After years spent in a marriage dominated by Mike’s obsession with material things, I finally reached a point where I was willing to give him everything in our divorce. He was ecstatic, certain he’d “won” because he’d secured the house, car, and savings. Little did he know, this so-called “victory” was all part of a plan I had carefully crafted over time.

Leaving the lawyer’s office that rainy day, I kept my head down, giving off the appearance of a defeated ex-wife. But the moment those elevator doors closed, I felt a bubbling sense of exhilaration. I couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh; it was all coming together perfectly. Mike believed he had triumphed, but he was blissfully unaware of the real twist that was about to unfold.

Not long before this moment, Mike and I hadn’t been happy for quite some time. Our relationship had become empty, drained of any real connection. But this wasn’t just a case of drifting apart like some relationships do. Mike was entirely consumed with his public image. He wanted the most expensive car, the biggest house, designer clothes—everything had to look perfect. For him, it was all about appearances, and for years, I went along with it. But as the arguments grew more frequent, I knew it was only a matter of time before our relationship would come to an end.

So, when he finally told me he wanted a divorce, I didn’t feel the panic one might expect. I knew him well enough to predict exactly how he’d approach this. He wasn’t interested in talking things through or trying to salvage anything. What he wanted was to “win” the divorce. He was determined to take the house, the car, and every dollar of our savings, leaving me with nothing. But while he was busy thinking he was outsmarting me, I was laying the foundation for my own plan.

It all came to a head one Tuesday night. Mike arrived home late, as usual, and stormed into the kitchen, clearly expecting a fight. He threw his keys down on the counter with a dramatic slam. “We need to talk,” he demanded in a tone laced with frustration.

“What now?” I asked, barely looking up from what I was doing.

“I’m done,” he announced, the words almost spat out. “I want a divorce.”

Inside, I was thrilled, but I kept my reaction controlled, slowly looking up as if this was the first I’d heard of it. “Alright,” I said with a calm that seemed to catch him off guard.

The look on his face was priceless. He had come in ready for a battle—maybe he was even hoping for tears. Instead, I had given him exactly what he wanted. My agreement was all part of the plan.

The divorce proceedings went exactly as I had anticipated. Sitting across from him in the conference room, he confidently outlined everything he wanted—the house, the car, every bit of our savings. He delivered his demands with all the calm of someone ordering at a restaurant, his face showing an almost smug satisfaction as if he believed he had broken me.

“Fine,” I agreed, much to everyone’s surprise.

My lawyer glanced at me with a look of concern, but I nodded, silently reassuring him that I knew what I was doing. Mike seemed momentarily taken aback but quickly regained his glee as he realized I was willing to give him everything he asked for. “Great,” he said, a satisfied grin on his face as he set a deadline for me to move out by six.

Back in the elevator, I could barely hold back my laughter. Once I was alone, I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to my mom: “Heading to the house now to pack. Time for your move.”

Packing my things didn’t take long. I only wanted a few sentimental items, small things that held meaning to me. This house was never truly mine; it had always been Mike’s trophy, a showpiece he could parade around. As I packed the final box, I dialed my mom’s number.

“It’s time,” I said, smiling.

“Finally,” she replied, sharing in my satisfaction. My mom had never been a fan of Mike. She’d seen right through him from day one. The best part? She had helped us buy the house, meaning she still held partial rights to it. Now, she was moving in, right on cue.

The next morning, as I settled into my new apartment, my phone rang. Seeing Mike’s name flash on the screen, I couldn’t resist answering with a smile.

“You set me up!” he yelled, his voice a mix of anger and disbelief.

“Oh?” I replied, feigning innocence.

“Your mother! She’s in MY house, taking over everything!”

“Right,” I said, barely stifling a laugh. “Remember the agreement we signed when she contributed to the down payment? The one that allows her to stay there whenever she wants?”

I could almost hear the gears turning in his head as he realized he’d overlooked that small but important detail. He’d been too focused on “winning” to notice the clause that allowed my mom to occupy the house.

@untold.storyy The Divorce! Part 1! #anonymous #anonymousstories #storytelling #storytime #premstories #husbandwife #tiktokstories #tiktokstoryteller ♬ Documentary Music – Dian Fadli

“You… you tricked me! This isn’t over!”

Before he could say more, I heard my mom’s voice in the background, unmistakably firm. “Michael, get your feet off the coffee table! And hand over the remote!”

I couldn’t help but laugh as Mike mumbled, “Barbara, this is my house—”

“Hush,” Mom cut him off. “It’s my house too, and another thing—these frozen dinners? I need real groceries.”

I ended the call, shaking my head with a smile. Mike had been so eager to win, so consumed with appearances and material wealth, that he hadn’t realized he was setting himself up for a life under my mom’s watchful eye.

While he had everything he thought he wanted, it wasn’t at all what he had envisioned. Meanwhile, I had gained something far more valuable: my freedom. As I took a sip of my coffee in my cozy new apartment, I knew, without a doubt, that I had come out on top.