Logan, sitting smugly with his new fling on the porch, told me I was out—of his life, and his home. I swallowed my pride, packed what I could, and refused to let him see me break.
Just then, a black BMW pulled up. Out stepped Mr. Duncan, Logan’s grandfather, the family patriarch. His gaze hardened as he took in the scene. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.
Logan stammered, but Mr. Duncan wasn’t waiting for an answer. “You’ve humiliated your wife and shamed this family,” he snapped. Then, turning to me, he said, “You stay. Logan, leave.”
In the following days, Mr. Duncan kept his word. He signed over the house to me and cut Logan off financially. Soon enough, Logan, now destitute and alone, came begging for help.
“I have nothing left,” he pleaded, hoping I’d reach out to his grandfather on his behalf. But I saw through his empty remorse—he just wanted the wealth and status he’d lost.
My response? “No. You made your bed, now lie in it.” It felt cliché, but it was the most satisfying moment of reclaiming my life and moving forward.