When my MIL texted, “Meet me. Don’t tell David,” I said. I didn’t anticipate this. Over coffee, she disclosed that my husband was cheating, and she had a plan to make him regret it. All I had to do was play along. What ensued was the most absurd vengeance I’d ever seen.
I gazed at my phone, reading my MIL’s text message for the umpteenth time.
“Meet me.” Urgent. Do not tell David. Throughout the ten years of my marriage to her son, Helen had never reached out to me. She was and has always been very protective of David.
I looked at the clock. David would not be home for hours since he had another late meeting at work. I replied, “Where and when?”
Her response was swift: “There is a coffee shop on 5th. It will take 30 minutes.”
When I arrived, the cafe was quiet. Helen sat in the corner with her hair neatly done and her stance military-straight. She didn’t waste time exchanging niceties.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, her voice strained. “I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t relevant.”
“What’s going on?” I questioned, moving onto the seat across from her. Helen took a big breath, looked me directly in the eyes, and stated, “David is cheating on you.”
The words struck me like a physical blow. I felt breath escape my lungs, but I wasn’t surprised. David’s late hours, guarded phone, and apparent fixation with fitness and looks had all been warning indicators for months. I’d been ignoring them, making excuses, and convincing myself I was paranoid.
“How do you know?” “I saw him,” Helen remarked, disapprovingly. “In a restaurant with a woman. They were intimate.”. He kissed her.”
The parts snapped into place. It explained everything, even why Dad was so agitated by Jasper, my childhood pet parrot.
“You know how Jasper always squawks, ‘I’m a cheater’ when the kids argue?” I said, bursting into wild laughter. “My sister taught him that when we were youngsters because I used to cheat on cards. David flinches whenever he hears it now.”
Helen’s eyes narrowed. “Are you an African Grey parrot? Who is the person Sam and Bella adore?”
I nodded, thinking of nine-year-old Sam and our seven-year-old daughter, Bella, and how they’d react if their parents split up.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Helen leaned nearer, her voice lowering to a furious whisper. “That’s because I raised him better than that, Teresa.” And I will NOT let him get away with it.”
I blinked in amazement at her vehemence. “I don’t know what to do,” I acknowledged.
Helen smiled slowly and calculatingly.
“You don’t have to do anything, except play along,” she told me. “Leave everything to me. I have a plan to educate him on something he will never forget.”
That night, as David and I were preparing for bed, his phone rang. He looked at the screen.
“It’s my mom,” he answered, frowning. I was doing the laundry while he replied.
“Hi, Mom. What? Slow down. “What happened?”
I observed his expression shift as he listened. “Tonight? It’s already late. “Can’t you call a plumber?” He sighed heavily. “Fine. Yes. “You can stay with us.”
He hung up and looked at me, irritation in his eyes. “My mother’s apartment flooded. Pipes burst. “She needs to stay with us for a while.”
I trained my expression into one of concern. “Of course, she can stay. “Family comes first, correct?”
Helen came an hour later, carrying two enormous pieces of luggage and a determined look in her eye.
She held me hard, muttering, “Let the games begin,” and then turned to David with a nervous smile.
“Thank you for taking me in, sweetie,” she replied, her voice trembling just enough to sound worried. “I don’t know what I would have done otherwise.” Helen was up early the next morning. By the time David arrived downstairs for breakfast, she had already taken over the kitchen. He hesitated in the entryway, scanning the spread with care.
“Mom, you didn’t have to cook,” David remarked.
“Nonsense!” It’s the least I can do to express my gratitude for your hospitality,” Helen said, laying a platter in front of him. “I made Filipino eggplant omelets.”
I bit back a grin. David despised eggplant with a passion.
“I’ve been watching many cooking videos from around the world, and it’s really spiced up my repertoire,” Linda said with satisfaction. “That’s… great,” he remarked hesitantly, taking up his fork. “But eggplant isn’t my—”
“Eat up!” Helen interrupted enthusiastically. “It’s good for you, and you need your strength for work!”
I saw David push himself to take a bite, his face contorting in an attempt not to gag.
That was only the beginning. Each day brought a fresh gastronomic torment tailored precisely to David’s dietary aversions.
Helen prepared Korean-style pork cutlets with a spicy sauce that left him sweaty and red-faced, as well as boiling cabbage that caused him to visibly gag.
David would sit at the dinner table, staring longingly at Sam and Bella’s less adventurous versions of whatever we were eating. But Helen would not hear any complaints. Each meal was given with a grin, and if David ventured to voice his hatred for spices or foods, she chastised him for not setting a positive example for the children.
“It’s time you stopped being such a picky eater,” Helen would remark. “Now have some more cilantro with your chicken curry.”
By the end of the week, David was becoming more irritated, and not only due to the food. He was anxious, continually checking his phone and making reasons to leave the room when calls came in.
“I think it’s time to escalate,” Helen said to me one night after David had gone to bed.
She took out a little, spherical gadget from her purse. “Do you know what this is?”
“An AirTag,” I said, recognizing the tracker.
Helen nodded. “I’ll slip it into his work bag.” Let’s see where he goes for his ‘late meetings.'” David always believed iPhones were overpriced. For once, I appreciated his tenacity, since his Android phone refused to recognize the AirTag automatically.
Helen checked her phone’s tracker the next evening.
“Gotcha,” she mumbled as she showed me the screen. The location indicated a posh eatery downtown, not his workplace.
“Let’s go,” Helen murmured, grasping her vehicle keys.
Twenty minutes later, we were looking through the window of an elegant Italian restaurant. David sat at a corner table, leaning against a woman in a scarlet dress, his hand covering hers.
“Ready?” Helen inquired, her finger lingering over her phone. I nodded, my heart racing.
Helen hit the call button, and we watched through the glass as David’s phone lighted up. Instead of his typical ringtone, the restaurant was filled with the squawking sound of my parrot.
“I AM A CHEATER!” “I am a cheater!”
David startled, desperately reaching for his phone. The entire restaurant turned to watch as he fumbled with the gadget, accidentally knocking over his wine glass.
The phone dropped into the puddle of crimson wine, still shouting Jasper’s allegation. “How did you get that recording?” I asked Helen as we drove home.
“I spent some quality time with Jasper yesterday,” she said with a wink. “He’s a smart bird.”
Over the coming days, David’s paranoia increased. Every sound made him jump, and every phone call had him bolt out of the room. He started to glance over his shoulder, seemingly anticipating surveillance.
Helen said that it was time for the grand finale.
“The plumbers have almost finished with my apartment, so I’m hosting a family dinner here tomorrow night,” Helen informed on Friday morning. “I’ve invited the whole family.” David paled. “The whole family?”
“Your brothers, cousins, and even your father,” Helen stated. “It’s been too long since we were all together,” she told me. “Teresa has already consented. Okay, Teresa?”
“Right,” I said, hiding a smile at David’s worried appearance.
David’s relatives crowded our dining room by Saturday evening.
His brothers talked and laughed, his cousins socialized, and his father, who had divorced Helen peacefully years before, spoke smoothly with everyone.
David sat rigidly in his chair, nervously looking around the room.
Helen stood up when supper arrived and tapped her glass to attract attention. The room went quiet. “I just wanted to thank everyone for coming tonight,” she said warmly. “Do you believe family is critical? More importantly, I’d like to discuss something I’ve been keeping to myself.”
David froze. Sweat beaded on his brow. Helen’s voice hardened. “I found David cheating on his wife.” And I am ashamed of him.”
Gasps echoed around the room. Then all eyes shifted to David, who had grown deathly pale.
“Mom,” he stumbled, “I can explain—”
“No, David,” Helen stopped him off abruptly. “You don’t get to speak.”
His brother snorted with contempt. His father shook his head slowly, displeasure evident on his face.
I rose up, my hands trembling slightly as I went for the packet I had placed beneath my chair.
“You can keep your cheating and excuses, David,” I yelled, my voice harsher than I had expected. “I’m keeping my dignity.”
I placed the divorce papers on the table in front of him.
David looked at the papers and then at me. “Wait,” David begged, finally raising his voice. “Teresa, please—”
However, Helen was far from finished. She cleared her throat aloud.
“I’ve updated my will,” she said. “Teresa’s and my grandkids will inherit my house. Are you David?” Not a penny.”
David’s mouth fell. His brothers burst into laughter. His father rose and reached across the table to touch Helen on the back.
“Good choice, Helen,” he replied approvingly.
Later that night, when everyone had left and David had gone to a hotel, Helen and I sat on the porch swing, glasses of wine in hand.
“I never expected you to take my side,” I acknowledged.
Helen grinned. “Teresa, I was wrong about you. You are family, and he is the one who has forgotten what that means.”
We clinked glasses, watching the stars emerge.
“To new beginnings,” Helen stated. “And unexpected heroes,” I continued.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.