So, my son had been dating this girl for three months, but we only recently learned her name. “The wildest part? We hadn’t even met her or heard her name until recently.” He proposed, and we invited her for dinner. When she arrived, I instantly recognized her.

Taking her to the basement under the pretense of picking wine, I locked the door behind her. “Now, we’re calling the police,” I told my husband and son. Matt was furious. “Have you completely lost it? That’s my fiancée!”

I showed the police an old photo. “Her name isn’t Cindy. It’s Rebecca… She’s a con artist who targeted my family years ago.” Ten years earlier, she befriended my sister, Sarah, gained her trust, then robbed her and disappeared.

The police searched her purse. A fake ID was on top, but deeper in was her real license. “Rebecca Coleman.” Her face fell. “This is a mistake!” she pleaded, but it was over.

Matt was devastated. “I loved her.” I comforted him, “She wasn’t who you thought she was.”

Days later, police confirmed her history of fraud. It was painful, but I was relieved. This time, she wouldn’t get away.