I left the lawyer’s office with a blank expression, my shoulders slumped, intentionally looking like a defeated ex-wife. The rain fell heavily, its rhythm matching my mood—or at least the mood I wanted others to perceive.
But inside, I was far from defeated. My hands gripped the cold steel of the elevator door handle as I moved toward the lift, relieved to be alone. The moment the door closed behind me, I let out a little giggle, a sound I hadn’t expected. It bubbled up from somewhere deep, like champagne popping from a bottle.
The more I thought about the deal I’d just made, the more I couldn’t contain it. Soon, I was laughing uncontrollably in the elevator, as if I had lost my mind. If anyone had seen me then, they’d think the divorce had finally pushed me over the edge. But, no. This was just the beginning, and everything was falling into place exactly as I had planned.
The house, the car, the savings—Mike could have them all. He thought he had won, and that was the best part. He had no idea what I was about to do.
Years of Disillusionment
Mike and I hadn’t been happy for years, but it wasn’t just a simple falling out. Mike was obsessed with appearances—flashy cars, designer clothes, the biggest house on the block. To him, everything was about performance, about showing the world his success. And for a long time, I played along, knowing all too well what was happening beneath the surface.
As the years passed, the cracks became undeniable. The arguments grew louder, the disillusionment more pronounced. I had known for a while that the end was inevitable. Mike didn’t care about fixing the marriage. What mattered to him was winning—winning the house, the money, the divorce. All I wanted was freedom from the pretentious life he had dragged me into. But I wasn’t going to let him win at my expense.
I let him think he would get everything, but there was one catch—one that would sink him like a hook in his gut.
The Final Blow
It was a Tuesday evening when Mike finally walked through the door, his face flushed with frustration from a bad day at work. He slammed his keys on the kitchen counter, expecting me to react.
“We need to talk,” he growled.
I sighed, pretending to scroll through my phone, my voice laced with boredom. “What now?”
“I’m done,” he said, his voice tight. “I want a divorce.”
I blinked slowly, like it was sinking in, but really, I’d been prepared for this moment for weeks.
“Okay,” I said simply.
He looked at me, bewildered. “That’s it? No fight? No begging?”
I shrugged. “What’s the point?”
He stood there for a second, clearly expecting me to plead, to beg him to reconsider. But I wasn’t going to play into that drama. I had something else in mind. Something bigger.
When the divorce proceedings began, I was ready. We sat across from each other in a sterile conference room, our lawyers there as Mike rattled off everything he wanted—the house, the car, the savings. It was like he was checking off a list.
“Fine,” I said, not even bothering to listen. “You can have it all.”
My lawyer shot me a quick look, asking if I was sure, but I simply nodded.
Mike blinked. “Wait, what?”
“I said, you can have it,” I replied, leaning back in my chair. “I don’t want anything except my personal things.”
His face shifted, from confusion to glee. “Great! Then take the afternoon to pack up your things. You don’t have much, so you should be out by six.”
“No problem,” I said.
Mike sat up straighter, puffing his chest as if he had just won a victory. And that was the moment I let him think it. He had no idea what was coming.
The Master Plan
That moment in the elevator—when I finally let myself laugh—was when the real plan was set in motion. I stepped out of the elevator, pulled out my phone, and texted my mom:
I’m heading to the house to pack up my things. I’ll call you when it’s time to make your move.
I hit send, the corners of my mouth curling into a smile. This was it. Time for the real fun to begin.
Packing up was almost too easy. I didn’t want much—just a few personal items, a few memories that weren’t tainted by Mike’s obsession with status. The house had always felt more like his than mine, so letting go wasn’t hard.
As I taped up the last box, I picked up the phone and dialed my mom. She answered on the second ring.
“Hey,” I said, my voice casual. “It’s time.”
I could hear her familiar, no-nonsense tone on the other end. “Finally. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”
Mom hated Mike from the moment she met him. She had always seen through his flashy facade, and the best part? She had helped us buy the house. Mike thought he had scored a great deal, but little did he know, he had signed an agreement that would come back to haunt him.
I hung up and looked around the house for the last time. I was done pretending.
Sweet Revenge
The next morning, as I made breakfast in my new apartment, my phone rang. I smirked as Mike’s name flashed across the screen.
“Hello?” I answered sweetly.
“You set me up!” Mike’s voice crackled with fury. “Your mother! She’s in my house! She’s taken over everything!”
“Oh, right,” I said, biting into my toast. “Remember that agreement we signed when she gave us the down payment? The one that lets her live there whenever she wants, for as long as she wants?”
There was a long pause as the gears in Mike’s brain slowly started to turn.
“You!” he spat. “You cheated me! This isn’t over! I’m getting my lawyers—”
Before he could finish, I heard my mom’s voice cutting through the phone, loud and sharp. “Michael, you better get your feet off that coffee table! And stop hogging the remote!”
There was a muffled sound, as if Mike had tried to whisper. “Barbara, this is my house—”
“Oh, hush,” Mom interrupted. “It’s my house just as much as yours. And another thing—what’s with all these cheap snacks? Do you even know how to grocery shop? I’m not living off frozen dinners!”
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Mike muttered something incomprehensible, but before he could speak again, Mom shouted over him.
“And turn down that TV! You think I want to listen to that nonsense all day? If you’re going to watch those ridiculous car shows, at least mute it!”
I smiled, my heart swelling with satisfaction as I imagined Mike, trapped in his own house, fumbling with the reality of his own mistakes.
With the phone call ended, I leaned back and sighed deeply. Freedom never tasted so sweet.
