Logan thought he had it all figured out—cheat on me, kick me out, and live happily with his mistress. But karma had other plans.
I had spent five years in a marriage that slowly crumbled under the weight of infertility struggles. Instead of supporting me, Logan distanced himself, focusing on his gym sessions and his flashy car. I thought I was the problem.
One night, Lola convinced me to go out. Logan claimed he’d be at the gym, but at the jazz club, I found him wrapped around another woman.
I confronted him, expecting shame. Instead, he smirked. “It’s over, Natasha.”
Devastated, I spent the night at Lola’s. The next morning, I returned home, hoping for an explanation. Instead, I found my things scattered on the front lawn.
“You’re out,” Logan said smugly. “This house is mine.”
Brenda laughed. “Can’t wait to redecorate.”
Before I could react, a black BMW pulled up. Mr. Duncan stepped out, eyes blazing.
“This house is mine,” he stated. “Natasha stays. You leave. And you’re cut off.”
Logan stuttered, but Mr. Duncan was firm. Within an hour, Logan and Brenda were gone. Days later, Brenda left Logan when she realized he was broke.
When he came back, begging for help, I smiled. “Nope. Enjoy your new life.” Then, I shut the door in his face.
Revenge had never felt better.
