After years in a strained marriage dominated by Mike’s obsession with material wealth, I decided to give him everything in the divorce: the house, the car, and the savings. It was exactly what he wanted—he thought he had won. But he had no idea this was part of my plan all along.
As I left the lawyer’s office, my face appeared calm and defeated, fitting the image of a woman who had just lost it all. Rain poured down, the gray sky matching the mood I wanted to project. Inside, though, I was buzzing with excitement. The moment the elevator doors closed, a giggle escaped me, quickly turning into full-blown laughter. No one was around to witness it—and that was perfect. It wasn’t madness, but the sweet joy of a well-executed plan.
Mike had always been obsessed with status: the cars, the house, the designer clothes. Everything for him was performance, a way to feed his ego. When he stormed into the kitchen announcing, “I want a divorce,” I simply nodded. I had been prepared for weeks.
At the divorce negotiation, he smugly laid out his demands, listing off the house, the car, and the savings account like a grocery list. When I told him he could have everything, his shock was palpable. “Wait, what?” he stammered. “You don’t want the house or the money?” I confirmed it, and his grin widened, convinced he had won.
But I had one final move. After leaving the lawyer’s office, I sent a quick message: I’m heading to the house to pack my things. I’ll call you when it’s time to make your move.
Packing was quick. I only took personal items, leaving behind the extravagant things Mike cared about. The house had always felt more like his than mine, and I was ready to move on. As I packed the last box, I called my mother.
“It’s time,” I said simply.
Mom had always disliked Mike, seeing through his flashy exterior from the beginning. What Mike didn’t know was that she had helped us buy the house. Part of the deal gave her legal rights to live there whenever she wanted—a fine print clause Mike had glossed over in his eagerness to get the house.
The next morning, as I settled into my new apartment, my phone rang. It was Mike, furious.
“Your mother is here! She’s taken over everything!” he yelled.
I calmly reminded him of the agreement he had signed. I could hear my mom’s voice cutting through the phone:
“Michael, get your feet off the coffee table! And stop hogging the remote!”
Her no-nonsense attitude was enough to drive him up the wall.
I had given Mike everything he valued. But in the end, I had taken what really mattered: my freedom—and a little bit of sweet revenge.