Imagine this: you come home after a long, exhausting day, dreaming of peace and quiet, only to walk into your house and find your husband’s ex-wife standing right in your living room. That’s exactly what happened to me. But Melissa wasn’t there just to talk. What she did was beyond anything I could have imagined.
You know that amazing feeling when you finally get home after a day full of meetings, deadlines, and traffic? All you want is a hot shower, comfy pajamas, maybe a steaming cup of coffee, and your favorite show playing on TV. That was me two weeks ago. I had been waiting all day to curl up in bed and watch episode three of the true-crime documentary I was hooked on.
But the second I stepped inside, everything changed.
I hung my car keys and started walking to the bedroom when I froze. Something felt… wrong. At first, I thought I was losing my mind because what I saw didn’t make sense.
The couch was gone. The rug was missing. Even the bookshelf had disappeared.
I hurried into the hallway and kitchen. The coat closet? Empty. The coffee machine? Gone. The dining table? Vanished. My heart started pounding.
“What the heck?” I whispered. “Where’s Roger?”
Roger, my husband, usually came home before me. But the house was strangely quiet—until I heard his voice. He was yelling. And it was coming from the living room.
I threw my bag on the kitchen island and followed the sound. Another voice floated back, sharper, female.
I pushed open the door, not ready for what I’d see. And there she was. Melissa. My husband’s ex-wife. The woman he swore he’d never see again. The one he always called “a filthy rich spoiled brat.”
My heart jumped into my throat.
“Roger?” I gasped. “What… what happened to our house?”
Roger spun around like he’d seen a ghost. “Oh, Liz, you’re here?” he stuttered.
“Yeah, I just got back,” I said, staring at him and then at her. “What is she doing here?”
“I’ll explain everything,” Roger said quickly. His face was pale, his hands fidgeting. “I’ll fix it, I swear.”
Melissa, meanwhile, leaned against the wall with a smug little smirk, like she owned the place. I almost thought I’d walked in on an affair—until Melissa’s sharp voice cut through the air.
“No, you won’t,” she snapped at Roger. “Didn’t you tell her everything you own is mine?”
“I… I…” Roger stammered, completely lost for words.
Melissa turned to me, her eyes glinting with triumph. “Honey, all this furniture? It belongs to me. Your husband and I bought it when we were married. So I’m just taking back what’s mine.”
My jaw dropped. Was this woman serious? She was ripping apart my house and acting like she was doing us a favor.
“And you’re just letting her take everything?” I demanded, glaring at Roger. “You didn’t even try to stop her? And why didn’t you tell me she was coming? You knew, didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry,” Roger mumbled, lowering his head like a guilty schoolboy. He couldn’t even meet my eyes.
“Seriously, Roger? That’s it?” I snapped. “I never thought you’d let your ex walk out with our whole life! This is insane.”
“Insane?” Melissa laughed, tilting her head back. “Oh no, sweetie. This is perfectly fair. Technically, every single thing in this house belongs to me. Even the bed you two share. I paid for it all. So I have every right to take it.”
I wanted to scream, to grab her by the arm and throw her out, but I forced myself to stay calm. She was wealthy—she owned one of the biggest businesses in town. She could easily buy brand-new, luxurious furniture. But she didn’t want that. She wanted this. Not because she needed it, but because she wanted to humiliate me.
Fine, I thought. Two can play this game.
“Fine,” I spat. “Take it. Take everything you think is yours. But don’t you dare contact me or my husband ever again!”
Melissa’s smirk grew wider. “Sure, honey. Whatever you say.”
She called her workers inside, and I watched as they stripped my home bare. A moving truck sat in the backyard, already full of my stolen life.
But while she gloated, I came up with a plan.
When Melissa stepped outside to inspect the truck, I rushed into the kitchen. My hands shook as I yanked open the freezer. I pulled out a bag of frozen shrimp and grinned. One by one, I hid them inside the furniture she was taking.
A few in the side table drawers.
Some inside the couch cushions.
Several tucked deep into the mattress.
And the best hiding spot—stuffed inside the decorative pillows.
I knew she wouldn’t use this furniture in her house. She’d dump it in some storage unit, thinking she had “won.” Little did she know, in a few days, those shrimp would rot and turn everything into a nightmare stink bomb.
When the last piece of furniture was loaded, Melissa glanced around one final time. “I’m done, honey. Sorry for the inconvenience,” she said sweetly.
“Yeah, sure,” I muttered, arms crossed.
And with that, she strutted out, climbed into her shiny SUV, and drove away, leaving Roger and me in a house that looked like a crime scene.
Roger collapsed onto the floor, his hands covering his face. “I’m so sorry,” he choked, tears spilling down. “I didn’t know how to tell you. She called me a few days ago and said she’d come, but I never thought she’d actually do this.”
I sat beside him, sighing. “It’s alright, babe. Honestly, I wouldn’t want to live in a house full of her furniture anyway.”
I could’ve yelled, screamed, and blamed him. But that’s what Melissa wanted. She wanted us broken. And I wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction.
Instead, I touched his arm and smiled. “Tell you what. Instead of apologizing, you’re going to buy me all new furniture. Anything I want. Deal?”
Roger wiped his tears and managed a smile. “Deal. I’ll buy every piece you choose. I promise.”
We held hands, and for the first time that day, I felt hope. Our house was empty, but my marriage wasn’t. And that was what really mattered.
But the story didn’t end there.
A few days later, while scrolling through Facebook, I stumbled across a post in a local community group. It was from Melissa herself.
HELP NEEDED URGENTLY!
Does anyone know how to get rid of a horrible, rotting meat smell in furniture? I moved some old furniture into a storage unit, and within days, it started smelling like something died inside. I’ve tried airing it out, cleaning, baking soda… nothing works! The smell is unbearable. Please, any tips—I’m losing my mind!
I burst out laughing so hard I nearly dropped my phone. Melissa, the queen of pride, was being taken down by a few hidden shrimp.
Revenge had never smelled sweeter. And the best part? She’d never know it was me.