“Thomas?” I said quietly. “He hasn’t paid a single cent. My parents bought this place before the wedding. I can show you the paperwork if you want.”

Her face flushed instantly.

“You’re lying!” she yelled. “Thomas told me he bought it! You’re just a guest here. Pack your bags before I call the police!”

That was the moment everything snapped into focus. My husband had been lying for years—and I was the silent prop in his story.

Thomas would be home in an hour. I decided not to argue further. Let her believe the lie a little longer.

I went to the bedroom, locked the door, and called him.

“Hi,” I said calmly. “Your mother just broke a vase and is throwing me out. She says the apartment is yours. Care to explain?”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

“Sophie… you know how she is,” he muttered. “I didn’t want to upset her. I told her we bought it together. That I was the main provider.”

“Calmer now?” I asked. “She’s kicking me out of my own home. You lied for three years?”

“I just… exaggerated,” he said weakly. “I’m on my way. We’ll talk then.”