“I… I didn’t know,” she whispered. Tears welled in her eyes. Not tears of heartbreak for him. Tears of realization that she had wasted six months on a penniless fraud.

“I know,” I said softly. “I’m sending you photos of everything. The mortgage, the dental bill, our marriage certificate. What you do with them is up to you.”

I hung up. I took the photos and sent them through the chat. Then I logged him out.

Three days later, my phone rang. It was Richard.

I didn’t answer.

He showed up at the front door an hour later. He tried his key. It didn’t turn. The locks had already been changed.

I watched him from the living room window. He was standing on the porch, looking at his phone in absolute panic.

Maria had blocked him on every platform. She sent him one final message before she did, calling him a broke liar and attaching the photo of the dental receipt I had sent her.

He pounded on the door. “Let me in! Please, let’s talk about this!”

The calm confidence was completely gone. He looked small. Pathetic. A man with a $14,000 smile and nowhere to go.

I didn’t open the door. I didn’t say a word. I just walked back into the kitchen.

The cream folder is back in the filing cabinet. The coffee can is empty. But tomorrow morning, I’m going to the bank to open a new savings account. Just for me.