“Divorce? John, tell me you’re joking! And did I hear you right? You want a fair share?” I erupted, gripping the arms of my chair as my husband casually announced that he was “tired” of his dull life and longed for freedom.
John smirked. “Oh, Nicky! You had to have seen this coming. Let’s be honest—there’s nothing left between us. I refuse to spend the rest of my years sulking around. I want to be free, to live, maybe even meet someone new… SO YES, I’M DIVORCING YOU.”
“And you think I’ll just let you walk away without a fight? Think again, John!” I snapped. “You want to live like a free man? Well, guess what? I’m not signing those divorce papers, and you’re not getting a dime from me, let alone any share of what we have!”
“You can’t do that, Nicky! If you don’t sign willingly, I’ll make sure you have no choice but to!”
I chuckled bitterly. “Oh, poor Johnny! What are you going to do? Bring one of your mistresses home? The young women you’ve been fooling around with? Let me tell you something—they won’t cook and clean for you the way I did! I spent 47 years taking care of you! I raised our kids alone while you napped on the couch after work, drank beer, and went out with your friends. And now you think you can just leave without consequences? Not a chance!”
John exhaled sharply and glanced at his wristwatch. “Well, in that case, I suppose I don’t have much time to argue. I’m leaving for Mexico in an hour—for six months. I’ve already made all the arrangements and, well, I spent nearly all of our savings from our joint account.”
My stomach dropped. “What?! How could you—John, that money was mine too! How dare you touch it without even discussing it with me?”
“I knew you’d cause a scene over the divorce, Nicky. So I planned ahead!”
With that, John disappeared into our bedroom, packed his bags, and walked out, leaving the divorce papers on the table. “If you don’t want to suffer the consequences, sign them fast. Otherwise, your life is about to get a whole lot worse,” he warned before slamming the door behind him.
I broke down, watching him leave.
John had never been the best husband, but I had only recently discovered the full extent of his infidelity. He had been with women much younger than him—women who weren’t interested in a future, just a fleeting thrill.
And now, he was trying to discard me like an old shirt.
But I wasn’t about to let that happen.
With both our son and daughter grown and gone, John was all I had left. Even after uncovering his affairs, I had chosen to stay silent, hoping things might change. But they hadn’t.
And now he wanted to divorce me?
No, John. Not this time. You weren’t getting away with it.
Three months later…
I was curled up in the living room, sipping raspberry tea and nibbling on a chocolate chip cookie, glancing at the clock when the doorbell rang.
I nearly dropped my cup when I opened the door.
John stood there, looking disheveled. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be in Mexico?”
“Oh, Nicky! I made a huge mistake. I am so, so sorry!” he pleaded, sinking to his knees. “Please forgive me! I should never have left you.”
I blinked in disbelief. “John, what’s going on? Okay, take a deep breath. Come inside, and we’ll talk.”
Once we settled in, he buried his face in his hands. “I met this young woman, Maddison,” he began. “She was stunning, and I thought she truly cared about me. We spent two months together in Mexico… but she played me for a fool. She took all my money! Everything!”
He groaned, rubbing his temples. “We lived in her tiny apartment, and she had me doing everything—cooking, cleaning, even babysitting her two kids. I thought she loved me! But every night… she avoided intimacy. She always had an excuse, saying her kids needed her. And then one day, she vanished, taking everything with her. It was all a lie! She just wanted my money!”
I gasped, struggling to suppress my smirk. “Oh, John, that’s… just awful! You poor thing.”
Just then, the doorbell rang again.
“One moment,” I said, getting up.
As I opened the door, John suddenly stiffened. “Nicky! What—what is SHE doing here?!” he sputtered, pointing a trembling finger at the woman on our porch. “That’s her! She’s the one who robbed me!”
Maddison and I exchanged knowing glances before bursting into laughter.
“John,” I said, crossing my arms. “Meet Mandy—or, as you called her, Maddison. She’s my friend’s daughter. A single mother who helped me gather proof against my cheating husband.”
John’s face turned red. “What?! You set this up?! You’ll regret this, Nicky!”
“No, John,” I shot back, my voice firm. “YOU’RE the one who will regret this. Pack your bags and get out of my house! And for the record—I am divorcing YOU. And I’ll make damn sure you don’t get a cent! Now leave!”
John grumbled under his breath but had no choice but to leave.
As soon as he was gone, I turned to Mandy, grinning. “Tea?”
“Absolutely,” she laughed.
And so, we spent the rest of that chilly morning sipping raspberry tea, munching on cookies, and relishing how flawlessly our plan had worked.
A few months later, the divorce was finalized.
When our children found out what had happened, they stood by my side and openly mocked their father for his pitiful choices.
Justice, at last.