When I found myself locked out of my own home, I knew my marriage was over. But what my cheating husband didn’t know was that I was about to teach him a lesson he’d never forget.
“Jason, it’s almost nine. You promised you’d be home by six.” I tried to keep the hurt from my voice as my husband dropped his keys on the counter, not even looking at me.
“Work was crazy, Alice. What do you want me to do? Tell my boss I need to leave early?” Jason loosened his tie, walking past the table where I’d set up a small birthday dinner for myself. Two candles stood next to a cake I’d picked up on my lunch break.
“Yes, actually,” I said, crossing my arms. “That’s exactly what you could have done. Just once. Especially after you promised. It’s my birthday, Jason.”
He finally looked at the table and realized what he’d done. “Oh, no. I forgot.”
“Clearly.”
“Come on, don’t be like that.” Jason ran his hand through his hair. “I’m working hard for us, you know that.”
I let out a fake laugh.
“For us?” I repeated. “You’re never even here, Jason. We barely talk anymore. When was the last time we had dinner together? Or watched a movie? Or did anything as a couple?”
“That’s not fair. I’m building my career so we can have a good future.”
“What future? We’re living separate lives in the same house.” I felt tears threatening, but I refused to let them fall. “I make more money than you anyway, so let’s not pretend this is about providing for us.”
Jason’s face hardened. “Of course, you’d throw that in my face. God forbid I try to catch up to my successful wife.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Save it. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” He walked away, leaving me standing alone next to my sad little birthday celebration.
I blew out candles and promised myself things would get better.
He was my husband. I loved him. Marriage had rough patches, right? Everyone said so.
Little did I know I’d regret forgiving him so easily.
Jason and I had been married for three years, but the last year had felt like a slow, painful drift apart. We didn’t have kids (thankfully, given what was coming) and my job as a marketing director provided the bulk of our household income.
Meanwhile, Jason worked in sales and constantly complained about the pressure, the hours, the commute… everything except what I later realized was the truth.
Three weeks after my ruined birthday, I came home early from work with a pounding headache. All I wanted was to collapse into bed with some painkillers and silence.
When I pulled into our driveway, I noticed something off about our front door. As I got closer, I realized the brass doorknob and lock had been replaced with a sleeker silver one.
“That’s weird,” I muttered.
When I inserted my key into the lock, it didn’t fit.
I tried again, wiggling it, but it was clearly the wrong size for this new lock. Confused, I checked to make sure I was at the right house.
Of course, I was. This was my home.
That’s when I noticed the note taped to the door, written in Jason’s familiar scrawl.
This is no longer your home. Find somewhere else to stay.
I felt the ground shift beneath me.
What the heck? I thought.
Then, I pounded on the door and screamed Jason’s name. Finally, the door swung open, revealing my husband.
And behind him was a woman wrapped in my robe.
“You can’t be serious,” I whispered, my voice shaking.
“Listen,” he smirked, arms crossed. “I’ve moved on. Mia and I are together now, and we need our space. You can crash somewhere else.”
Mia. The same coworker he had sworn was “just a friend.” And there she came closer, putting her hands on her hips.
“I packed your stuff in the boxes,” she said. “You may pick them up in the garage.”
I stared at them for a while, but then I turned around and went back to my car.
Jason thought he could kick me out of the house and get away with it, but I knew I couldn’t let that happen. And for that, I needed a plan. A solid plan.
I knew exactly where to go for that.
***
“Alice? Oh my God.” My sister Paula opened her door, took one look at my tear-stained face, and pulled me inside. “What happened?”
I collapsed onto her couch, the whole story spilling out between sobs.
“That absolute piece of garbage,” Paula hissed when I finished. “And this Mia person was wearing your robe?”
“My birthday gift from Mom,” I said, dabbing at my eyes. “The cashmere one.”
Paula disappeared into her kitchen and returned with two glasses of wine.
“Drink,” she ordered. “Then we’ll figure out what to do.”
“What can I do? The house is in his name.” I took a long sip. “The mortgage was approved on his credit score since mine was still recovering from grad school.”
Paula’s eyes narrowed. “But who’s been making the payments?”
“We both have, but…” I paused, something clicking into place. “I’ve paid for everything else. Every piece of furniture. The kitchen renovation last year. All the appliances.”
“Exactly,” Paula said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “So, what exactly does Jason own besides an empty house?”
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my banking app. “I’ve kept every receipt. I’m obsessive about our budget tracking.”
“Of course you have,” Paula laughed. “Miss Spreadsheet Queen.”
For the first time since seeing that note on my door, I felt a flicker of control returning. “They think they’ve won, don’t they?”
Paula clinked her glass against mine. “They have no idea who they’re messing with.”
The next morning, I called my lawyer friend, Denise.
“What he did is actually illegal,” she told me over coffee. “You can’t just change the locks on a spouse, even if the house is in his name. You have legal residency.”
“I don’t want to go back there,” I said firmly. “But I do want what’s mine.”
Denise’s eyes gleamed. “Then let’s make a list.”
We spent the rest of the morning inventorying everything I had purchased for our home. By lunch, I had a comprehensive list, complete with dates and prices.
“This is impressive,” Denise nodded. “With these receipts, there’s no question what belongs to you.”
“So, I can just… take it all?”
“Legally? Yes. Though I’d recommend having a police officer present to avoid any claims of breaking and entering.”
I thought about Jason’s smug face. About Mia wearing my robe. About how they thought they had all the power.
“No,” I said slowly. “I have a better idea.”
That afternoon, I called a moving company. The owner, Mike, was sympathetic to my situation.
“We had a similar case last year,” he told me. “Wife caught her husband cheating, wanted all her stuff out while he was at work.”
“That’s exactly what I need,” I said. “But with one difference. I want them to be there when it happens.”
I waited for Saturday, knowing my husband and his little girlfriend would both be home. I told Mike to show up with his crew at noon.
Once Mike and his workers were there, I knocked on the door and my husband opened it.
“Hey, honey,” I said sweetly. “I’m just here to pick up my things.”
Before he could react, my movers pushed past him and started picking up everything that belonged to me.
The washing machine? Unplugged mid-cycle, soaking clothes dumped into a plastic tub.
The oven? Opened right as a pie was baking. Mine now.
The bed they probably slept in? Stripped down and packed up.
My vanity, my smart TV, the couch they lounged on? Gone.
And the best part? Mia was straightening her hair when my movers walked in.
I plucked the straightener from her hand and smirked. “Sorry. This was my gift from my husband. You know, back when he was mine.”
“You can’t just take everything!” Jason barked. “The movers are taking literally everything away! What the heck is going on?”
I pulled out every single receipt I had kept. “Actually, I can. Because unlike you, I pay for my own things.”
He just stared at me, unable to say anything.
“Oh, and by the way? You changing the locks while I was still legally living here?” I smirked. “That’s illegal. I could take this to court and really make your life hell. But honestly? Watching you two stand here, miserable, in your empty house is so much more satisfying.”
Mia screeched something, but I was already walking away as my movers loaded the last of my belongings onto the truck.
As I drove off, I saw them standing there. They looked super humiliated and furious.
Sometimes I wonder if I was too harsh. But then I remember the note on the door. I remember the casual cruelty of changing locks on someone who loved you. I remember my birthday dinner, cold and forgotten.
And I know I did exactly what needed to be done.
