I stepped out of the lawyer’s office, my expression blank, shoulders slumped, looking every bit like the defeated ex-wife. The sky matched my demeanor, heavy with clouds, rain pouring steadily. It was the perfect backdrop for the illusion of misery I was putting on.
Inside, though, I was anything but miserable. My heart pounded with excitement as I gripped the cold handle of the door and headed for the elevator, grateful that no one else was around to witness what was coming next.
As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, a giggle slipped out before I could stop it, bubbling up like a cork popping from a champagne bottle. Then came another, until I was laughing uncontrollably, the sound bouncing off the small space, filling it completely. If anyone had seen me, they’d probably think I had finally lost my mind. But no, this was just the beginning. Everything was unfolding exactly as I had planned.
The house, the car, the money—Mike could have them all. He thought he had won, but he had no idea that this was precisely the outcome I had orchestrated.
The elevator dinged to a stop, and I forced myself to regain composure. My reflection in the mirrored walls showed a woman with messy hair, tired eyes, and a smirk that refused to fade. It didn’t matter. The real fun was about to begin.
A few weeks earlier, Mike and I had already been living as strangers under the same roof. It wasn’t just a case of drifting apart—he had become obsessed with appearances. Everything had to be bigger, better, and more expensive. Luxury cars, designer clothes, an enormous house that was more for show than comfort. He wanted the world to see him as successful, and for a long time, I had played along. But as our marriage unraveled, I realized something important. The divorce was inevitable.
It wasn’t the separation itself that worried me. I knew Mike well enough to predict how he would handle it. He didn’t care about the relationship. He cared about winning. To him, that meant taking everything—every last material possession—just to prove a point.
What he didn’t realize was that I had already thought ahead. And if letting him believe he had bested me was part of the strategy, I was more than happy to play the role.
One evening, he came home late, as usual. I was in the kitchen, absently scrolling through my phone, barely acknowledging his entrance. He didn’t waste any time.
“We need to talk,” he announced, his voice clipped with impatience.
I sighed, not even looking up. “What now?”
“I want a divorce,” he said, tossing his keys onto the counter.
Finally. I had been waiting for this moment.
I nodded, keeping my expression neutral, as if processing the news. But inside, I was practically beaming.
“Okay,” I said simply, my tone steady.
He blinked, clearly taken aback. “That’s it? No argument? No begging?”
“What’s the point?” I shrugged, watching the irritation flicker across his face.
He had expected resistance. He had expected me to fight, to plead. But instead, I gave him exactly what he thought he wanted.
The divorce negotiations were as tedious as I had anticipated. Sitting across from me, Mike laid out his demands with a smug expression, as if he were reading off a shopping list. The house, the car, the savings—he wanted everything.
“Fine,” I said, barely paying attention. “Take it all.”
My lawyer shot me a concerned glance, but I nodded to reassure him. This was all part of the bigger picture.
Mike’s triumphant grin faltered for a split second before returning in full force. “You don’t want the house? Or the money?”
“Nope,” I replied, leaning back in my chair. “It’s all yours.”
He paused, almost as if he couldn’t believe his luck. Then, puffed up with self-satisfaction, he pushed back his chair. “Great. I expect you to pack your things and be out by six.”
“Sure, no problem.”
As he walked away, radiating victory, I let him savor his false success. He had no idea what was really in store for him.
Back in the elevator, I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text. “Heading to pack. Proceeding with the plan.”
Packing didn’t take long. I had no emotional attachment to that house—it had never felt like a home, just another one of Mike’s trophies. I took only what was important to me, sealing the last box with tape before making the call I had been waiting to make.
“Hey, Mom,” I said when she answered. “It’s time.”
My mother, Barbara, had never liked Mike. From the very beginning, she had seen right through him. More importantly, she had helped finance the house when we bought it. And, being the intelligent woman that she was, she had made sure her financial contribution came with legal strings attached—ones Mike had conveniently overlooked in his greed.
The next morning, as I settled into my new, cozy apartment, my phone rang. Mike’s name flashed on the screen, and I answered, putting him on speaker while I calmly sipped my coffee.
“You set me up!” His voice was practically shaking with fury.
I leaned back in my chair. “What are you talking about, Mike?”
“Your mother! She’s in MY house! She’s taken over everything!”
“Oh, that,” I mused, unable to suppress a grin. “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 that followed was absolute perfection. I could practically see his expression as he pieced it together.
“You can’t be serious! I’ll sue! This isn’t over!”
Before he could continue, I heard my mother’s voice in the background, as firm as ever. “Michael, take your feet off my coffee table! And stop hogging the remote!”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing as Mike tried to argue, but Mom wasn’t having it.
“And while you’re at it, fix the grocery situation. I’m not living off frozen dinners!”
There was a click, and the call ended.
I put my phone down and let out a long, satisfied sigh.
Freedom had never felt so good.