But inside, I was buzzing with excitement. My fingers gripped the cold steel handle of the door as I made my way to the elevator. There was no one around, which was perfect.

As soon as the elevator doors shut behind me with a soft ding, I let out a small giggle. It wasn’t something I had planned, it just bubbled out from deep inside, like champagne escaping after a bottle is popped.

If anyone had seen me, they probably would have thought I had lost it from all the stress. But no, this was just the start. Everything was going exactly how I had hoped.

The house, the car, the savings—Mike could have all of it. That was precisely what I wanted. He believed he’d won, and that was the best part. He didn’t have the faintest clue about what was coming next.

A few weeks ago…

Mike and I hadn’t been happy in a long time, but it wasn’t your typical kind of drifting apart. Mike was obsessed with looking successful. His life revolved around flashy cars, having the biggest house in the neighborhood, and always wearing the latest designer clothes.

But I wasn’t afraid of the divorce. I knew Mike well enough to know exactly how things would play out.

He wasn’t interested in saving our marriage. No, all he wanted was to win—to win the house, the money, and the divorce itself.

It happened one Tuesday. Mike came home late, as usual. I was in the kitchen, pretending to scroll through my phone, not bothering to look up when he came storming in.

“We need to talk.”

He slammed his keys onto the counter, and I could feel his frustration filling the room. He always got like this when things weren’t going his way at work, and naturally, I was the easiest target for his anger.

“I’m done,” he said, his voice strained with tension. “I want a divorce.”

“Okay,” I responded casually.

He looked at me, surprised. “That’s it? No argument? No begging?”

For a second, he seemed thrown off, like I had just taken the fight out of him. He clearly expected me to plead with him to stay.

But I was just giving him enough space to hang himself.

And through it all, he had this smug little grin on his face, like he thought I was going to break down in tears at any second.

“Fine,” I said, barely paying attention. “You can have it all.”

Mike blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I said, you can have it. I don’t want any of it, except my personal things.”

“Nope,” I replied, leaning back in my chair. “It’s all yours.”

His shock turned into sheer joy. “Great. Then take this afternoon to pack up your stuff. It’s not much, so that should be plenty of time.” Mike glanced at his watch. “I’ll expect you to be out by six.”

He sat up straighter, puffing out his chest like he had just hit the jackpot. And I let him believe it.

Which brings us back to that moment in the elevator, where I finally allowed myself to laugh.

I hit send and smiled. Now the real fun was about to start.

Packing up the house wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. I didn’t want much, just a few personal items, mostly things that held memories that weren’t ruined by Mike. The house always felt too big anyway, and it never really felt like mine.

“Hey,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual. “It’s time.”

There was a pause, then Mom’s usual, no-nonsense voice came through. “Finally. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

I hung up, feeling lighter as I glanced around. No more pretending.

The next morning, as I was making breakfast in my new apartment, my phone rang. Mike’s name flashed on the screen, and I couldn’t help but smirk.

“You set me up!” Mike’s voice was livid, practically shaking with rage.

I switched the phone to speaker mode and took a bite of toast. “I’m sorry, what are you talking about?”

“Oh, right,” I said, as I chewed. “Remember that little agreement we signed when she gave us the down payment? The one that lets her live there whenever she wants, for as long as she wants?”

There was a long pause, and I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. I could picture the exact moment he realized what was going on.

“You! You tricked me! This isn’t over. I’ll get my lawyers—”

Before he could finish, I heard my mom’s voice, clear and sharp through the phone. “Michael, you better get your feet off that coffee table! And stop hogging the remote!”

“Oh, hush,” Mom cut him off, her voice louder now. “It’s my house too. And another thing, these snacks are awful. Do you even know how to grocery shop? I’m not surviving on frozen dinners!”

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Mike mumbled something, still barely holding back his frustration, but before he could say anything else, Mom’s voice cut through again.

There was a loud crash, followed by more grumbling, and then the phone call abruptly ended. I leaned back, taking a deep breath and smiling as I sat at the table.

Freedom never felt so sweet.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.