That weekend at my parents’ house was supposed to be my escape from the nightmare of divorce. Little did I know Brendan was plotting his revenge while I was away. Coming home to find all my furniture scattered across the front lawn with a “Free Stuff” sign was like a punch to the gut.
I could still hear his smug voice when I called him. “You were going to take half my money anyway,” he’d said, as if that justified dumping my grandmother’s rocking chair on the grass for anyone to take. The man I’d loved for twelve years had become a stranger overnight.
As I stood there staring at the chaos, kicking my painted bedside table in frustration, I heard something rattle inside. Opening the drawer, my anger turned to satisfaction – there it was, Brendan’s most prized possession: his grandfather’s antique watch he was terrified of damaging. The same watch he’d inherited just months before our split.
Suddenly, the tables had turned. While my friends helped me move everything back inside (bless Jenny and her pickup truck), that watch sat safely in my glove compartment. When Brendan finally realized his mistake and came crawling back, I made him sweat. Five hundred dollars and one awkward porch exchange later, justice was served.
