When Mike demanded a divorce, I didn’t fight back. He wanted the house, the car, the savings — every last thing. So I shocked everyone by agreeing without hesitation, letting him believe he had won. But inside, I was smiling, because this was exactly what I wanted.

Mike’s obsession with wealth had destroyed our marriage long before the papers were signed. To him, image was everything — designer clothes, flashy cars, the biggest house on the block. I had played along for years, quietly waiting for the moment to walk away. Now, the stage was set for his downfall.

The house he thought he’d “won” came with a hidden condition: my mother, who had helped us buy it, had full rights to live there indefinitely. The very next morning, she moved in, reminding Mike in no uncertain terms that the home was hers as much as his. His furious call to me was music to my ears.

As he raged, Mom’s voice cut through the line, bossing him around like a child. Mike realized too late that his victory was nothing but a trap. I sat in my little new apartment, eating toast and laughing, finally free. He had the house, but I had my life back — and that was priceless.