My ex-husband once told me, “It’s just harmless fun.” That’s what he called his cheating. But when he ripped the wallpaper off my walls after our divorce, karma decided it was her turn to have some fun—with him.
Do you believe in karma? Honestly, I used to think it was just something people said to make themselves feel better when someone wronged them. You know, like: “Don’t worry, karma will get them.”
Yeah, right. But let me tell you—karma is real. And in my case? She had a wicked sense of humor.
Let me set the stage. My ex-husband, Dan, and I were married for eight years. Eight long years where I believed we had something solid—a house we built together, two beautiful kids, and a life that, while not perfect, felt like ours.
But as it turns out, I was the only one in that marriage who believed in “ours.” I should have seen the signs, the red flags. But I didn’t. Not until the night that shattered everything.
Our daughter, Emma, had a fever that night. I was searching for children’s medicine in Dan’s drawer when his phone lit up. I wasn’t trying to snoop, but a notification flashed across the screen: a heart emoji followed by “I love you!”
I froze.
My hands trembled as I opened the message. My heart cracked when I saw dozens of texts between Dan and a woman named Jessica. They weren’t just messages; they were love notes, plans, and memories they had created together—behind my back.
I confronted him that same night, my voice shaking. “How could you? Eight years, Dan. How could you cheat on me?”
He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. “It just happened,” he said with a shrug, as if we were talking about a bad weather forecast. “These things happen in marriages. It was just some harmless fun. It won’t happen again, honey. Never! I’m sorry. Trust me.”
“These things don’t just happen, Dan!” I snapped. “You made choices. Every. Single. Time.”
Like a fool, I tried to forgive him. I convinced myself it was a mistake. But the second time? That shattered whatever illusion I had left.
This time, it wasn’t messages. It was a red lipstick stain on his collar. The irony? I never wore red lipstick.
“I thought we could work through this,” I said, holding up the evidence of his second betrayal. “I thought you meant it when you said ‘never again.'”
“What do you want me to say?” he asked, bored. “That I’m sorry? Would that make you feel better?”
Something inside me snapped. “No. I want you to pack your bags.”
I filed for divorce before he could stammer out another excuse.
The divorce was brutal, but one thing was clear: the house was mine. It had belonged to my grandmother before me, long before Dan walked into my life.
“This is ridiculous!” Dan shouted in mediation. “I’ve lived in that house for eight years! I put money into it!”
“And it’s still my grandmother’s house,” I replied calmly. “The deed is in my name, Dan. It always has been.”
Legally, he had no claim. But he insisted on splitting everything else down to the last cent. Groceries, vacations, furniture—everything had to be 50/50.
And then came the moment that broke my heart more than all of his betrayals combined. We were discussing custody when Dan turned to the lawyer and, without a hint of emotion, said, “She can have full custody. I don’t want the responsibility of raising the kids.”
My breath caught in my throat. “They’re your children, Dan. How can you just—”
“They’re better off with you,” he cut me off. “You’ve always been the one good at all that nurturing stuff.”
The paperwork was signed. Dan asked for a week to pack his things. I took the kids to my mom’s to spare them the sight of their father leaving.
When I returned home with them, I walked into a nightmare.
The wallpaper—the beautiful floral wallpaper we’d picked out together—was gone. The walls were stripped bare, jagged patches of drywall exposed. My stomach sank as I followed the destruction to the kitchen.
And there he was—Dan—ripping off another strip of wallpaper like a madman.
“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled.
He turned around, unfazed. “I bought this wallpaper. It’s mine.”
“Dan,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, “you’re tearing apart the house your kids live in.”
“Mom?” Jack’s voice was small. “Why is Dad doing that to our walls?”
Tears welled in his eyes. “I loved the flowers! They were pretty! Why are you taking them, Daddy?”
I knelt down, trying to shield them from the sight of their father destroying our home. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’ll pick out new wallpaper together. Something even prettier.”
That night, I took the kids and left. When I returned, it was even worse. He had taken everything—kitchen utensils, the toaster, the coffee maker. He even took the toilet paper.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered. But I refused to let him win.
A month later, I joined a book club. One night, after some wine, I told the wallpaper story. The women roared with laughter.
“He took the toilet paper too?” Cassie choked out between giggles.
“Yes!” I said, laughing. “I can’t believe I married someone so ridiculous.”
“Girl,” Cassie said, wiping tears from her eyes, “you dodged a bullet. Who does that? A grown man ripping wallpaper? He sounds like a toddler.”
Months passed. Life moved on. Then one day, Dan called out of the blue.
“Hey,” he said smugly. “I’m getting married next month. Some women actually want to be with me.”
“Congratulations,” I said flatly and hung up.
A week later, I ran into him downtown. He was holding hands with a woman. As they crossed the street toward me, my stomach dropped.
It was Cassie—from my book club.
She beamed. “Oh my gosh, hey! I have so much to tell you! I’m engaged! This is my fiancé—”
“Yeah, Dan! I know,” I said bluntly.
Her smile faltered. “Wait… you know each other?”
Dan looked like he wanted to disappear.
“Oh, we go way back,” I said casually.
Cassie’s expression changed from confusion to horror. “Wait… the wallpaper guy? The one who stole toilet paper? That was HIM?”
Her words hung in the air. Dan paled.
“Cassie, it’s not—”
“Oh, it is!” she snapped. “And you lied about everything, didn’t you? The evil ex-wife? The custody battle? You’re a walking red flag! I can’t believe I almost married you.”
She ripped off her ring and threw it at him before storming off.
Dan turned to me, eyes dark with anger. I just smiled and walked away.
That night, as I tucked in the kids, Jack grinned. “Mom, I love the new wallpaper. The dinosaurs are way cooler than the flowers.”
Emma nodded. “And my butterflies!”
I looked around at our new walls, bright and full of life. “I think so too.”
Sometimes, you don’t need revenge. Just give karma time. She delivers justice—with poetic irony.
