As soon as my son brought his fiancée home, I dialed 911.

 

“Mrs. Fitzpatrick, I know who you think I am, but I am not that woman,” she continued, turning to face me.

My life was a living misery because of her. Cindy said that while it was clear they looked identical, people had previously mistaken her for the con artist because of their varied eye colors.

One of the policemen claimed to recall this particular instance. The real con artist did use Cindy as her name, but from what I’ve heard, she has now changed it to Rosaline or Rosemary.

“This woman isn’t her,” he stated, adding that the last evidence of her was in Mexico. I turned to Cindy and apologized, embarrassed.

Even though I was embarrassed to look at her, she hugged me and assured me that she would at least have a humorous tale about how she met her in-laws to tell her and Xavier’s future children.

I discovered that my ex-MIL had stolen my shower and torn off the wallpaper that her son had adhered.

A heartwarming secret unveiled in a suburban home