I left the lawyer’s office with a heavy sigh, rain drenching me as I shuffled to the elevator, playing the part of the broken ex. But alone inside, a smirk crept up, then a laugh I couldn’t hold back—loud, free, bouncing off the metal walls. People might’ve thought I’d lost it, but I’d just pulled off the perfect twist, and it felt incredible.
Rewind a bit—my marriage to Greg was a mess long before it ended. He was hooked on looking rich—big house, sleek car, tailored suits—while I grew tired of the act. Our fights escalated, and I knew divorce was near. Greg wanted to come out on top, grabbing all the shiny stuff. I wanted peace, but I wasn’t about to let him walk all over me—I had a secret weapon.
One evening, Greg stomped in, late as usual, and growled, “I’m filing for divorce.” I looked up from my coffee, unbothered, and said, “Okay.” He stared, thrown by my calm, “No yelling?” I shrugged, “Why bother?” He’d expected me to beg, but I was setting him up, step by step.
At the divorce table, Greg gloated, demanding the house, car, and cash, sure I’d crack. I said, “Take it—just leave my personal things,” and my lawyer’s eyes widened. Greg, stunned, recovered with a smug, “Be out by dusk.” I agreed, hiding my glee—he was falling right into it.
In that elevator, the giggles burst out because I’d outsmarted him. I messaged my dad, Tom: “Packing now—your turn.” Dad despised Greg’s show-off ways and had helped us buy the house, slipping in a clause Greg overlooked—Dad could move in anytime.
I packed light—sentimental bits, nothing more—and the house felt like Greg’s trophy anyway. I called Dad, “It’s on,” and he chuckled, “About time.” Next day, lounging in my new spot with eggs on the stove, Greg called, livid. “You set me up—Tom’s here, bossing me around!”
I grinned, “That deal we signed? He’s got rights to stay.” I heard Dad in the back, “Feet off my couch, Greg! And this junk food? We’re shopping!” Greg whined, “My house!” but Dad roared, “Ours—mute that trashy car ad!” A crash, a huff, and he hung up. I savored my breakfast—sweet liberty, with Greg stuck in his prize.
