After I left the lawyer’s office in the pouring rain, I wore a face of defeat, masking my true emotions. Beneath it, I felt a thrill of satisfaction. My split from Mike was finally complete.
I had given him everything in the divorce— the house, the car, the savings. Or at least, that’s what he thought. The truth was, I had been planning this carefully for months. Our marriage had crumbled due to Mike’s obsession with money, and now he was about to pay the price.
Mike had come home late one evening, asking for a divorce with a smug expression. During negotiations, he laid out his demands with a self-satisfied grin, convinced he had won. I agreed to everything, appearing to surrender. But I had an ace up my sleeve.
Weeks later, after packing my things, I sent a letter to my mother, Barbara. Years ago, she had helped us buy the house, and now, due to an agreement between her and Mike, she held the rights to live there whenever she wished.
The next morning, Mike was furious. He discovered too late that my mother now had full control of the house. His angry call was abruptly silenced by my mom’s calm voice on the other end, firmly establishing her presence there.
I couldn’t hold back a smile as he stammered, his anger mounting. The tables had turned, and his once-smug victory dissolved into frustration. With our arrangement set, my mother was comfortably installed, and Mike realized he’d lost everything.
Finally, I was free—ready to move forward without the weight of a broken marriage. Taking a deep breath, I felt an overwhelming peace.
In the end, he may have thought he’d won, but I walked away laughing, finally embracing my freedom.
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