When I found myself locked out of my own home, I knew my marriage ended. But what my ch3ating husband didn’t know was that I was about to teach him a lesson he’d never forget.
“Jason, it’s almost nine. You promised you’d be home by six.”
“Work was crazy, Alice. What do you want me to do? Tell my boss I need to leave early?”
Jason loosened his tie, walking past the table where I’d set up a small birthday dinner for myself. Two candles stood next to a cake I’d picked up on my lunch break.
“Yes, actually,” I said.
“That’s exactly what you could have done. Just once. Especially after you promised. It’s my birthday, Jason.”
“Oh, no. I forgot.”
“Clearly.”
“Come on, don’t be like that.” “I’m working hard for us, you know that.”
I expressed a fake laugh.
“For us?” I repeated.
“You’re never even here, Jason. We barely talk anymore. When was the last time we had dinner together? Or watched a movie? Or did anything as a couple?”
“That’s not fair. I’m building my career so we can have a good future.”
“What future? We’re living separate lives in the same house.” I
“I make more money than you anyway, so let’s not pretend this is about providing for us.”
Jason’s face hardened. “Of course, you’d throw that in my face. God forbid I try to catch up to my successful wife.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Save it. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” He walked away.
He was my husband. I loved him. Marriage had rough patches, right? Everyone said so.
Little did I know I’d regret forgiving him so easily.
Three weeks after my ruined birthday, I came home early from work with a pounding headache. I can’t enter my house and then I realized the brass doorknob and lock had been replaced with a sleeker silver one.
“That’s weird,” I shouted.
When I inserted my key into the lock, it didn’t fit.
That’s when I noticed the note taped to the door, written in Jason’s familiar scrawl.
This is no longer your home. Look for somewhere else to stay.
What the heck? I thought.
Then, I saw through the door and screamed Jason’s name. Finally, the door swung open, revealing my husband.
And behind him was a woman wrapped in my robe.
“You can’t be serious,” I whispered.
“Listen,” he smirked.
“I’ve moved on. Mia and I are together now, and we need our space. You can cr.ash somewhere else.”
Mia. The same coworker he had sworn was “just a friend.”
“I packed your stuff in the boxes,” she said. “You may pick them up in the garage.”
Jason thought he could kick me out of the house and get away with it, but I knew I couldn’t let that happen.
A harsh plan.
***
“Alice? Oh my God.” My sister Paula opened her door.
“What happened?”
I sat on the couch and shared everything to my sister.
“That absolute piece of garbage,” Paula hissed when I finished.
“And this Mia person was wearing your robe?”
“My birthday gift from Mom,” I said,
“What can I do? The house is in his name.” I took a long sip.
“The mortgage was approved on his credit score since mine was still recovering from grad school.”
Paula’s eyes narrowed. “But who’s been making the payments?”
“We both have, but…” I paused.
“I’ve paid for everything else. Every piece of furniture. The kitchen renovation last year. All the appliances.”
“Exactly,” Paula said.
“So, what exactly does Jason own besides an empty house?”
I checked out my phone and scrolled through my banking app.
“I’ve kept every receipt. I’m obsessive about our budget tracking.”
“Of course you have,” Paula laughed. “Miss Spreadsheet Queen.”
Denise’s eyes gleamed. “Then let’s make a list.”
We spent the rest of the morning inventorying everything I had purchased for our home.
“This is impressive,” Denise nodded. “With these receipts, there’s no question what belongs to you.”
After listing furnitures, I called a moving company in this afternoon. Luckily, the owner, Mike, was sympathetic to my situation.
“We had a similar case last year,” he told me.
“Wife caught her husband ch3ating, wanted all her stuff out while he was at work.”
“That’s exactly what I need,” I said.
“But with one difference. I want them to be there when it happens.”
I waited for Saturday when my husband and his mistress would both be home.
Once Mike and his workers were there, I knocked on the door and my husband opened it.
“Hey, honey,” I said sweetly.
“I’m just here to pick up my things.”
The washing machine? Unplugged mid-cycle, soaking clothes dumped into a plastic tub.
The oven? Opened right as a pie was baking. Mine now.
My vanity, my smart TV, the couch they lounged on? Gone.
He just gazed at me, unable to say anything.
“Oh, and by the way? You changing the locks while I was still legally living here?” I smiled.
“That’s illegal. I could take this to court and really make your life hell. But honestly? Watching you two stand here, miserable, in your empty house is so much more satisfying.”
And I know I did exactly what needed to be done.
