The divorce was brutal. My ex-husband walked away with everything—the $2M mansion, the Porsche, and all of our savings. He was smug, thinking he’d won, that he’d taken it all from me. But as I signed the last of the papers, I couldn’t help but laugh. He had no idea I’d left out one crucial detail, something that would change everything. He thought he had it all, but when he found out what I kept hidden, his victory crumbled before his eyes.
The courtroom felt like a freezer, the kind where emotions are put on ice while everything is laid bare. The judge droned on, listing out all the terms of our divorce. I glanced at my ex-husband, who was too busy smirking to notice my indifference. He thought he’d captured all he could— the mansion and the joyride Porsche. His eyes said he had the better end of the deal, but I knew better.
I picked up the pen, its cool metal a reminder of colder past actions. I didn’t rush, didn’t falter. Instead, I carefully signed the papers, the ink solidifying the end of one chapter. My ex’s gloating rang in my ears like a bad song stuck on repeat. But inside, I felt light, buoyant even. Little did he know, I’d kept something back—something that meant he hadn’t won at all.