After a bitter marriage marked by Mike’s obsession with material wealth, Nicole shockingly agrees to give him everything in their divorce. But as Mike revels in his “victory,” Nicole’s laughter reveals a secret plan in motion. What Mike doesn’t know is that she’s about to make her final move.
I stepped out of the lawyer’s office with a blank expression, my shoulders slumped, looking every bit the defeated ex-wife. The rain was coming down hard, and the gray sky matched my mood — or at least the mood I wanted people to think I was in.
Inside, I was buzzing. My hands clenched the cold steel of the door handle as I headed toward the elevator. No one was around. Good.
The elevator door closed behind me with a soft ding, and as soon as I was alone, I let out a little giggle. It wasn’t something I planned; it bubbled up from deep inside like champagne finally uncorked.
The more I thought about what I’d just done, the more it built up until I was cackling in the elevator like a lunatic.
If anyone saw me right then, they’d think I had finally snapped, gone over the edge from all the stress — but oh no, this was just the beginning. Everything was falling perfectly into place.
The house, the car, the savings — Mike could have them all. It was exactly what I wanted. He thought he’d won, and that was the best part. He didn’t have a clue what was coming.
The elevator stopped with a jolt, and I pulled myself together. Messy hair, tired eyes, but a smile tugging at my lips. I didn’t care. This was going to be fun.
A few weeks earlier…
Mike and I hadn’t been happy for years. But it wasn’t just falling out of love. Mike was obsessed with his image — the flashy cars, the biggest house, designer everything. All of it was a performance, and I’d played my part for too long.
When the arguments became more frequent, I knew it wouldn’t be long before the inevitable.
The thing is, I wasn’t scared of the divorce. I knew Mike, and I knew exactly how this would play out.
He didn’t care about saving the marriage — he wanted to win. Win the house, win the money, win the divorce.
All I wanted was freedom. But that didn’t mean I’d let him walk all over me. I’d give him what he wanted… with a catch.
It happened on a Tuesday. Mike came home late, again. I sat in the kitchen pretending to scroll through my phone.
“We need to talk,” he said, dropping his keys on the counter.
“I’m done. I want a divorce.”
I blinked at him. Finally.
“Okay,” I said.
He frowned. “That’s it? No fight? No begging?”
“What’s the point?”
He looked confused — he expected drama, tears. But I just needed to give him enough rope.
Negotiations were awful. Mike listed everything he wanted — the house, the car, the savings — like he was ordering lunch. The smug grin on his face made me want to laugh.
“Fine,” I said. “You can have it all.”
My lawyer stared at me, but I nodded.
Mike blinked. “You don’t want anything?”
“Nope. Just my personal things.”
His shock turned into glee. “Great. Then be out by six.”
“Sure.”
He thought he’d won.
As I left the lawyer’s office that day, I texted:
I’m heading to the house to pack up my things. I’ll call you when it’s time to make your move.
Time for the real fun to begin.
Packing was easy. I only took a few personal items — things untouched by Mike’s ego.
When I finished, I called my mom.
“It’s time,” I said.
She exhaled, satisfied. “Finally. I’ve been waiting for this.”
She had helped us buy the house. She knew exactly what she was doing back then. And now her timing was perfect.
The next morning, while making breakfast in my new apartment, Mike called.
“You set me up!” he shouted.
I put him on speaker. “What are you talking about?”
“Your mother! She’s in my house! She’s taken over everything!”
“Oh, right,” I said casually. “Remember that agreement you signed when she gave us the down payment? The one that lets her live there whenever she wants, for as long as she wants?”
Silence.
He’d signed it years ago without reading the fine print.
“You cheated me! This isn’t over—”
Before he could continue, I heard my mom in the background:
“Michael, get your feet off that coffee table! And stop hogging the remote!”
“Barbara, this is my house—”
“Oh, hush. It’s my house just as much as yours. And what is with these cheap snacks? Do you know how to grocery shop?”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing.
“And turn down that TV! I’m not listening to that nonsense!”
More chaos, then the call abruptly ended.
I smiled as I sat down with my breakfast.
Freedom never tasted so sweet.
