During the divorce negotiations, Mike rattled off his demands like a shopping list: the house, the car, the savings. He even wanted my grandmother’s old dining set—not because he cared about it, but because he knew it meant something to me. His smug grin never wavered as he rattled off his claims.
“Fine,” I said, barely paying attention. “You can have it all.”
Even my lawyer looked at me in disbelief. Mike, on the other hand, was practically giddy. He leaned back in his chair, puffing out his chest.
“Great,” he said, barely able to contain his joy. “Pack your things and be out by the weekend.”
“No problem,” I replied, my smile calm but knowing. Inside, I was already counting the hours until my plan came to fruition.
The day I moved out, I packed only the essentials—clothes, personal mementos, a few books. I didn’t need much. As I taped the last box shut, I pulled out my phone and sent a single message: It’s time.
A Week Later…
I was sitting in my new apartment, sipping coffee, when my phone buzzed. Mike’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hello?” I answered sweetly.
“You set me up!” His voice was a mix of rage and disbelief.
I grinned. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Your mother! She moved into the house! She’s taken over everything!”
“Oh, that.” I sipped my coffee, savoring the moment. “Remember that clause in the house agreement? The one that said my mom could live there whenever she wanted for as long as she wanted? You signed it, Mike.”
There was silence on the other end, and I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. He’d been so eager to claim the house that he hadn’t bothered reading the fine print.
“You can’t be serious,” he finally spat.
“Oh, I am. By the way, Mom’s very particular. I’d suggest stocking up on organic produce and lowering the TV volume. She hates loud noises.”
In the background, I could hear my mother’s unmistakable voice. “Michael! Why is there no sparkling water in the fridge? And the thermostat—why is it so high? Are you trying to roast us?”
Mike tried to argue, but she cut him off. “Don’t forget my dry cleaning, and make sure you get the good coffee this time. None of that instant nonsense.”
The call ended abruptly, followed by the sound of something crashing and a muffled yell. I leaned back in my chair, letting my laughter echo through the apartment.
Mike thought he had won. He took the house, the car, the savings. But what he didn’t realize was that the real prize—freedom—and the sweet, sweet taste of karma, were all mine.