Eight years of marriage shattered in an instant when my husband, Mike, brought his pregnant girlfriend home and kicked me OUT of our house. I packed my bags, but what I unpacked was a plan for revenge so brilliant and karmic!

Eight years. Nearly 2,922 days. Approximately 70,128 hours. Every second, my heart never stopped thinking of one name—MIKE, my husband. I thought he loved me with the same intensity.

Oh, how wrong I was! I am Michelle, a devoted wife who loved her husband madly, until that fateful evening when my world turned upside down…

It was a Tuesday evening when my life took a wild turn. I walked into our living room, tired after a long day of work, only to find a pregnant woman sitting on our couch, munching on chips.

At first, I thought maybe I had accidentally walked into the wrong house.

But no, it was that ugly floral wallpaper Mike insisted on keeping, and there was Mike, looking like he had swallowed a porcupine.

“Hey, Michelle,” he said in such a calm voice, as if asking me to pass the salt. “We need to talk.”

I stood there, frozen, my brain trying to process the scene before me. The pregnant woman smiled awkwardly, hand on her belly, as if auditioning for a soap opera.

“This is Jessica,” Mike continued, gesturing to the ‘human incubator’ on the couch. “She’s pregnant. With my child. It happened. And we’ve decided to be together.”

I waited for the punchline. Surely this was an elaborate prank for a new reality show. Maybe I’d win a car if I didn’t lose my mind?

But Mike’s face remained serious, and Jessica’s annoying smile stayed unchanged.

“Mike,” I said slowly, “what do you mean it ‘happened’? How, did you trip and fall on her—?”

Mike had the nerve to look offended. “Enough, Michelle! It’s serious. I think it would be best if you moved out. You can stay with your mom. Jess and I will take over the house.”

I blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. No, it wasn’t a dream.

I half-expected Ashton Kutcher to jump out from behind the door and tell me I was being ‘Punk’d’. But alas, it wasn’t Ashton. Just my cheating husband and his pregnant mistress.

“Fine,” I said calmly. “I’ll pack my things and leave.”

Mike seemed relieved, likely thinking he’d gotten off easy. Jessica’s grin widened, as if she’d just won the lottery. Little did they know, the lottery was about to give them a reverse prize, and quite a hefty one at that.

I went upstairs, packed a bag with a few essentials, and left without saying a word.

As I drove to my mom’s house, the shock wore off, replaced by anger. But it wasn’t just any anger. It was the kind that makes you want to do something spectacularly stupid and incredibly satisfying.

The next day, I set my plan into motion.

First stop: the bank. I walked in with the determination of a woman on a mission, and I had one. I froze our joint account faster than you can say ‘that cheating guy’.

The look on the bank manager’s face when I explained why was priceless. I’m pretty sure he was making mental notes for his next novel.

Next stop: a locksmith.

I remembered overhearing Mike telling Jessica they’d be gone for three days, leaving me plenty of time to execute my brilliant plan. It was as if the universe conspired in my favor, and who was I to go against destiny?

Next stop: my house. The same cozy home where Mike and I once lived together, planning a future now in ruins.

The locksmith probably thought I was crazy, laughing as I requested all the locks in the house to be changed. I might have gone a little overboard and asked for the most complicated and modern locks available. Hey, if I was going to do this, I was going to do it right. And big.

Then came the movers.

I handed them the spare keys and scheduled them to pack everything up, practically emptying the house. I even took the toilet paper. Let’s see how Mike and Jessica manage with leaves!

But the pièce de résistance? Oh, that was yet to come. I had a brilliant idea that would not only make the revenge sweet but also enduring.

I sent out invites. Lots of them. To Mike’s family, our friends, his coworkers, even that nosy neighbor who always complained about our late-night dog walks.

The invitation read: “Come celebrate Mike’s new life! Surprise party at our house, tomorrow at 7:00 PM!”

Then, I ordered a billboard. Yes, a billboard. A huge one. It was delivered and installed on our lawn, impossible to miss.

In big, bold letters, it read: “Congratulations on leaving me for your pregnant mistress, Mike! Hope the baby doesn’t inherit your cheating ways!”

I stepped back to admire my work, feeling like a mischievous fairy tale character who had just fulfilled the world’s most ironic wish. With a satisfied smile and a dramatic hair toss, I walked away from the scene, eagerly anticipating the chaos that would soon unfold.

The next evening, right on time, my phone rang. It was Mike, sounding like he was having an aneurysm.

“Michelle!” he yelled, his voice reaching octaves I didn’t know he could hit. “What the hell is happening? Why are people at our house? And what’s with this crazy billboard?”

“Oh, that?” I said, trying to sound as innocent as possible. “Just a little housewarming party for you and Jessica. Don’t you like the decorations?”

“Decorations? It’s a circus here! And why can’t I get into the house?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, darling, you told me to move out, remember? You didn’t say anything about you staying there. I just remembered the house is in my name. So I changed the locks. Oops!”

There was a long silence on the other end. I could almost hear the tiny wheels in his brain trying to process what was happening.

“Where are we supposed to go?” he eventually stammered.

“Well, I don’t know, Mike. Maybe Jessica’s mom would welcome you with open arms? I hear pregnancy hormones and in-laws go quite well together.”

I hung up, feeling lighter than I had in years. But wait, there was more!

In the following days, I cut off utilities, cancelled the cable, and made sure all our joint assets were transferred to my name. I put the house up for sale, mentioning in the listing that it came with a “lawn art installation”.

I sent Mike the divorce papers to his work. I even specially requested the process server to dress up as a pregnant woman. Just for kicks.

But the universe wasn’t done with Mike yet. Oh no, it saved the best for last.

A week later, I received a call from Jessica. Yes, that Jessica. She was crying so hard I could barely understand her.

“Michelle,” she sobbed, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know… I mean, Mike told me you two were separated. And now… now he’s broke and homeless, and I’m pregnant, and I don’t know what to do!”

I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

“Well, Jessica,” I said, struggling to hide the glee in my voice, “I heard circuses are always looking for new acts. Maybe you two can start a juggling duo? You juggle the baby, he juggles his lies?”

She didn’t appreciate my humor. Tsk! Tsk!

It turns out, once Jessica learned that Mike was now homeless, broke, and the town’s joke, she decided maybe being with a guy who had no money, no house, and no future wasn’t such a great idea after all.

She left him quicker than you can say ‘Karma is a thing!’

Last I heard, Mike was living in a small apartment, trying to scrape together enough to pay bills and feed his hungry stomach. His family cut him off, disgusted by his behavior.

They even sent me a fruit basket and an apology card. I enjoyed the fruit while lounging in my new hot tub.

As for me? Well, the house sold for a lovely profit. I moved into a beautiful new place, started my own business, and adopted a cat. I named him Karma.

So yes, my revenge might have been a little over the top. But let’s be real, bringing home a pregnant mistress and trying to kick me out of my own house? That doesn’t just cross the line; it pole vaults over it and sets it on fire.

In the end, I learned a valuable lesson: When life gives you lemons, don’t just make lemonade. Squeeze those lemons into the eyes of those who’ve wronged you and then sit back and watch them squirm. It’s much more satisfying.

And remember, folks: cheaters don’t prosper, but the cheated with a good sense of humor and a dramatic flair? Oh, we do just fine!

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