In five years as a flight attendant, I’d never forgotten a face – especially not one like Richard’s. Handsome, wealthy, and utterly devoted to the woman beside him… or so it seemed when I served them champagne at 30,000 feet. Which is why my coffee nearly went flying when I saw that same man sitting at my mother’s kitchen table the next morning.
“Laura, meet Richard,” Mom said, glowing with happiness. “We’re getting married next week!”
Richard extended his hand with a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. No flicker of recognition. To him, I was just another servant in his elaborate con game.
Over the next few days, I watched Richard’s act closely. The extravagant gifts. The vague stories about his import business. The way he’d steer conversations away from anything concrete. My mother, usually so skeptical, accepted every word without question.
When I finally showed her the photo I’d snapped of Richard with the other woman on the plane, she accused me of photoshopping it. “You’ve never approved of my relationships,” she said coldly. That’s when I knew I’d have to take matters into my own hands.
What followed felt like something from a spy novel – tracking down the other woman, comparing notes, discovering Richard’s trail of broken hearts across three states. The man was a professional predator, targeting lonely women with money to spare.
Our final confrontation happened at what should have been my mother’s wedding day. When seven of Richard’s ex-fiancées stood up simultaneously during the ceremony, the look on his face was priceless. My mother’s tears, less so. But sometimes the truth hurts before it heals.
