"Acacia, I got this special recipe from a healer. It's like magic! Mrs. Smith drank it, and within a few months, she was pregnant with a big, healthy boy. And Mrs. Smith isn't exactly young, you know!" Fred's mom, Dora, shuffled over with a steaming bowl of soup, setting it right in front of me.

Fred and I weren't married yet, but we'd been living together. He always promised he'd marry me as soon as I gave him a son.

It had been two years, and still nothing. My stomach stayed flat, and Dora was getting more impatient by the day.

"Maybe Fred should see a doctor. It's been two years and still no baby—maybe it's him who has the problem," I said, my stomach turning as the memories from before washed over me.

"What are you even talking about?" Dora snapped, slamming the bowl onto the table. She jabbed a finger in my face, furious. "I'm doing this for you! Don't you want to marry into this family? Let me tell you, Fred's perfectly fine. It's your belly that's the problem. Can't even give us a son!"

Seriously? Fred wouldn't marry me or even agree to get checked out. He just wanted to keep me around as his personal baby maker and unpaid housekeeper.

This family thought they had everything worked out, like their precious Fred was some kind of prize. How did I not see through this before?

But, of course, I couldn't say that to her face. The show had only just begun—I wasn't about to let it end early.

Dora kept going when I didn't respond. "You are so ungrateful! Are you even listening to me?"

Fred came over, trying to play peacemaker. "Mom, Acacia didn't mean to disrespect you. She's just not thinking straight—don't let it get to you."

He made it sound like everything was my fault. What a pair these two made.

Before I came back in time, I put up with all of this for a chance to marry Fred. I wore myself out working three jobs, then came home to cook, clean, and do laundry—even washing their underwear and socks.

And Dora? She'd complain about every meal I made, throw plates, and tell me to make something else. Fred never once defended me; he always sided with her.

"Acacia, don't make Mom upset. She's got heart problems, and she's just trying to do what's best for us," he'd say.

No, this was never my home—it was theirs. I was just a visitor who never belonged.

I grew up an orphan, raised in a foster home, with no real sense of family or love. I didn't know what it felt like to be loved until I met Fred.

He'd tell me to drink hot water when I had cramps, remind me to bundle up when it was cold, and promise to buy me cherries when he had money—though he never actually did. But even those empty words were enough to touch my heart.

Call it naive, but that was the old me—the one before I came back. I was so desperate for affection that a few crumbs from Fred were enough to reel me in, only to leave me empty-handed in the end.

This time, I'm not letting it slide. I need my revenge to finally get rid of this bitterness.

"You ungrateful brat, I'll teach you a lesson!" Dora screamed, eyes blazing with fury. She swung her hand at my face, but I caught her wrist in midair and slapped her back.

"Oops, my hand slipped," I said, calm as ever.

Fred and Dora just stood there, stunned at my sudden change.

I didn't give them the satisfaction of a reaction. I turned on my heel, walked into the bedroom, and locked the door behind me.

I knew them too well—they wouldn't kick me out just yet. I'd been their free maid for years, handling all the chores and bringing in money. Why would they give up such a convenient setup?

On lottery night, Fred was glued to the TV, clutching his ticket and watching each number flash on the screen with eyes full of hope. But as usual, he struck out.

He turned to me with that eager look. "Acacia, let me check yours. Maybe you got lucky?"

"I don't really get how this works. Can you look at it for me?" I handed over my ticket without a second thought, keeping my real winner—a five-million-dollar ticket—hidden in my pocket.

Earlier, when Fred wasn't paying attention, I'd gone back to the store and bought another ticket. No way was I going to hand over that kind of money to him on a silver platter.

He inspected my ticket carefully. "Aw, Acacia, so close! Just missed it!" He slipped the ticket into his pocket with a sly grin. "No use keeping it—I'll toss it for you."

Then he leaned in and gave me a wet, sloppy kiss on the cheek. I stared at his greasy, unshaven face, and it took everything in me not to gag right there. But I forced myself to play along, smiling like he'd just made my day.

What Fred didn't know was that my ticket had actually won a smaller prize—two thousand dollars. Of course, he couldn't resist pocketing it for himself. Classic Fred, always ready to snatch whatever good came my way.

Later, I tagged along as Fred went back to the lottery shop, this time trying his luck with scratch-offs.

"I won! I won two grand!" Fred hollered, practically announcing it to the whole neighborhood.

"Wow, Fred! You're on fire! You should grab a few more—who knows? Maybe we'll hit it big one day," I nudged, playing into his ego.

Fred mulled it over, then pulled out a handful of crumpled bills. "Yeah, why not? I'll buy a few more tickets and scratch-offs. And once I've got enough cash, I'll marry you!"

"What if you're just playing me?" I teased, pushing him a bit.

He raised his hand dramatically. "I swear, if I ever marry anyone else or betray you, may lightning strike me down!"

I couldn't help but smirk. I was seriously looking forward to the day he got his comeuppance.

Fred cashed in his winnings, bought a new stack of scratch-offs, and kept scratching until his original four hundred bucks turned into over three grand. I watched him grin from ear to ear like he'd just hit the Powerball. Meanwhile, my own plans were just getting started.

As for me, I quietly cashed in my five-million-dollar ticket. After taxes, I walked away with four million, slipping the lottery shop owner some hush money to keep things under wraps.

With the cash, I bought myself a swanky downtown apartment—fully furnished, move-in ready. I still had about seven or eight hundred grand left. It wasn't a fortune, but it was more than enough to lift me up from the constant grind.

No more clipping coupons or skipping meals to save a buck.

"Fred, I saw this really cute dress the other day. It's only two hundred dollars. Since you just won three grand, can you buy it for me?" I asked, testing his reaction.

"Acacia, we've gotta be smart with this money. You can get a perfectly good dress at the market for twenty bucks. That fancy stuff is just paying for the label. It's not worth it," he said, lighting a cigarette like he was some wise financial guru.

Yeah, classic Fred. The worse the guy, the better he was at convincing you to settle for scraps.

"But I really like it, and it's been forever since I bought anything new," I pushed a little more.

He blew out a puff of smoke. "How about we save it for a wedding dress? I promise I'll get you the most beautiful one you've ever seen."

I couldn't even fake a smile at that. Fred was the king of empty promises.

And I knew exactly where those thousands were really going.

The day Fred cashed in his prize, his beloved Susan—the girl he put on a pedestal—posted on Instagram about a twenty-thousand-dollar dress she wanted, but she was four grand short. Fred didn't hesitate to send her five grand right away.

Watching him chat with her on his phone, grinning like a fool, I couldn't help but laugh to myself. Fred was always so generous when it came to his dream girl.

While Fred was in the shower, I took the opportunity to grab his phone. A new WhatsApp message from Susan popped up: [Fred, how about we go out for dinner tomorrow night?]

I quickly typed back in Fred's voice: [I've booked a room at the Silverine Hotel for tomorrow night at eight. See you there.] Then, I cleared the conversation and changed Susan's contact name to Acacia, my own name, and switched my contact name to Susan.

I updated my profile picture to match Susan's and used Fred's details to book a room at the Silverine Hotel. I sent Fred a message pretending to be Susan: [Fred, Silverine Hotel 8023 tomorrow night. I'll be waiting for you!]