When I walked out of the lawyer’s office, my posture slumped, my face showing defeat, as if I had lost everything. The gloomy weather and pouring rain only added to my charade. Inside, however, I was practically buzzing. As I stepped into the elevator, my hand gripping the cold steel of the door, I finally let out a giggle. Once the doors closed behind me, it turned into full-on laughter. If anyone had seen me, they would have thought I had snapped under the pressure. But no, this was all going exactly as I had planned.
Mike had no idea what was about to happen. He could keep the house, the car, and the savings because none of it mattered to me anymore. What mattered was freedom—and watching him fall into the trap I had set.
Our Marriage: All Show, No Substance
For years, Mike had been obsessed with appearances. Everything was about showing off—whether it was the biggest house, the flashiest car, or the most expensive suits. He cared more about how we looked to others than about our actual relationship. I had grown tired of the charade long before the divorce papers came. So, when our fights became unbearable and Mike finally asked for a divorce, I didn’t resist. I was ready to let go of the pretense and the lifestyle that came with it.
The thing about Mike is that he never cared about the relationship—he only cared about winning. Winning the house, the car, the money—it was all a game to him. And I was about to let him think he had won it all, while I quietly set the stage for his downfall.
The Divorce Negotiations
When Mike came home one evening, frustrated from work, he slammed his keys on the counter and declared, “I want a divorce.” I had been expecting this for weeks, so I simply nodded, much to his surprise. He thought I would beg, plead, or put up a fight, but I knew better. I had been preparing for this.
In the sterile conference room, with lawyers on both sides, Mike listed off everything he wanted: the house, the car, the savings. I didn’t even flinch. “You can have it all,” I said. My lawyer shot me a concerned look, but I nodded in reassurance. Mike’s smug expression said it all—he thought he had beaten me. But the truth? I was getting exactly what I wanted.
The Final Move
After packing up my personal belongings, I made a quick phone call to my mother, Barbara. She had been waiting for this moment just as eagerly as I had. Years ago, she had helped us buy the house, and Mike had conveniently forgotten one small detail—an agreement that gave my mom the right to live in the house whenever she wanted.
The next morning, my phone rang. Mike was livid. “Your mother is in my house!” he shouted. I calmly reminded him of the agreement he had signed, too caught up in owning the house to notice the fine print. The realization of his mistake hit him hard.
And that was it. Mike had won everything on paper, but he was now stuck living with my mother, who had no plans to go easy on him. Meanwhile, I was free, happier in my new little apartment, and laughing at the perfect execution of my plan.
In the end, freedom tasted much sweeter than any house or car ever could.
