Divorce brings out the worst in people, and Brendan was no exception. After twelve years together, I never imagined he’d retaliate by turning our front yard into a free flea market with my possessions. But there they were – my grandmother’s chair, my thrifted coffee table, even my good lamps – all sitting under a handwritten sign inviting the neighborhood to help themselves.
What Brendan didn’t account for was his own carelessness. In his haste to hurt me, he’d forgotten to check the drawers of that painted bedside table I loved. The moment I heard that familiar jingle, I knew I’d found my leverage. His grandfather’s watch – the one he’d panic if it got scratched – was now in my possession.
Watching him squirm when he realized his mistake was almost worth the heartache. Almost. The $500 he paid to get it back? That was just the cherry on top. Our marriage may have ended badly, but at least I got the last laugh – and all my furniture back where it belongs.
