I stepped out of the lawyer’s office, my expression blank, shoulders drooped, looking like the stereotypical defeated ex-wife. The sky was overcast, the rain pelting down—a perfect match for the façade of misery I wore.
But inside, I was buzzing with anticipation. I gripped the cold handle of the door and headed to the elevator, glad there was no one around to witness what came next.
As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, I couldn’t help it—a giggle slipped out, bubbling up from deep within like champagne finally uncorked. Before I knew it, I was laughing uncontrollably, the sound echoing in the small space like a madwoman.
If anyone had seen me at that moment, they’d think I had lost my mind from all the stress. But no—this was just the beginning. Everything was falling into place.
The house, the car, the money—Mike could have them all. That’s what he wanted, and I was happy to let him think he had won. Little did he know, this was all part of my plan.
As the elevator dinged to a stop, I pulled myself together. My reflection in the mirrored walls showed messy hair, tired eyes, and a smirk that still lingered. But I didn’t care. The real fun was about to begin.
A few weeks earlier…
Mike and I hadn’t been happy for years, but this wasn’t your typical drifting apart. Mike had become obsessed with status—luxury cars, the biggest house, designer clothes. He wanted to project the image of success, and I had played along for far too long. But when the cracks in our marriage deepened, I knew a divorce was inevitable.
It wasn’t the divorce I feared; I knew Mike too well. He didn’t care about saving the relationship—he just wanted to win. To him, victory meant taking everything: the house, the savings, the lifestyle.
What he didn’t realize was that I had my own plans in motion. And if giving him what he wanted was part of that, I was more than willing to play along.
One evening, Mike came home late, as usual. I was in the kitchen, pretending to scroll through my phone, barely acknowledging him when he stormed in.
“We need to talk,” he said, clearly agitated.
I sighed, bored. “What now?”
“I want a divorce,” he snapped, throwing his keys on the counter.
Finally. I had been waiting for this moment for weeks. I nodded calmly, like I was just processing the news, but inside I was smiling.
“Okay,” I said, my voice steady.
He blinked, taken aback. “That’s it? No fight? No begging?”
“What’s the point?” I shrugged, watching as his frustration grew.
He was expecting me to plead, to fight to keep him. But no—this was all going according to plan.
The divorce negotiations were as tedious as I expected. Mike sat across from me, his smug expression barely contained as he outlined every demand: the house, the car, the money—like he was reading off a shopping list.
“Fine,” I said, barely listening. “You can have it all.”
My lawyer gave me a concerned look, but I just nodded. This was all part of the game.
Mike’s eyes widened. “Wait… you don’t want the house? The savings?”
“Nope,” I replied, leaning back in my chair. “It’s all yours.”
His shock quickly turned to glee. “Well, great! I expect you to pack your things today and be out by six.”
“Sure, no problem.”
Mike left the room puffed up like he had just won a jackpot, but I let him bask in his false victory. He had no idea what was really coming.
Back in the elevator, I sent a quick text: “Heading to the house to pack. Let’s proceed with the plan.”
Packing up the house was easy—I didn’t want much, just my personal belongings. The house had always felt more like Mike’s trophy than a home. By the time I finished taping up my last box, I was ready to make the call.
“Hey, Mom,” I said when she picked up. “It’s time.”
My mom, Barbara, had seen through Mike from day one. She never liked him and, best of all, she had helped us buy the house. In fact, she had made sure her investment came with strings attached, ones Mike had overlooked in his greed.
The next morning, as I settled into my cozy new apartment, my phone rang. It was Mike.
“You set me up!” he roared, practically incoherent with rage.
I put him on speaker, casually sipping my coffee. “What are you talking about, Mike?”
“Your mother! She’s in MY house! She’s taken over everything!”
“Oh, that.” I smiled. “You forgot about the contract, didn’t you? The one that gives Mom the right to live there whenever she wants, for as long as she wants, since she provided the down payment?”
The silence on the other end was golden. I could almost see the look on his face as he pieced it together.
“You can’t be serious! I’ll sue! This isn’t over!” he sputtered.
Before he could finish, I heard my mom’s voice in the background, commanding. “Michael, take your feet off my coffee table! And stop hogging the remote!”
I stifled a laugh as Mike tried to reason with her, but she wasn’t having it.
“You hear me?” Mom continued. “And while you’re at it, fix the grocery situation. I’m not living off frozen dinners!”
The phone clicked off, leaving me in peace. I leaned back in my chair, a smile spreading across my face.
Freedom had never felt so good.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Source: Amomama
