I’m a full-time mom. About a year ago, I left my job to take care of our three-year-old daughter, who is autistic and requires a lot of support. Lately, I’ve noticed that my usually feminist husband has been criticizing me in a group chat.
Transitioning into the role of a stay-at-home mom (SAHM) wasn’t something I had envisioned for myself. I used to thrive in the fast-paced world of marketing, surrounded by campaigns and fueled by brainstorming sessions over coffee. But all that changed a little over a year ago when my husband, Jake, and I made a significant decision. Our daughter, Lily, who is three and autistic, needed more attention than what her daycare could provide. Her needs are complex, requiring constant care and support, and it became clear that one of us had to be with her full-time.
I won’t sugarcoat it — leaving my career behind was one of the toughest decisions I’ve ever made. I miss the freedom of earning my own income and the satisfaction of a job well done. But here I am now, spending my days planning meals, cooking, and baking. I’ve found joy in these tasks, and experimenting in the kitchen has become my new creative outlet.
Our backyard has turned into a small garden oasis under my care, and I take care of most of the household chores. Jake does his fair share too; he’s actively involved in chores and parenting whenever he’s at home. We’ve always considered ourselves equals, rejecting traditional gender roles, or so I thought until last week.
It was a regular Thursday, and I was tidying up Jake’s home office while he was at work. It’s filled with tech gadgets and piles of paperwork, typical for someone in software development. His computer screen caught my eye — it was still on, casting a soft glow in the dim room. He usually left it on by accident, but what I saw next wasn’t accidental at all.
His Twitter feed was open, and I froze when I saw the hashtag #tradwife attached to a tweet. Confusion washed over me as I read the post. It glorified the joys of having a traditional wife who embraces her domestic duties. Attached was a photo of me, taking a batch of cookies out of the oven, looking every bit like a 1950s housewife. My stomach churned as I scrolled through more posts. There I was again, tending to the garden and reading to Lily, our faces thankfully obscured.
This was Jake’s account, and he had been crafting a whole narrative about our life that was far from reality. He portrayed me as a woman who relished her role as a homemaker, willingly sacrificing her career for aprons and storybooks. The truth of our situation — that this arrangement was a necessity for our daughter’s well-being — was nowhere to be seen.
I felt betrayed. Here was the man I’d loved and trusted for over a decade, sharing our life with strangers under a false pretense that felt foreign to me. It wasn’t just the lies about our relationship dynamics that hurt — it was also the realization that he was using these glimpses of our life to bolster some online persona.
I shut the computer down, my hands trembling with a mix of anger and bewilderment. All day, I grappled with my emotions, trying to comprehend why Jake would do this. Was he dissatisfied with our situation? Did he resent my decision to stay home? Or was it something deeper, a shift in how he perceived me now that I wasn’t contributing financially?
The rest of the day passed in a blur. His posts kept replaying in my mind, and eventually, I couldn’t ignore them any longer. I decided to call him and address everything head-on.
“Jake, we need to talk,” I finally said, trying to keep my voice steady.
He answered, sounding concerned. “What’s wrong?”
I took a deep breath, the weight of my discovery weighing heavily on me. “I saw your Twitter today…”
His expression fell, and he let out a long sigh, indicating he knew exactly what this conversation was about to entail. He started to respond, but I interrupted him.
“Calm down,” he said, dismissing it as “just harmless posting.” That was the final straw. I told him I wanted a divorce, called him out for his deceit, and ended the call.
Jake rushed home immediately. We argued, but with Lily’s strict schedule, I couldn’t let the conflict drag on. He pleaded with me to have a proper conversation after putting Lily to bed. Reluctantly, I agreed. That night, he showed me his phone, revealing that he had deleted the Twitter account. But the damage was already done.
A week passed, and my anger hadn’t subsided. This wasn’t a simple misunderstanding. It was a breach of trust. Jake attempted to explain, claiming it started as a joke, but he got carried away with the attention it garnered. But excuses weren’t enough.
Motivated by a mix of hurt and the need for justice, I decided to expose him. I took screenshots of his tweets and shared them on my Facebook page. I wanted our friends and family to know the truth. My post was straightforward: “Your husband belittles you in front of his friends behind your back. Sound familiar?”
The response was immediate. Our relatives were shocked, and the comments poured in. Jake was inundated with messages and calls. He left work early once more to beg for my forgiveness. He knelt, tears in his eyes, pleading that it was all just a “silly game.”
But I couldn’t let it go. The trust that bound us together was broken. It wasn’t just about a few misguided posts; it was about the respect and understanding we were supposed to have for each other. I told him I needed time and space to think and heal. I moved out with Lily to another apartment.
For six months, Jake begged for forgiveness. He sent messages, left voicemails, and made small gestures to show he was sorry. But sorry wasn’t enough. I told him that if he truly wanted to make amends, we needed to start anew. In my eyes, we were strangers now, and he had to court me like he did years ago when we first met.
So, we began again, slowly. We went on dates, starting with coffee and progressing to dinners. We talked a lot — about everything except the past. It was like rediscovering ourselves individually and as a couple. Jake was patient, perhaps realizing this was his last chance to salvage our once-loving relationship.
As I sit here now, reflecting on the past year, I realize how much I’ve changed. This betrayal forced me to reevaluate not only my marriage but also myself and my needs. I’ve learned that forgiveness isn’t just about accepting an apology; it’s about feeling secure and valued again. It’s a gradual process, one that we’re both committed to, step by step.
What would you have done if you were in my shoes? Share your thoughts on Facebook.
My Ex-husband Got Our House, Car and All Our Money After Divorce – I Laughed Because That Was Exactly What I Planned
After a bitter marriage marked by Mike’s obsession with material wealth, Nicole shockingly agrees to give him everything in their divorce. But as Mike revels in his “victory,” Nicole’s laughter reveals a secret plan in motion. What Mike doesn’t know is that she’s about to make her final move.
I stepped out of the lawyer’s office with a blank expression, my shoulders slumped, looking every bit the defeated ex-wife. The rain was coming down hard, and the gray sky matched my mood — or at least the mood I wanted people to think I was in.
A woman walking past a window | Source: Midjourney
Inside, I was buzzing. My hands clenched the cold steel of the door handle as I headed toward the elevator. No one was around. Good.
The elevator door closed behind me with a soft ding, and as soon as I was alone, I let out a little giggle. It wasn’t something I planned; it bubbled up from deep inside like champagne finally uncorked.
The more I thought about what I’d just done the more it built up until I was cackling in the elevator like a lunatic.
A woman laughing in an elevator | Source: Midjourney
If anyone saw me right then, they’d think I had finally snapped, gone over the edge from all the stress, but oh no, this was just the beginning. Everything was falling perfectly into place.
The house, the car, the savings — Mike could have them all. It was exactly what I wanted. He thought he’d won, and that was the best part. He didn’t have a clue what was coming.
The elevator stopped with a jolt, and I pulled myself together. I glanced at my reflection in the elevator’s mirrored wall: messy hair, tired eyes, and a faint smile still lingering on my lips. I didn’t even care. This was going to be fun.
A woman in an elevator | Source: Midjourney
A few weeks earlier…
Mike and I hadn’t been happy for years, but it wasn’t just the regular kind of falling out of love. Mike was obsessed with his image. He was all about the flashy cars, having the biggest house on the block, and wearing only designer clothes.
All of it was a performance, and I had played my part for too long. The cracks had started to show, and when the arguments became more frequent, I knew it wasn’t long before the inevitable happened.
A thoughtful woman | Source: Midjourney
The thing is, I wasn’t scared of the divorce. I knew Mike, and I knew exactly how this would play out.
He didn’t care about saving the marriage. No, what he wanted was to win — win the house, win the money, win the divorce.
All I wanted was to be free of this pretentious lifestyle. But that didn’t mean I was going to let him screw me over, either. So, I’d let Mike have what he wanted, but with a catch as sharp as a fishhook.
A thoughtful woman | Source: Midjourney
It happened on a Tuesday. Mike came home late, again. I was in the kitchen, pretending to scroll through my phone, not bothering to look up when he stormed in.
“We need to talk.”
I sighed, barely masking the boredom in my voice. “What now?”
He slammed his keys on the counter, and I could practically feel the frustration radiating off him. He always got like this when things didn’t go his way at work, and of course, I was the easiest target.
An irritated man | Source: Midjourney
“I’m done,” he said, his voice low and tight. “I want a divorce.”
I blinked up at him. Finally. I nodded slowly, like it was sinking in, but really, I had been prepared for this moment for weeks.
“Okay,” I said simply.
He frowned, clearly taken aback. “That’s it? No fight? No begging?”
I shrugged. “What’s the point?”
A woman staring ahead | Source: Midjourney
For a second, he looked confused, like I had taken the wind out of his sails. He was expecting resistance, expecting me to plead with him to stay.
But I just needed to give him enough rope to hang himself with.
The divorce negotiations were as awful as I expected. We sat across from each other in a sterile conference room, lawyers flanking us, as Mike outlined every little thing he wanted. The house, the car, the savings; it was like he was reading off a grocery list.
Close up of a man’s eyes | Source: Midjourney
And the entire time, he had this smug little grin on his face, like he thought I’d break down and cry at any moment.
“Fine,” I said, barely listening. “You can have it all.”
My lawyer shot me a look, one that clearly said, “Are you sure?” But I just nodded.
Mike blinked. “Wait, what?”
“I said, you can have it. I don’t want any of it, except for my personal possessions.”
A woman | Source: Midjourney
He looked stunned. “You… you don’t want the house? Or the money?”
“Nope,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “It’s all yours.”
His shock quickly morphed into glee. “Great. Then take this afternoon to pack up your belongings. It’s not much, so that should be plenty of time.” Mike glanced at his watch. “I’ll expect you to be out by six.”
“No problem,” I replied.
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
He sat up straighter, his chest puffing out like he’d just won the lottery. And I let him think it.
And that brings me back to that moment when I stepped into the elevator in the lawyer’s office building, and couldn’t contain my laughter anymore.
As I stepped out of the elevator, I pulled out my phone. My fingers hovered over the screen for a second before I typed out a quick message: I’m heading to the house to pack up my things. I’ll call you when it’s time to make your move.
I hit send and smiled. Time for the real fun to begin.
A cell phone | Source: Pexels
Packing up the house was easier than I thought it would be. I didn’t want much, just a few personal things, mostly items that held memories that weren’t tainted by Mike. The house was too big for just the two of us anyway, and it always felt more like his house than mine.
I was taping up the last box when I picked up the phone to make the call. My mom, Barbara, answered on the second ring.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice light. “It’s time.”
A woman making a phone call | Source: Midjourney
There was a pause, and then Mom’s familiar, no-nonsense tone came through. “Finally. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”
Mom couldn’t stand Mike. She saw right through his flashy facade the day I introduced them. But the best part? She had helped us buy this house. She was the reason Mike thought he had scored such a great deal on it, and now she was going to be the reason he lost it.
I hung up, feeling a strange sense of relief as I looked around. I was done pretending.
A woman holding her phone | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, I was making breakfast in my new little apartment when my phone rang. I smirked as Mike’s name flashed across the screen.
“Hello?” I answered sweetly.
“You set me up!” Mike’s voice was furious, practically frothing at the mouth.
I put the phone on speaker, grabbing a piece of toast as I leaned against the counter. “I’m sorry, what are you talking about?”
A slice of toast | Source: Midjourney
“Your mother!” he spat. “She’s… she’s in my house! She’s taken over everything!”
“Oh, right,” I said, biting into my toast. “Remember that agreement we signed when she gave us the down payment? The one that lets her live there whenever she wants, for as long as she wants?”
There was a long pause, and I could practically hear the gears turning in his brain. I could imagine the look on his face, realization dawning.
A woman speaking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
He had signed that paper years ago, too blinded by the allure of a fancy house to even think twice about the fine print.
“You! You cheated me! This isn’t over. I’m getting my lawyers—”
Before he could finish, I heard Mom’s voice in the background, sharp and cutting through the phone. “Michael, you better get your feet off that coffee table! And stop hogging the remote!”
There was a muffled sound as if Mike had turned away from the phone, trying to whisper. “Barbara, this is my house—”
A smiling woman on a phone call | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, hush,” Mom interrupted, louder now. “It’s my house just as much as yours. And another thing, what’s with all these cheap snacks? Do you know how to grocery shop? I’m not living off frozen dinners!”
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Mike mumbled something incoherent, his frustration barely contained, but before he could get another word in, I heard her again.
“And turn down that TV! You think I want to listen to that nonsense all day? If you’re going to watch those ridiculous car shows, at least mute it!”
A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
There was a loud crash, followed by some more muttering, and then the phone clicked off abruptly. I took a deep breath, smiling as I sat down at the table.
Freedom never tasted so sweet.
Here’s another story: When I overheard my husband advising his friend to deliberately botch household chores, I felt a surge of anger. That moment marked the beginning of a transformation in our marriage, one where I decided to confront his weaponized incompetence by treating him like the child he was pretending to be.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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