I never imagined that after ten years of marriage, I would be tossed aside like an unwanted piece of furniture. But that’s exactly what happened.
One evening, I came home from work to find my clothes in trash bags outside the house. I thought there had been a mistake—maybe a cleaning service had mixed things up. But as I stepped inside, I saw her. My husband’s mistress, lounging on my couch, sipping wine from my favorite glass.
“You don’t live here anymore,” she said, her voice dripping with arrogance.
My husband, Mark, appeared from the kitchen. His face showed no guilt, no regret—only irritation that I was still standing there.
“I told you, Sarah,” he said flatly, “we’re done. I moved on. You should too.”
Just like that, I was homeless. He had frozen our joint account, locked me out of our digital life, and even changed the security system. The betrayal was complete. I had no choice but to stay at a friend’s place while I figured out my next move.
But fate wasn’t done with Mark yet.
A month later, I got a call from his mother, Linda. Unlike her son, she had always treated me with kindness, and now, she was livid. Apparently, Mark had told her I had “left him,” omitting the part where he had thrown me out like garbage. But Linda wasn’t stupid.
She had visited the house unannounced and found the mistress living there, flaunting her victory. That was the last straw. Linda stormed into Mark’s office, handed him a folder, and delivered a single devastating sentence:
“You have until the end of the day to get out.”
Mark scoffed. “What are you talking about?”
Linda smirked. “That house? It’s mine. I co-signed the mortgage. Your father and I have been covering half the payments since you clearly couldn’t keep up. And guess what? I just transferred the deed—to Sarah.”
Mark paled. His mistress turned red with rage. “You can’t do that!” she shrieked.
Linda shrugged. “Oh, but I did. So pack your things, both of you. You’re trespassing on Sarah’s property now.”
By nightfall, Mark and his mistress were the ones standing outside with trash bags. The irony was delicious.
I walked through my front door, breathing in the sweet, satisfying air of justice. As I turned to Linda, my eyes filled with gratitude.
“Why did you do this for me?” I asked.
She smiled. “Because you were always the better woman, and my son was too blind to see it.”
Mark lost everything that night. His house, his comfort, and even his mistress—who decided she didn’t want to be with a man who had no home.
As for me? I got my life back. And that, I decided, was the best revenge of all.
