It was supposed to be a joyful night—our son Daniel was bringing his girlfriend Cindy home for the first time, and they’d just announced their engagement. My husband grilled, I made Daniel’s favorite dishes, and everything was perfect—until I saw her face. Something about Cindy felt wrong. Her smile seemed too polished, her laugh too rehearsed. The name Cindy triggered a memory of a news report: a con artist who had been stealing from families across several states. My gut screamed,

It’s her. Later, I invited her to the basement to “pick a wine,” then locked the door behind her. My husband and Daniel were stunned, especially when I told them to call the police. “Are you insane?” Daniel shouted. “No,” I said. “She’s not who she says she is.”