I thought my husband’s affair was the worst betrayal, but when he brought his mistress to our home to evict me, I was shattered. Then an unexpected hero turned his plan upside down. I’m Rachel, and after five years with Dylan, our marriage crumbled. Our struggle to have a child broke my spirit, and I blamed myself, while Dylan pulled away, obsessing over workouts and his new convertible. I felt lost, questioning my worth, but never imagined the cruelty he’d unleash.
Last night, my friend Ava coaxed me out. Dylan claimed he’d be late at the gym, so we went to a cozy lounge with jazz and warm lights. Ava’s laughter lifted me until she froze, staring behind me. “Rachel, is that Dylan?” My chest tightened. I turned and saw him in a corner, cozy with a young woman who giggled at his whispers. Fury took over, and I marched over. “Dylan, what’s this?” I demanded. He smirked. “Rachel, it’s over. I’m with Lisa now.”
Lisa’s smug smile stung, and Dylan’s blunt “We’re done” left me speechless. Ava pulled me out, vowing he’d regret it, and drove me to her place, where I cried. By morning, I decided to face him, hoping for a shred of regret. Instead, I found my clothes, books, and mementos dumped on the lawn. Dylan and Lisa stood on the porch, grinning. “My grandpa’s house,” he said. “You’re out. Take your stuff.” I fought tears, packing my car, as Lisa taunted, “This place needs a modern touch.”
I was planning to crash with Ava when a luxury car rolled up. Dylan’s grandfather, Mr. Foster, stepped out, his face furious. He’d always been warm to me, despite his tough exterior. “What’s happening?” he roared. Dylan mumbled, “It’s private, Grandpa.” Mr. Foster’s voice thundered. “Private? You’re kicking out Rachel for her?” He pointed at Lisa. Dylan tried to argue, but Mr. Foster cut in. “This house is mine. I gave it to you for a life with Rachel. You’re out—now.”
Dylan’s face drained. “You can’t!” Mr. Foster stood firm. “You’re cut off. No money, no support. Go.” Dylan and Lisa scurried off, shocked. Inside, Mr. Foster softened. “I came to fund IVF,” he said. “Now, the house is yours.” He vowed to transfer the deed, apologizing for Dylan’s behavior. Tears fell as I thanked him. The house became mine legally, and Lisa left Dylan when his funds vanished, leaving him couch-surfing.
A week later, Dylan showed up, unkempt, begging me to call his grandfather. “I’m broke,” he said, no apology, just regret for lost wealth. “You chose this,” I said, shutting the door on his shouts. The moment felt right. Maybe I’ll pity him later, but not now. Dylan thought he’d ruin me, but Mr. Foster’s loyalty gave me a fresh start, showing that justice can triumph over betrayal.
