Mike and I had been married for eight years. No kids yet, but I thought we were happy. Then one night, I came home to find a very pregnant woman sitting on my couch. Mike introduced her as Jessica, his mistress, and told me to move to my mom’s while they took the house.
I kept my cool, packing a suitcase and leaving without a word. The next day, I set my plan in motion. I froze our joint account, changed the locks on our house, and had movers pack up everything I owned, even the toilet paper.
I invited Mike’s friends and family to a “surprise party,” with a billboard on our lawn that read: “Congratulations on Dumping Me for Your Pregnant Mistress, Mike! Hope the Baby Doesn’t Inherit Your Infidelity!” I also listed the house for sale, mentioning the “bonus front lawn art installation.”
I had Mike served with divorce papers at work, and soon, Jessica called, crying that Mike was broke and homeless. She dumped him, and Mike ended up living in a tiny apartment. As for me, I sold the house for a profit, started a new business, and adopted a cat—named Karma.
