal.
“I told them it was my home. Just to… you know, avoid questions. They wouldn’t have come if I’d said I was staying with my son and his wife. I just wanted to feel like a hostess again.”
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“And the blouse?”
“It was just hanging there. I thought, why not?”
“Everyone out. Now.”
She tilted her head.
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“Oh Emily, don’t be dramatic. What will Daniel say? Kicking his poor mother out after she’s had such a rough time?”
Her voice turned syrupy.
“He’ll be so disappointed.”
I stared at her. And smiled.
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“Fine. They can stay.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely,” I said, almost amused. “Make yourselves at home.”
Her face lit up with confusion and something that looked a lot like triumph.
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But inside me, something very different lit up.
Because if Linda thought she knew how to be petty… She hadn’t seen me take the tour group of silver-haired gentlemen through Daniel’s office yet.
Let’s just say…
Some people explore museums. I let them explore our home.
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With subtle suggestions and open doors.
And Linda?
She was about to find out what it felt like when someone touched what was mine.
***
The following morning began with a familiar, delicious tension in the air. Like the final act of a play where only I had read the script. Daniel’s voice cracked through the quiet,
“Emily! Why is my cologne bottle empty?!”
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I gently stirred my coffee, not even turning around.
“The brown one?” I asked sweetly.
He appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding the bottle as it had personally betrayed him.
“This was nearly full! Now it’s bone dry. What happened?”
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I squinted thoughtfully.
“Oh. That might’ve been Thomas?”
“Thomas?”
“One of your mother’s gentlemen friends. He said the scent reminded him of his wilder days in Paris. He may have… gone a little overboard.”
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Daniel just stood there, blinking.
“He used my cologne?”
“He seemed really enthusiastic.”
Daniel turned without another word and stormed to the bedroom. I took a sip of coffee. Calm. Serene. Focused.
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Thirty seconds later, his shout echoed through the hall.
“My ties collection! One of my tie pins is bent! Who’s been in my tie drawer?!”
“Oh no,” I said, very gently. “Maybe the gentlemen got curious. You know, your collection impressed them.”
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He looked at me like I had just told him I microwaved his record player.
And then, right on cue, Linda swept into the kitchen in a satin robe, holding a grapefruit half and smiling.
“Morning, sweeties! Isn’t the air just delicious today?”
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Daniel rounded on her.
“Mom. Did your guests go through my stuff?”
“Oh, sweetheart, of course not. They’re perfectly respectful!”
“I’m going to work. I’ll deal with this tonight.”
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“Oh, I’ll walk you to the door,” I said sweetly. “You seem a bit… rattled.”
As he slipped on his coat, he turned to me slowly.
“You didn’t take the car out yesterday, right?”
I widened my eyes.
“Me? No. I thought about getting it washed, but I was too tired. I left the keys on the hallway shelf.”
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Pause.
“Oh no. Oh no. They were admiring the car yesterday. Your mother’s friends…”
Daniel walked out in silence. Two seconds later, I heard a sharp yell from the driveway. I didn’t even flinch.
“What happened, honey?” I called sweetly from the doorway.
“Did you… did you drive it?”
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“No, darling! Like I told you. Keys were on the shelf. I was upstairs. Doing yoga.”
Daniel looked past me, jaw tight. Then he turned to Linda.
“Mom?”
She looked cornered for the first time in days.
“Well… they were admiring the vehicle and… your wife let us…”
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“Emily?” Daniel cut in.
I met his eyes.
“I never left the attic floor, love. Downward Dog was very demanding.”
Silence. Daniel shook his head and rushed out.
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***
By noon, my husband was folding Linda’s cardigans like he was preparing an offering to a volcano god. He drove her to her apartment, and tipped the contractors extra to “wrap it up the next few days.”
Meanwhile, I had a small talk with Linda.
“Oh, Linda,” I called sweetly. “By the way… while you and the girls were sunbathing by the pool yesterday, I gave the gentlemen a proper tour of the house. You inspired me — it felt good to let others experience things that aren’t technically theirs.”
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She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
When Daniel returned, he dropped onto the couch and stared blankly into space, like a man who had just survived both a war and a bake sale led by his enemies.
I let him rest. Only once he was upstairs, did I allow myself a smirk.
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I could still see them in my head — those silver-haired explorers. Touching the marble paperweight on Daniel’s desk. Opening drawers they thought were just decorative. One of them even asked, “Is this vintage Armani?” while holding up a tie like it was on auction.
I said nothing. Just smiled.
Linda was lounging in her robe by the pool, sipping wine and boasting about her imaginary art collection. And me? I was planting breadcrumbs all over the house. Letting her friends wander. Letting them wonder.
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Of course, it wasn’t Thomas who used the cologne.
I sprayed half the bottle myself and left it uncapped.
No one scratched the car — well, not no one. I may have gently, artistically brushed it against the mailbox.
And the bent tie pin? Gloves on. Very respectful.
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That night, I ran the perfect bath with my passionfruit gel, lit my vanilla candle, and dropped my robe onto the warm floor tiles like a queen shedding armor.
The house was silent.
And somewhere in the distance, I imagined Linda staring at her beige apartment walls, wondering what exactly had just happened.
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Because when a woman touches your cream, your tub — it’s not about the things. It’s about the line she crossed.
And darling, once she crosses it — you don’t lecture. You don’t scream. You win.
And finally, with every breath of peace, I could hear the house itself whisper back to me.
Welcome home.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: At 75, I thought my quiet life was set in stone until a five-year-old orphan looked at me like I was her only hope. That’s when everything unraveled at home. Read the full story here.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only.
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