I used to think karma was just wishful thinking—until I watched it drag my ex-husband through the mud. Dan and I were married for eight years, raising two kids and building what I thought was a happy life. But late one night, while caring for our sick daughter, I saw a message pop up on his phone: a heart emoji and an “I love you” from his secretary. When confronted, Dan brushed it off as harmless fun. I tried to believe him—until the lipstick on his collar said otherwise. I filed for divorce.

Though the house was legally mine, Dan tried to strip everything from it. He took furniture, appliances, even the toilet paper. But the cruelest blow came after a weekend away. I returned with the kids to find him tearing down our floral wallpaper with his bare hands. “I paid for it,” he growled. My son burst into tears—he loved those flowers. I didn’t cry, not for the wallpaper or the marriage. That night, I promised myself I’d move forward.

Months later, I was settling into a new rhythm—joined a book club, made friends, even shared the infamous wallpaper story over wine. One of the women, Cassie, became a close friend. Then one day, downtown, I ran into her… on the arm of my ex-husband. “This is my fiancé, Dan!” she beamed. I froze. “Dan, as in wallpaper Dan?” Her smile vanished. “You’re the ex-wife?” She turned to him. “You said she was crazy and ran off!” Cassie pulled off the ring and walked away, leaving him stunned in the street.

That night, my son pointed at our new dinosaur wallpaper and said, “I like these better anyway.” And just like that, I smiled. Karma didn’t whisper. She slammed the door open, wrecked his lies, and redecorated my life.