After a draining five-day business trip in Denver, I was desperate to get home, relax, and enjoy a quiet evening with my husband, Greg. But the moment I opened our front door, everything changed. The house was completely empty. No furniture, no decorations, no clothes — it looked like no one had ever lived there. I stood frozen, confused and terrified.
I immediately tried calling Greg, but he didn’t answer. That’s when I called the police, thinking we’d been robbed. While waiting for them to arrive, I noticed something strange — a muddy footprint near the entrance.
It had a unique floral tread, one I recognized instantly. It matched the boots I had given Greg’s mother, Linda, for her birthday. That’s when suspicion crept in. Once the police took my statement, I drove straight to Linda’s house.
When I arrived, I saw Greg’s car parked out front, and through the window, I saw my furniture, our wedding photos, even the couch from our living room — all inside her home. I knocked, and Greg answered, looking annoyed. “What are you doing here?” he snapped. Inside, Linda stood with her arms crossed, looking smug. Then Greg dropped a bombshell: “You cheated on me. We have proof.”