They say revenge is best served cold, but mine came dressed in white lace, a gold ring, and a choir that sang louder than my pain ever could. Her name was Nancy. My best friend. My sister in everything but blood. We shared clothes, secrets, childhood, and dreams. We grew up believing we’d be in each other’s weddings—me as her maid of honor, her as mine. But she didn’t walk behind me on my big day. She walked into my marriage like a thief, stole the man I loved, and smiled while doing it. I trusted them both. Daniel, my husband, was the man I prayed for on fasting days. The man I stood beside during his broke years, fed when he had nothing, clothed with my own salary. I built him from boy to man. And when he finally rose, he didn’t rise with me. He rose for her. It started with small things—late nights, deleted messages, distant hugs. I asked, but he lied. I cried, but he gaslit. Until the day I saw it with my own eyes. Nancy. In my robe. In my house. In my husband’s arms. I didn’t scream. I didn’t fight. I just stood there, cold, like a widow whose husband died twice—once to betrayal, once to silence. She said, “It just happened,” like their months of lies were a car crash they couldn’t stop. He said, “You were always too busy,” like being his backbone was a sin. I left without packing a single thing. But I didn’t leave broken. I left burning. I went silent for three months. Everyone thought I was healing. What I was really doing… was planning. You see, Nancy had one weakness—her father. Chief Oladimeji. Wealthy. Powerful. Widowed. He adored his daughter and would do anything for her. I knew him well. He liked me. Always said I had “sense,” that I was “wife material.” One day, I visited him “by mistake.” Then again. Then again. I cried in his arms like a daughter. Told him Daniel broke me. Left out the part where it was his daughter who held the knife. Within weeks, Chief started calling me daily. Sending gifts. Taking me to functions. Within two months, he asked if I would consider giving love another chance. I said yes—with tears. Not because I loved him, but because I loved how poetic the revenge would be. Three months later, he proposed. Publicly. Lavishly. In front of Nancy. She screamed when she found out. “You’re mad! He’s old enough to be your father!” And I smiled sweetly and replied, “Exactly. Now I’ll be your mother.”
She Betrayed Me with My Husband, I Got Revenge by Becoming Her Stepmom
By Zen Zone
