I Discovered My Husband on Tinder and Decided to Catfish Him with a Fake Profile — He Believes He’s Being Unfaithful, but It’s All Part of My Scheme for Payback

Finally, his profile came up, with him smiling that same smile that had once made me fall in love. I took a deep breath as I swiped right. Fortunately, we matched right away. GAME ON!

The first step was to build a connection. I knew everything about Dexter: his favorite movie (“The Godfather”), his favorite whiskey (Glenfiddich), and even his secret love for 80s pop music. Using Leah’s profile, I mirrored his interests and crafted a persona that would be irresistible to him.

I made sure to mention my love for “The Godfather” in my bio and put up a picture of Leah holding a glass of Glenfiddich. I knew exactly how to pull him in. We started chatting, and he took the bait. Our conversations were filled with flirty banter and deep talks about life.

“Wow, you love ‘The Godfather’ too?” Dexter messaged. “It’s my all-time favorite movie.”

I replied as Leah, “Yes, it’s a masterpiece! And Glenfiddich is my go-to drink while watching it. What about you?”

“Same here,” he wrote back. “Nothing beats a good movie and a great whiskey.”

He told Leah about his dreams and fears, things he hadn’t shared with me in years. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m stuck in a rut,” he confided one evening. “I have all these plans, but I can’t seem to make them happen.”

“I’m here for you,” I typed. “You can talk to me about anything.”

Every evening, I’d sit on the couch next to him, pretending to scroll through my phone while he texted Leah. It was surreal, living under the same roof and harboring so many secrets. I’d glance at him out of the corner of my eye, watching as he smiled at his phone, completely engrossed in his messages to Leah.

After a few weeks of daily chats, I knew he was hooked. It was time for phase two: gaining his trust. I started hinting at financial troubles, weaving tales of sudden car repairs and unexpected medical bills.

Over the next few days, I continued to spin stories of desperation to Dexter through Leah’s account. He was eager to help, wanting to be her knight in shining armor. It didn’t take long for him to start transferring money to the account I had set up.

“I don’t ever want you to feel alone, Leah. You can always count on me,” he texted Leah one day while sitting right next to me. “Remember, I’m only a message away.”

This Dexter that I had come to know as Leah was someone I didn’t recognize as Phoebe. It pained me to continue the game, but I knew I had to keep going.

Each sob story I fed him made him more determined to save this imaginary woman. Living this double life was exhausting but thrilling. Every day, I played the devoted wife, making breakfast for our kids and chatting with Dexter about his day at work.

Every night, I transformed into Leah, the damsel in distress who had him wrapped around her finger. “Dex, I don’t know how to thank you enough,” I texted. “You’ve been my rock through all of this.”

“I just want to see you happy,” he responded. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

I watched as he fell deeper into the trap, blinded by his infatuation and guilt. He was constantly checking his phone, eager for Leah’s messages, completely unaware of the truth that lay just beneath the surface.

The third step was all about increasing the stakes. With his trust secured, I began to ask for larger amounts, weaving elaborate stories that played on his desire to be a hero. One evening, I texted him as Leah, “Dex, I don’t know what to do. My car broke down, and the repair costs are way more than I can afford. I’m so scared I’ll lose my job if I can’t get to work.”

He replied almost instantly, “Don’t worry, Leah. I’ll take care of it. How much do you need?”

“About $1,500,” I wrote back, holding my breath.

“Consider it done,” he replied, and minutes later, the money was in my account.

Each transaction brought me closer to my goal. I asked for help with rent and then “emergency” medical procedures for a sick family member. Dexter was more than willing to help, convinced he was the hero Leah needed. What he didn’t realize was that he was funding my escape.

While he was distracted by his affair, I meticulously planned my departure. I found a new place to live, made arrangements for the kids, and discreetly packed our essentials.

Every day, I gathered a little more evidence of his infidelity and financial transactions, making sure I had enough to protect myself if he tried to contest anything later. I took screenshots of our chats, saved copies of bank statements, and even recorded a few of our conversations where he talked about his “true feelings” for Leah.

“Leah, I feel like I can be honest with you,” he wrote one evening. “I’ve never felt this way before. You understand me in a way no one else does.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” I replied, heart pounding. “I care about you a lot, Dex.”

“I care about you too,” he responded. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we could be together for real. I know it sounds crazy, but I think I might be falling for you.”

Reading his confession, I felt a mix of anger and satisfaction. I saved the conversation, knowing it would be crucial later. He had no idea that his heartfelt messages were sealing his fate.

​​The final step was to reveal my plan. I knew the perfect way to do it. I sent him a final message from the fake account, arranging a meet-up at a fancy restaurant.

“Dex, I feel like we’ve known each other forever. I think it’s time we finally meet in person. How about dinner at The Grand at 8 p.m. this Friday?”

He replied within seconds, “I’ve been waiting for this moment, Leah. I’ll be there.”

On the day of the meeting, I felt a mix of excitement and nerves. This was it.

I dressed in my best outfit, a simple yet elegant black dress that Dexter always said was his favorite. I wanted to look my best when I confronted him. I arrived at The Grand a bit early and took a seat at a quiet corner table where I could see the entrance clearly.

I ordered a glass of wine and sat there, watching the clock tick closer to 8 p.m. Finally, Dexter walked in, looking around eagerly. He was wearing the suit I had bought him for our anniversary a few years ago. He looked nervous but excited, completely unaware of what was about to happen.

As he scanned the room, I stood up and walked over to him. “Dexter,” I said, my voice steady.

He turned, his eyes widening in shock. “Phoebe? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” I replied, holding up a folder. “But I think you know.”

He looked at the folder, confusion and panic mixing on his face. “What’s that?”

“Let’s sit down,” I suggested, guiding him to the table I had been sitting at. He followed, still looking dazed.

Once we were seated, I placed the folder in front of him. “Open it,” I said.

With shaking hands, he opened the folder and began to go through the contents. Inside were screenshots of our conversations, evidence of his infidelity, and a detailed list of all the money he had sent to Leah’s account—my account. His face turned pale as he realized he had been played.

“I knew all along,” I said calmly, watching him. “This was my way of getting back at you and securing my freedom. The money you sent to your ‘lover’ will help me and the kids start a new life away from you.”

He looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and anger. “Phoebe, I can explain—”

“There’s nothing to explain,” I cut him off. “You betrayed me, Dexter. You made vows to me, and you broke them. Now, you’re going to face the consequences.”

He opened his mouth to argue but closed it again, realizing the evidence was undeniable. There was nothing he could say to make it better or take back what he had done.

I stood up, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. “I’m leaving, Dexter. Don’t try to find us, and don’t think you can contest anything. I have all the evidence I need to make sure you don’t.”

He sat there, stunned, as I walked out of the restaurant. I felt a strange sense of satisfaction and freedom as I left him behind. That evening, I moved into our new home, taking the kids with me. The money I had accumulated ensured we were comfortable and had a fresh start.

The new place was cozy, nothing extravagant but perfect for us. The kids were a bit confused at first, but I explained it was a new adventure. They were excited about their new rooms, and I felt a sense of relief knowing we were safe and away from Dexter’s deceit.

Over the next few days, I settled into our new life. I enrolled the kids in a new school and started looking for a job. With the money Dexter had unwittingly provided, we were stable for the time being. I even found myself smiling more, feeling lighter than I had in years.

One evening, as I was tucking the kids into bed, my daughter looked up at me and said, “Mom, are we going to be okay?”

I smiled and kissed her forehead. “Yes, sweetheart. We’re going to be just fine.”

As I sat in the living room later, sipping a cup of tea, I reflected on everything that had happened. Revenge is best served cold, and Dexter learned that the hard way. He thought he was cheating, but he was just falling into my trap. Now, I am free, financially secure, and ready to move forward without him.

My grandmother faked being deaf to see how we would act before splitting the inheritance — in the end, everyone received what they deserved

I nodded eagerly, ignoring the eye rolls from my uncle across the room. He never understood why I bothered with the “old lady”.

“You’re wasting your summer, Em,” my Uncle Bill muttered. “Why don’t you come to the beach with us instead?”

I shot him a glare. “Because I actually care about my Grandma, Uncle Bill. You should try it sometime.”

As Grandma and I pruned the roses together, I couldn’t help but notice how her hands shook slightly. She was getting older, and it scared me.

“Grandma,” I gently said. “You know I love you, right?”

She paused, looking at me with those kind eyes. “Of course, sweetheart. And I love you too. More than you could ever know.”

As we headed inside, I hugged her tightly, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender and home-baked cookies clinging to her dress. Little did I know, this moment of peace was the calm before the storm.

“Emily,” Grandma said, her voice suddenly serious. “Promise me something. No matter what happens, always stay true to yourself.”

I pulled back, confused. “Of course, Grandma. But why are you saying this?”

She just smiled, that familiar twinkle in her eye. “You’ll understand someday, my dear. Now, how about we bake some cookies?”

A week before Grandma’s 89th birthday, everything changed. Dad came home, his face ashen.

“Emily,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Grandma’s in the hospital. The doctors… they said she’s lost her hearing.”

My world shattered. How could this happen? Just yesterday, we were laughing over her childhood stories.

“But… but she was fine!” I protested, tears welling up in my eyes. “We were gardening and baking and…”

Dad pulled me into a hug. “I know, sweetheart. It happened suddenly. The doctors said it’s not uncommon at her age.”

Despite the diagnosis, we decided to throw Grandma a birthday party anyway. She deserved it, deaf or not.

“We’ll make it special,” Mom said, her voice brimming with love and determination. “Emily, why don’t you make a photo album? I’m sure Grandma would love that.”

I smiled, wiping away my tears as I helped Mom set the table for dinner. “Yeah, I’ll do that. She always loved looking at old pictures.”

Fast forward to Grandma’s 89th birthday celebration, the party was in full swing, but something felt off. I sat next to Grandma, showing her pictures on my phone, when I overheard my Uncle Bill’s booming voice.

“If the house doesn’t get to us, I’m gonna fight for it in court. Don’t you understand that she’s already old and stupid?” he hissed, looking unkindly at Grandma.

I froze, my blood running cold. How could he say that about Grandma?

Aunt Sarah chimed in, her voice dripping with disdain. “Oh yeah, brother! Her words can’t be trusted. I can’t really wait to get that lovely farmhouse she owns in Boston.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. These were the same people who’d smiled and hugged Grandma just moments ago.

“Hey!” I shouted, my face burning with anger. “How can you talk about Grandma like that?”

Uncle Bill sneered at me. “Zip it up, you silly little girl. This is grown-up talk.”

I looked at Grandma, expecting to see hurt in her eyes. But instead, I saw… a glimmer of something else. Was it… amusement?

I shook my head, dismissing the thought. The poor thing couldn’t hear them, and in a way, I was glad. Their cruel words would have broken her heart.

“You okay, Grandma?” I asked, forgetting for a moment that she couldn’t hear me.

She patted my hand and smiled.

Later that night, after everyone had gone home, I found Grandma sitting in her favorite armchair, staring out the window.

“Grandma?” I said softly, approaching her.

To my surprise, she turned to look at me. “Emily, dear. Come sit with me.”

I froze. “Grandma? You… you can hear me?”

She chuckled, that familiar twinkle in her eye. “Sweetie, I know everything. Who said I was completely deaf? I can hear faintly.”

My jaw dropped. “But… but at the party… Uncle Bill and Aunt Sarah…”

“I know what they said,” she sighed. “And I know they’re all waiting for me to die.”

I hugged her tightly, tears streaming down my face. “I’m so sorry, Grandma. They’re horrible!”

She wiped my tears away. “Don’t cry, my dear. We’re going to teach them a lesson they’ll never forget.”

Over the next few days, Grandma and I plotted our plan. I bought some small recorders, and we set about capturing the true nature of our relatives.

“Remember, Emily,” Grandma said as we worked. “This isn’t about revenge. It’s about revealing the truth.”

I nodded, though part of me couldn’t help but feel a little satisfaction at the thought of exposing their true colors.

As we captured more and more of my aunts’ and uncles’ cruel words, my heart shattered into a million pieces. Their voices, dripping with greed and mockery, filled the tiny recorders:

“I can’t wait for the old bat to kick the bucket already.”

“Maybe we should help her along, you know? It’s for her own good.”

“God, why won’t she just die already? I’ve got plans for that beach house.”

Each word was like a knife twisting in my gut.

I looked at Grandma, her weathered hands trembling slightly as she listened. Her eyes, once so bright and full of life, now glistened with unshed tears.

“How can they be so heartless?” I whispered. “Grandma, these are your children. How can they say such awful things?”

Grandma reached out and squeezed my hand, her touch as gentle as ever. “Oh, my sweet Emily,” she murmured, her voice quavering. “Sometimes, the people who should love us the most are the ones who hurt us the deepest.”

Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. How could they do this to the woman who had loved them, raised them, and given them everything? Now they were circling like vultures, eagerly awaiting her death.

“Doesn’t it hurt you, Grandma?” I asked her.

She smiled sadly. “Of course it does, dear. But it also shows me who truly cares. And that’s worth more than any wealth. Remember… love is the greatest inheritance.”

A week later, Grandma passed away peacefully in her sleep. I was devastated. The funeral was a somber affair, with relatives shedding crocodile tears while eyeing Grandma’s possessions.

“Such a tragedy,” Aunt Sarah sniffled, her eyes darting around the room. “I’ll miss her so much.”

I bit my tongue, knowing what was coming.

Three days after the funeral, we all gathered at the lawyer’s office for the reading of the will.

Mr. Thompson, our family lawyer, cleared his throat. “Before we begin, I have a special request from Mrs. Rosalind.”

He placed seven small boxes and envelopes on the table, each labeled with a name. Everyone except me had one.

“Emily,” Mr. Thompson said, “your grandmother left something different for you.”

My heart raced as I watched my relatives tear into their boxes. Each one contained a small recorder.

Uncle Bill pressed play first. His own voice filled the room: “I can’t wait for the old bat to kick the bucket already.”

Aunt Sarah’s recorder was next: “God, why won’t she just die already? I’ve got plans for that beach house.”

One by one, each recorder played back the nasty things they’d said about Grandma. The color drained from their faces as they realized the truth.

Oh, you petty things! Grandma hadn’t been deaf at all.

“YOU!” Uncle Bill pointed at me, his face red with anger. “You did this!”

I stood my ground. “No, Uncle Bill. You did this to yourself. All of you did.”

As the last recording finished, I couldn’t help but smile. Grandma had outsmarted them all.

“Emily,” Mr. Thompson said, handing me an envelope. “This is for you.”

With shaking hands, I opened it. Inside was a letter in Grandma’s elegant handwriting:

“My dearest Emily,

You were the only one who saw me for who I was, not what I had. Your love was pure and unconditional. That’s why I’m leaving everything to you. Use it wisely, and always remember: love is the greatest inheritance of all.

Love,

Grandma”

Tears streamed down my face as I clutched the letter to my chest. I realized that Grandma had given me something far more valuable than money or property. She’d taught me the true meaning of love and family.

As for my relatives? They each received an envelope containing a single dollar and a note that read: “Hope this would be enough! Good luck!”

The aftermath was chaotic. Uncle Bill threatened to contest the will, but Mr. Thompson shut him down quickly.

“Mrs. Rosalind was of sound mind when she made this will,” he said firmly. “And given the evidence we’ve just heard, I’d say her decisions were well-founded.”

As we left the office, my Dad pulled me aside. “Emily, I’m so proud of you. And I’m sorry I didn’t see what was happening sooner.”

I hugged him tight. “It’s okay, Dad. Grandma knew you loved her. That’s what matters.”

It’s been ten years since that day, and I still miss my Grandma terribly. But her final lesson stays with me: love your family unconditionally, because nothing in this world is permanent. Not money, not property. Just love.

And remember, sometimes the quietest voices have the most to say. Listen closely… you never know what you might learn.

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