I walked out of the lawyer's office with a blank expression and drooping shoulders, fitting the picture of a defeated ex-wife. The rain was coming down hard, and the gray, overcast sky perfectly matched the mood I wanted to display.

But deep inside, I was filled with excitement. My fingers wrapped around the cool metal of the door handle as I moved toward the elevator. The empty hallway was exactly what I needed at that moment.

When the elevator doors slid shut with a quiet ding, a small laugh slipped out. It wasn’t planned, just something that bubbled up, like the fizz escaping when a champagne bottle is uncorked.

The more I thought about what had just taken place, the more the laughter built until I was practically giggling uncontrollably in the elevator like someone who had finally lost it.

If anyone had been around to see me, they might have assumed I was cracking under the weight of stress. But no, this was only the beginning. Everything was going according to plan.

The house, the car, the money—Mike could have all of it. That was exactly what I intended. He thought he’d won, and that was the most satisfying part of all. He had no idea what was coming next.

The elevator came to a sudden stop, and I composed myself. I glanced at my reflection in the mirrored walls: disheveled hair, weary eyes, and a slight smile I couldn’t quite suppress. It didn’t matter. This was about to become interesting.

A few weeks back...

Mike and I hadn’t been genuinely happy in years, but it wasn’t the kind of drifting apart that couples usually face. Mike’s life revolved around showing off success. He was all about the flashy cars, the biggest house in the neighborhood, and wearing the latest designer labels.

It was all a facade, and I had been playing my part for far too long. The cracks in our marriage were becoming more obvious, and as our arguments became more frequent, I knew the end was close.

But I wasn’t afraid of what the divorce would bring. I knew Mike well enough to predict exactly how everything would play out.

He didn’t care about fixing our relationship. All he cared about was winning—winning the house, winning the money, winning the divorce itself.

All I wanted was freedom from that shallow, material-obsessed life. But I wasn’t going to let him think he could just take advantage of me. So, I decided to let Mike believe he was getting what he wanted, with a little twist he would never see coming.

It all went down on a Tuesday. Mike came home late, as he usually did. I was in the kitchen, pretending to scroll through my phone, not even bothering to look up when he stormed in.

"We need to talk."

I sighed, making no effort to hide my lack of interest. "What now?"

He tossed his keys onto the counter, and I felt the tension in the room spike. He was always like this when work didn’t go his way, and I was the easiest target for his frustration.

"I’m done," he said, his voice tight with anger. "I want a divorce."

I blinked at him, staying calm on the outside, but I was ready for this. I had been preparing for this moment for weeks.

"Okay," I said, my voice steady.

He stared at me, stunned. "That’s it? No argument? No begging?"

I shrugged, keeping my cool. "What’s the point?"

For a moment, he seemed completely caught off guard, like I had taken the wind out of his sails. He had expected me to cry or beg for him to stay.

But I was just giving him enough room to set himself up for what came next.

The divorce negotiations were just as unpleasant as I had anticipated. We sat across from each other in a plain, sterile conference room, our lawyers by our sides, as Mike rattled off his demands. The house, the car, the savings—it was as if he were reading from a shopping list.

Throughout it all, he had this smug, triumphant smirk, as if he expected me to fall apart at any moment.

"Fine," I said, barely focusing. "You can have it all."

My lawyer raised an eyebrow, the look clearly asking, "Are you sure?" But I simply nodded.

Mike’s eyes widened. "Wait, what?"

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

He just stood there, frozen. "You... you don’t want the house? Or the money?"

"Nope," I answered, leaning back comfortably. "It’s all yours."

His expression turned from shock to pure joy. "Great. Then take this afternoon to pack up your stuff. It’s not much, so that should be plenty of time." He checked his watch. "I’ll expect you to be out by six."

"No problem," I said.

He straightened up, looking proud, as if he had just won the grand prize. And I let him believe it.

That brings us back to the moment in the elevator, where I finally let myself laugh out loud.

As I stepped out of the elevator, I grabbed my phone. My fingers hovered above the screen for a moment before I typed out a quick message: I’m heading to the house to pack up my things. I’ll call you when it’s time to make your move.

I hit send, a small smile on my lips. Now the real game was about to begin.

Packing up the house wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. I didn’t want much, just a few personal things, especially items that held memories not tainted by Mike. The house always felt too big and never truly felt like mine anyway.

Once I sealed the last box, I reached for my phone and made the call. My mom, Barbara, answered after two rings.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound casual. "It’s time."

There was a brief pause before my mom’s familiar, no-nonsense voice replied. "Finally. I’ve been waiting for this moment."

Mom never liked Mike. She saw right through his showy act from the very first meeting. And the best part? She had helped us buy the house. Mike thought he had scored a huge win, but now, thanks to her, he was about to lose everything.

I hung up and felt a weight lift as I looked around. No more pretending.

The next morning, as I made breakfast in my new apartment, my phone rang. Mike’s name flashed across the screen, and I couldn’t help but grin.

"Hello?" I answered, sounding cheerful.

"You set me up!" Mike’s voice was shaking with rage.

I put the call on speaker and took a bite of my toast. "I’m sorry, what are you talking about?"

"Your mother!" he barked. "She’s... she’s in my house! She’s taken over everything!"

"Oh, right," I replied, taking my time. "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 silence, and I could almost hear the gears in his head turning. I could picture the exact second he realized what was happening.

He had signed that document years ago, too excited about owning the house to pay attention to the small details.

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

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

There was a sound of shuffling, as if Mike had turned away from the phone to mutter something. "Barbara, this is my house—"

"Oh, hush," Mom cut him off, her voice raised. "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 down on my lip to keep from bursting out in laughter. Mike mumbled a few words, still trying to keep it together, but before he could say anything more, Mom’s voice cut through again.

"And turn down that ridiculous TV! You think I want to listen to that nonsense all day? If you’re going to watch those silly car shows, at least turn the volume down!"

There was a loud clatter, followed by more grumbling, and then the call ended suddenly. I leaned back in my chair, took a deep breath, and let out a contented smile.

Freedom never felt this sweet.

This story draws inspiration from real events and people but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to ensure privacy and to add to the narrative. Any resemblance to actual individuals, living or deceased, or real events is purely coincidental and unintentional.

The author and publisher make no claims about the accuracy of the events or the portrayal of characters and bear no responsibility for any misinterpretation. This tale is shared "as is," and any opinions expressed are those of the characters, not of the author or publisher.