Kayla, grieving the loss of her grandmother, is about to return home after the funeral. But when she boards her flight, she has no idea about the nightmare that awaits her. In a case of mistaken identity, Kayla has no choice but to rely on her wits and quick thinking to get her out of the hot water she has landed in.
After a few long days of grieving, I was ready to collapse into my own bed. I was six months pregnant and emotionally drained from my grandmother’s funeral.
People at a funeral | Source: Pexels
The funeral had been tough, but it was a poignant farewell to a woman who had been my rock throughout my life.
“Are you sure you want to leave today?” my mother asked as I packed my suitcase. “You can wait a few days if you need to just sit with this loss.”
I smiled at her sadly.
A person packing a suitcase | Source: Pexels
“I know,” I said. “But I need to get back to work and back to Colin. You know my husband barely manages without me.”
“I suppose it’s a good idea for you to be in your comfort zone,” she said. “But Dad and I have decided that we’ll stay until the end of the week just to sort Gran’s house out and finalize anything that needs to be done. I know that Dad cannot wait to get home.”
“I just wish that Gran would have been around to see the baby,” I said, rubbing my hand along my belly. “That’s what I’ve wanted all along.”
A woman holding her stomach | Source: Unsplash
“I know, honey,” my mother said. “I wish that you and Gran could have had that moment, but it’s okay, darling. At least you were here in the end when Gran needed you the most.”
Now, I was navigating the long lines at the airport. I had hated flying, but it was much easier to fly home than drive. I couldn’t manage spending twelve hours in a car with my bladder fighting me.
People at an airport | Source: Unsplash
But finally, I made it onto the plane, ready for the journey back home to my husband.
“I’ll take that, ma’am,” a flight attendant told me, reaching out for my bag.
“Thank you,” I said, settling into my seat, my body aching for rest.
A pregnant woman sitting in an airplane | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, I hate flying,” the woman next to me said. “It’s the worst. But I hate driving too. I should have just stayed home.”
I almost laughed because I agreed completely. I hated the turbulence that came with flying. It made me feel uneasy and anxious, as though I was absolutely losing control with each jolt.
But still, as I sat back, ready for the flight to take off and take me home, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was staring at me.
A man sitting in an airplane | Source: Midjourney
Turning around, I noticed a man sitting a few rows behind, intently watching me. His gaze was unsettling, but I dismissed him as one of those people who judged a pregnant woman for traveling.
Soon after, the hum of the engines became a soothing background noise as the plane began its ascent.
“Finally,” the woman beside me said. “Let’s just get home.”
Little did I know that a nightmare was about to unfold.
Ten minutes after we were airborne, a flight attendant approached me, her gaze hard.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Could you please come with me?” she asked, her perfume taking over my nose.
I had no intention of waking up and walking anywhere, but her authoritative tone left no room for argument, and with a deep sigh, I unbuckled my seat and followed her to the clearing just off the bathroom.
Immediately, her demeanor changed.
“You need to get on your knees immediately!” she commanded, nodding to someone that I couldn’t see.
“What? Why? What happened?” I exclaimed, completely shocked.
“Now,” she said simply.
I was shocked and confused, but something in her voice made me comply. As I knelt, I couldn’t understand what was going on. Nothing felt right. I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Just then, the man who had been staring at me earlier entered.
“Where is the golden necklace you stole?” he demanded, his voice threatening.
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “I didn’t steal anything! I am just returning from my grandmother’s funeral!”
He made a clucking sound with his tongue and produced a set of photographs and documents.
“This is you at the museum two days before the exhibit was moved to the hotel. This is you at the hotel foyer where the necklace went missing. We tracked you up to this plane after you ran away from the hotel.”
I looked at the pictures, and they were hazy. But they did bear a striking resemblance to me, though there were clear differences.
“Look,” I said suddenly. “The woman in these photos has a tattoo or scar or something on her wrist. Look! I don’t have anything like that!”
The man examined my wrists, his icy hands pulling roughly.
“See? No tattoos. No scars. Nothing. You have the wrong person!” I insisted. “And I’m pregnant! The woman in the photos is not!”
I felt a sudden wave of fear for my baby. In the heat of the moment, my baby lay there silently.
“But that could be a disguise,” he replied, not entirely convinced.
I thought about whether the police would be waiting for me at the airport. And whether I could get away from this. I just wanted to get home to Colin.
It was as if thinking about my husband had summoned the baby to wake up.
A sudden kick in my stomach made me act impulsively. Without thinking, I took the man’s hand and placed it on my belly.
“No, you can’t fake this,” I said.
He sighed, looking visibly relieved but also very embarrassed.
“I’m so sorry. You look very much like her. I was convinced that we were on the right track. I have to wait until we get back on the ground to actually deal with this.”
“Look, I get it,” I said. “But I’m not her. I’m just trying to get home,” I said, feeling a bit calmer, while I tried to get back onto my feet.
Little did we know that it was time for part two of the nightmare.
Suddenly, the flight attendant pulled out a gun.
“Enough! Both of you, hands behind your backs!”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out zip ties, tying the man’s hands first with her back to me.
“You’re not as foolish as you look,” she said to him. “You were right about tracking me to the plane. But you had the wrong person in mind.”
Another surge of fear for my baby made me act. With her standing with her back to me, I saw an opportunity and kicked her as hard as I could.
She stumbled and fell, dropping the gun. She had been distracted talking to him that she didn’t finish zip tying the man’s hands yet, so he tackled her.
As he did, we caught a glimpse of the gold necklace hanging around her neck.
“She’s the real thief,” he said, securing her. “She’s been posing as different people to avoid capture. I have no idea how she managed to board this flight as an attendant.”
“You are so brave for doing what you did. Thank you for getting to her before she tied me,” he said.
“I was just afraid for my baby,” I said, sighing. “I acted on instinct.”
The rest of the flight was a blur of apologies from the man and explanations to the crew and authorities.
“I’m Detective Connor,” he said, shaking my hand after.
The woman was arrested upon landing, with about fifteen police officers standing at the gate, just waiting.
“I am truly sorry for what you’ve been through,” Connor said.
“Just explain to me what happened,” I replied, needing closure before heading out to find my husband.
“We’ve been tracking this woman for months. She’s been stealing valuable items and using various disguises to evade capture. I received a tip that she would be on this flight. When I saw you, and your hair, I just thought…” he trailed off, clearly remorseful.
“You thought I was her,” I finished for him. “Well, I’m not. And now you know.”
“Yes, and I’m very sorry for the mistake, Kayla. I hope you can forgive me.”
Despite the ordeal, I felt a strange sense of relief.
As I walked through the doors and saw my husband standing there with yellow tulips and a wide smile on his face, I instantly felt at peace.
“Welcome home,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
We drove home in silence, just enjoying being in each other’s presence again. But when we got home, I sat down with Colin and told him everything that had happened on the flight.
“Are you okay?” he asked me, his eyes wide. “Are you shaken? Should we take you to a doctor to make sure everything is okay?”
“No,” I replied. “I’m absolutely fine, I just wanted to come back home to you.”
My husband put his hands on my stomach and smiled at me.
“I’m glad you’re home,” he said again, kissing my stomach.
My Husband Faked Renting Our House When He Actually Owned It, But Karma Quickly Caught Up With Him
The house. That was where our problems had begun.
Every month, a significant portion of my paycheck went toward the rent of our little home. Paul, my husband, and I both contributed to the rent, but he always handled the payments to our elusive landlord.
I trusted him implicitly, and of course, I never questioned his actions.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Paul would say. “I’ll take the money from our joint account each month and do the rest.”
Years passed, and my sacrifices continued. Paul took care of the power and the water bills, and we both contributed to the groceries. As difficult as it sometimes was, we both knew that it was just something that needed to be done.
One day, Paul had to leave early for a short business trip. It wasn’t anything new, and we had both gotten used to him going away on these trips.
“Do you want me to take care of rent?” I asked as I helped him pack his clothes away. “I know that you’re going to be traveling on the first of the month.”
“No, but thank you,” he said. “I’ll try and log on from my laptop and do it, or I’ll just handle it when I’m back.”
“Honey, you’re already doing so much for us. Let me lighten the burden and help,” I said.
Paul sighed deeply and took two ties out of his closet.
“It’s fine, Emma,” he said curtly. “I’ve got it under control.”
My husband left early the next morning and that was it. He didn’t speak about the rent topic again.
As the days went by and the rent was due the following day, I left my office during lunch to go to the bank.
“Where are you headed off to?” Jessica asked me as I gathered my handbag and cellphone before leaving the office.
“Just to the bank,” I replied. “I’ll be back soon and then we can get something for lunch.”
I walked into the bank ready to make a payment and lighten my husband’s load. But what I discovered was a different reality altogether.
I approached a teller and explained my situation, giving her all my relevant details.
“I just need to transfer rent money to my landlord,” I said. “My husband usually does this stuff, but he’s away on business.”
The teller smiled at me and looked at my identity document before continuing.
“Certainly, ma’am,” the teller said, pulling up the account details. “Could you confirm the account number?”
I read the number off the notepad I had taken from Paul’s desk that morning. He had a habit of writing all his important information on that one notepad.
“Thank you,” the teller said, typing the number in.
“A Mrs. Helen Parker?” she asked. “That’s your landlord’s account?”
I blinked in confusion.
“Helen Parker? Are you sure that’s what it says?” I exclaimed, my hands feeling clammy.
The teller, sensing that something was amiss, double-checked the records, frowning slightly as she concentrated.
“This is the account that has been receiving money from your account. It’s actually been receiving money for years.”
Paul’s mother. Helen Parker was Paul’s mother.
“There must be some mistake, surely,” I said.
“I’m afraid not, ma’am,” she said. “This account has consistently received the monthly payments. Look, I can print it all out for you if you’d like to go through it yourself.”
I nodded, too numb with shock.
I left the bank and drove home in a daze, forgetting that I needed to get back to work entirely.
Once home, I went straight to Paul’s study and began rifling through his drawers. I needed answers.
“How on earth have I been paying for his mother’s lifestyle all these years?” I said aloud.
It didn’t take long to find everything I needed. There it was, the ownership document for our house, signed and dated years ago, with Paul listed as the sole owner.
I didn’t know what to think, so I sat in silence for a few moments until my phone rang.
“Emma?” Jessica’s voice ran through the room. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you come back to the office?”
Quickly, I caught my best friend up on the drama.
“So, the rent that you’ve been paying is actually Helen’s allowance?” Jessica gasped. “That’s so ridiculous!”
“Yes,” I replied, holding my head in my hands. “I don’t know what to do. Paul is away for the next few days.”
“Did he take his laptop?” Jessica asked.
“No, actually, he didn’t,” I replied.
“Then go through it! Look for more information!”
My hands trembling, I turned on his laptop and found a series of messages exchanged between Paul and Helen. The messages detailed their plan, discussing how they would keep me in the dark and ensure I continued to pay rent, funneling my money straight to her.
“What the heck?” I muttered under my breath.
As the full weight of the betrayal settled on me, karma arrived with no delay. That evening, a violent storm swept through our town, leaving floods behind.
Of course, my house was one of them.
By the next morning, water started seeping through the ceiling, and within minutes, the whole house was flooded.
I took my belongings and went to a hotel. I wasn’t about to suffer through this alone.
“You can come to me,” Jessica said when I called to tell her that I was staying at a hotel.
“No,” I said. “I don’t plan on staying in the house long, so I’ll be here for a while. When Paul returns home, I’ll go to the house and get the last of my things.”
On the day that Paul was scheduled to come home, I went over to the house and worked my way through the things that were not damaged by the flooding.
“Emma, are you okay?” he asked as he stepped into the house. “What happened here?”
I turned to him, my eyes cold.
“I’m fine. But the house isn’t. The ceiling doesn’t look too good in some places. But it’s a good thing that’s not our house, right? The landlord’s insurance can cover it.”
To his credit, my husband isn’t stupid and he was able to pick up on my sarcasm easily.
Paul paled, realizing that he was trapped.
“Emma, I can explain,” he said.
“Don’t bother,” I interrupted. “I found the bank records, the ownership documents, and your messages to Helen. I know everything.”
Paul’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
“How could you do that to me?” I asked quietly. “Especially after knowing that I wanted to do things for myself. I wanted us to go on trips together and make memories. But all this time, I was just using my hard-earned money to take care of your mother?”
“What do you want me to tell you? That she’s old and needs it?” Paul asked.
“We both know that’s not the case,” I retorted. “Your father left everything to her. She’s doing fine. And in any case, it’s not that I wouldn’t have wanted to help Helen if I knew. It’s the fact that you’ve been lying for years.”
“Just wait,” Paul said. “I’m sure that we can work through this.”
“No, we cannot,” I replied. “You’ve been using me for years and I’m finally done with all of this.”
I walked out of the house and went back to the hotel where Jessica promised to come over and spend the evening with me.
The next day, I consulted a lawyer and fought to reclaim the money that I had unknowingly handed over to Helen.
In the end, justice prevailed and the court ruled in my favor, ordering Paul and his mother to repay every cent I had given them over the years.
With my newfound financial freedom, I got myself a little apartment, someplace that I could easily lock up and leave when it was time for a getaway.
And as for Paul? After the money was settled, I filed for a divorce, and left him in the past with his mother.
What would you have done?
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