The Last Laugh
I gritted my teeth, refusing to let the sting of humiliation show as I loaded the last of my things into my car. My husband, Mike, stood smugly beside his new girlfriend, arms crossed, watching me like a man who thought he’d won.
“You should’ve seen this coming, babe,” he taunted. “You’ve been boring for a while now.”
His girlfriend giggled, wrapping an arm around his waist.
I took a deep breath. Just a little longer.
That’s when the black SUV pulled up.
The smirk vanished from Mike’s face.
The driver’s door opened, and out stepped a sharply dressed man—our family lawyer, Mr. Whitman.
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Mike’s eyes darted from him to me. “W-What’s he doing here?”
I folded my arms, finally letting a smile creep onto my face. “Oh, you mean you haven’t checked your email today?”
Whitman stepped forward, handing Mike a thick stack of papers. “Michael Thompson, as per your grandfather’s will, this house does not belong to you. It belongs to his *legal* spouse—your wife.”
Mike blinked. “What?!”
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His girlfriend frowned, shifting nervously. “Wait, I thought you said—”
Whitman continued. “Your grandfather left this house to his grandson’s lawful wife in the event of any marital breakdown. Which means, Mike…” He gave a dry smile. “You don’t own a single brick of this place.”
Mike’s face turned red. “This is *my* house!”
“No,” I said calmly, “it’s *my* house now.”
His girlfriend stepped away from him, looking uncomfortable. “You told me you owned it…”
I stepped forward, relishing the moment. “Oh, and Mike?” I nodded towards the scattered belongings on the lawn. “I think you should get your stuff and leave. *Now.*”
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For the first time that day, he was the one standing there—homeless.