After ten years of marriage, I expected something thoughtful from my husband Carl on our anniversary — not a $9.99 mop handed to me in front of a crowd. As the guests looked on in silence, his sister Anita cackled, flaunting the expensive bracelet Carl had given her just weeks earlier. My heart sank. He didn’t just forget the meaning of our marriage — he reduced it to a cleaning joke. When I calmly asked if it was a prank, he fumbled with a lie about a “real gift” later. I saw the truth in his eyes.

Fed up, I walked outside and did something unthinkable. I took the mop and smashed the windshield of Carl’s prized sports car. Gasps echoed behind me. “Happy anniversary to you too,” I said as I threw the mop at his feet. Minutes later, karma struck again — a heavy planter mysteriously fell onto the hood of his car, destroying it. But the universe wasn’t done. Inside the house, Anita was on the phone, yelling about her frozen bank accounts. Her face turned pale as panic set in.

Then came the final blow: a family friend whispered that Carl had secretly met with a divorce lawyer. The mop wasn’t just a bad gift — it was a setup before handing me divorce papers. But Carl had forgotten something important: I owned the house and 51% of our business. He had put it in my name for tax reasons, never thinking I’d realize the power I held. The next morning, I packed his bags and told him to leave my house. Just as he tried to protest, the FBI showed up — Anita was under investigation, and the business was tied to her.

Carl stood frozen as I offered full cooperation. That night, I sipped wine with Linda, finally feeling peace in my own home. Karma had done the heavy lifting — all I had to do was stay standing. As I passed a mirror, I smiled and whispered to myself, “The mop may have been cheap, but the lesson? Priceless.”