For two years, I thought I was quietly destroying my own credit. I was missing payments I knew I’d made and watching my score tank for no reason. It wasn’t until a routine credit card application got flagged for fraud that I found out someone else had been living on my name.
I’m sure you know that feeling — that strange, heavy sense that something is wrong, even though you can’t quite figure out what.
I’m 25F, and for the last two years, I honestly thought I was an idiot.
No, seriously.
Money would just disappear from my account. I could go a whole week without buying anything, track every single expense down to the last cent, and somehow the numbers still didn’t add up.
I was ready to believe in magic, like some invisible wizard was siphoning cash out of my bank card.
Until I finally learned who was actually behind it. My MIL.
Margaret.
I swear, at first I refused to believe it.
But then, and this is the part that still makes my skin crawl, I looked deeper into the fraudulent accounts the bank found. A shipping address looked familiar.
Then, there’s an online receipt. I clicked it open…
and felt my stomach drop.
IT WAS HER.
Margaret. My sweet, overly involved, boundary-obliterating MIL.
And the things she bought??
Oh, my God.
I was scrolling through transactions with my eyes wide open like a cartoon character. Spa gift baskets the size of small children.
Designer shoes, she absolutely could not walk in.
A $480 “facelift wand.” A banana-slicer shaped like a dolphin??
A RAINBOW BIDET ATTACHMENT??
All charged to my name. When I went to my husband and told him what his mother had done, his reaction hit me like a bucket of ice water. “Sit down,” he said sharply.
“I have an idea.”
So, how did we get here?
Two years ago, my credit score suddenly nosedived.
I was in bed with my phone, checking it like I always did at the end of the month, and the number was just…
wrong.
I remember thinking, This must be someone else’s account.
I refreshed the app. Same number.
“Okay, what did I mess up?” I whispered to myself.
I got up, sat at the kitchen table, and opened my laptop. I went through every bill.
Every auto-payment.
Every statement.
Nothing was late. Nothing was missed.
Still, my score had tanked. So, of course, I decided the only explanation was that I sucked at money.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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