Our 10th anniversary glowed with Carl’s fancy party, a “love tribute,” but my smile hid a sinking feeling. Anita pranced up, flashing her bracelet—Carl’s latest splurge—cooing, “This is stunning! What’s he got you?” I gritted, “It’s lovely,” bracing myself. Carl hollered, “Gather round!” He gave me a huge box, my nerves buzzing. I unwrapped it—quiet hit. A mop gleamed inside, a slap in the face. Anita’s cackle rang out, vicious. “What’s this?” I croaked. Carl chuckled, “Joking—big gift later,” but his eyes said maid, not mate. Anita jeered, “Perfect for you!” A decade of neglect roared—I marched out, Carl calling, “Mary, stop!” His sports car loomed, his real darling. I smashed the mop into the windshield—boom!—glass flying. He screamed, “What’s that?!” I tossed it, “Happy anniversary,” and strode in, guests buzzing—“She’s lost it!”
In our room, I quaked—how’d we crash? A bang outside jolted me—a planter flattened his car’s hood, a wreck. I snickered—karma’s quick. Downstairs, Anita yelled into her phone, “Funds frozen? Fix it!” Her smirk faded, Carl dazed. Linda whispered, “Carl’s been with a lawyer—divorce coming.” It clicked—he’d mocked me first. “Thanks,” I said, plotting. That night, I found gold—house mine, most of our business too, Carl’s old tax dodge. He’d given me control, blind. Next day, I packed him up. “What’s happening?” he gasped. “You’re out—my home, my game,” I grinned. He whined, “I’m sorry,” but I shot back, “A mop, then papers? Nice try.” FBI arrived—Anita’s scam touched us. “I’ll help,” I said, “Grab your mop.” He left, broken, and Linda came, “You’re here?” “Mine,” I laughed. Over wine, we cheered—karma struck, and that mop marked my rise from the ashes.
