I arrive home after a long day at work only to find my own husband has changed the locks! I couldnt believe it when my key no longer fit. There I stood, on the doorstep of our flat in London, my heart in pieces. All that effort to save our marriage, crumbling in an instant. But little did they know, I was about to teach them a lesson theyd never forget.
James, its almost ten at night, my voice trembled as I called him the evening before. You promised youd be home by seven!
He tossed his keys onto the side table without even glancing at me.
I was working, Emily. What was I supposed to tell my boss? That I had to rush home to my wife? He sounded irritated, as if I were some burden.
I swallowed my tears, staring at the table Id set for a simple birthday dinner. Two candles flickered beside the cake Id bought during my lunch break.
Yes, James. Exactly that. Just once, I crossed my arms, fighting back the tears. Its my birthday today.
He finally looked at the table. His expression shifted when he realised.
God, Emily, I forgot he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Seems so, I replied coldly, my throat tight.
Dont start, he rolled his eyes. I work for us, you know that.
I laughed bitterly.
For us? I asked. Youre hardly ever home, James. When was the last time we had dinner together? Watched a film? Talked like husband and wife?
Thats unfair, he frowned. Im building a career for our future.
What future? We live like strangers under the same roof! My voice broke. I earn more than you, so dont give me the providing for the family speech.
His face turned icy.
Right, you were going to throw that in my face, he scoffed. How am I supposed to compete with my successful wife?
Thats not what I meant
Enough, Emily. Im going to bed. He cut me off and walked away, leaving me alone with the cold cake and dying candles.
I blew them out, trying to convince myself things would get better. He was my husband. I loved him. Every marriage has problems, doesnt it? Thats what everyone says.
How wrong I was to forgive so easily.
Wed been married three years, but the last one had been a slow, painful unraveling. No childrenthank God for that. Me, a marketing director, covering most of our bills while James, a salesman, always complainedabout stress, overtime, traffic about everything except the truth, which I discovered far too late.
Three weeks after my ruined birthday, I came home early with a splitting headache, just wanting painkillers and bed. But when I reached our building in Kensington, something felt off. The doorknob and lock, once brass, were now silver and brand new.
What the? I tried my key. It didnt fit.
Tried againnothing. Checked the flat numberdefinitely ours.
Then I spotted the note taped to the door, handwritten by James: *This isnt your home anymore. Find somewhere else.*
The ground vanished beneath me.
Youre joking! I shouted.
I banged on the door, calling his name. Finally, it openedand there stood James, with his mistress behind him, wrapped in my cashmere dressing gown, a gift from my mother.
Seriously? My voice shook with rage.
Emily, look He crossed his arms, smirking. Ive moved on. Me and Sophie are together now. We need this place. Go crash at a friends.
Sophie. The so-called *colleague* hed mentioned for months. She stepped forward, hands on hips, sneering.
Your stuffs in boxes in the garage. Take it and go.
I stood frozen, disbelieving. Then I turned and walked to my car, fury burning inside me. They thought they could toss me out like rubbish and get away with it? They were wrong.
I needed a plan. A good one.
I called my sister, Charlotte.
Emily? Oh my God, whats wrong? She pulled me inside her flat the moment she saw my tear-streaked face.
I collapsed onto the sofa and spilled everything.
What a bloody wanker! she fumed when I finished. And that Sophie wearing *your* dressing gown?
Mums gift, I sobbed. The cashmere one, remember?
Charlotte marched to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of wine.
Drink, she ordered. Then we figure out how to ruin them.
What can I do? I took a sip. The flats in his name. The mortgage was approved under his credit because mine was still recovering from my masters.
Charlotte narrowed her eyes.
Who paid for everything else? she asked.
Both of us, but I stopped, realising. I bought it all. The furniture, the appliances, the bathroom renovation last year. Everything.
Exactly! She grinned wickedly. What does James have besides an empty flat?
I opened my banking app and scrolled through statements.
I have every receipt. I kept everything organised.
Of course you did, Miss Spreadsheets, Charlotte laughed. Queen of organisation!
For the first time that awful day, I felt control returning.
They think theyve won, dont they? I whispered.
She clinked her glass against mine.
They have no idea who theyre dealing with.
The next day, I called my lawyer friend, Olivia.
What he did is illegal, she said over coffee. He cant just change the locks and kick you out, even if the flats in his name. You have a right to live there.
I dont want to go back, I said firmly. But I want whats mine.
Olivia smiled.
Then lets make a list.
We spent the morning noting everything Id bought: the sofa, the TV, the fridge, even the rugs. By lunch, I had a detailed listreceipts, dates, and amounts.
Impressive, she approved. With this, no one can dispute it.
Can I just take it all? I asked.
Legally, yes. But Id bring a police officer to avoid trouble.
I remembered James smug smirk. Sophie in my dressing gown. Their arrogance, thinking theyd won.
No, I said slowly. Ive got a better idea.
That same day, I hired a removal company. The owner, Tom, heard my story and nodded.
Had a similar case last year, he said. Woman caught her husband cheating, took everything while he was out.
I need the same, I replied. Except I want them there when it happens.
I waited until Saturday. On the arranged day, the removal team arrived at noon. I knocked on the door with a smile, ready for them to take every last piece of the home *I* had built with my own hands.
