After years of trying to hold my marriage together, I thought catching my husband, Logan, with another woman was the worst thing that could happen. But I had no idea how cruel he could be. One night, my best friend Lola took me out to a jazz club to lift my spirits. That’s when I saw Logan, laughing with a young woman wrapped around him. When I confronted him, he smirked and coldly told me it was over—he was in love with someone else.

I spent the night crying at Lola’s, but the next morning, things got worse. When I returned home, all my belongings were tossed on the front lawn like garbage. Logan stood on the porch with his mistress, Brenda, both smiling smugly. He told me the house was his grandfather’s and that I had no claim to it. Humiliated, I started loading my car, trying not to break down again.

But then, out of nowhere, Logan’s grandfather, Mr. Duncan, pulled up. When he saw the mess and heard what had happened, his disappointment turned to fury. He told Logan to leave immediately and said the house would now belong to me. Not only that, he cut Logan off financially, saying he wouldn’t support someone who disrespected his wife and embarrassed the family.

Days later, Mr. Duncan made it official—my name went on the deed. Brenda disappeared soon after the money dried up, and Logan came crawling back, desperate. He begged me to help him get back into his grandfather’s good graces. But I finally had my moment. I told him no and slammed the door in his face. After everything he did, that tiny bit of revenge felt perfect.