I was dragging myself home after another long day at work, feeling a pit of frustration growing in my chest. For the second time, I’d asked for a raise, and for the second time, I’d been denied.

I really needed that extra money. You see, Sarah, my mother-in-law, was sick—really sick. And since Ryan, my husband, wasn’t working, I was paying for her treatment. He’d lost his job five months earlier and still hadn’t found a new one.

I knew he was trying, going to interviews almost every week, but nothing was working out for him. Every month, our bills piled up higher, while my paycheck stayed the same.

We’d even been thinking about having a baby six months ago, but now that seemed like a distant dream.

As I pushed open the front door, my heart sank. The house was a disaster—clothes and papers were thrown all over the floor, dirty dishes were stacked high in the sink, and delivery boxes were scattered across the kitchen counter.

Ryan wasn’t even making an effort to clean or cook anymore. He always said, “That’s not a man’s job,” and I was too tired to keep arguing. How could he not see that I was drowning? I couldn’t handle everything—work, bills, and the entire house—by myself.

I walked into the living room and found him there, sitting on the couch, glued to the TV. He hadn’t even bothered to change out of his pajamas. The sight made my blood boil.

“How was your day?” Ryan asked, not even looking away from the TV.

“Exhausting. They didn’t give me the raise,” I said, feeling the weight sink deeper.

“Oh, well… we need more money for your mom’s meds,” Ryan added casually, still focused on the screen.

“Fine. How much do you need?” I asked, tired of this conversation.

“Not sure yet. I’ll figure it out and let you know,” he mumbled.

“Alright, just tell me, and I’ll give you the cash,” I replied, feeling drained.

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it,” he said, still glued to the show.

I stood there, waiting for something, but he didn’t look up.

“What’s for dinner?” Ryan asked, like it was no big deal.

“I don’t know. I’m too tired. Order something for yourself,” I said, turning to leave.

“Okay,” he answered, as if that was the end of it.

I headed to the bathroom, too exhausted to care.

One day at work, I got a call from an unknown number. I hesitated before answering but decided to pick up. The person on the other end introduced themselves as someone from the hospital.

My heart sank as they told me that Sarah’s treatment hadn’t been paid for in months and that her condition was getting worse. I was in shock. How could that be? I had been giving Ryan money for her treatment regularly. Where had it gone?

I hung up the phone, staring blankly at the wall. My thoughts raced. I tried to make sense of it. Ryan was supposed to be handling this. I trusted him to pay for his mother’s care. I quickly called his phone, but it went straight to voicemail.

I remembered he was supposed to be at a job interview. I decided to go to the hospital on my lunch break and sort this out myself. Maybe it was just a mistake, a mix-up in the paperwork.

As I drove down the street, my eyes caught something that made me slow down. There was Ryan’s car parked outside a fancy restaurant. Confused, I peered through the window.

My stomach dropped when I saw him sitting at a table with a young woman dressed in a suit. They were sitting close, sharing quiet laughter. My breath caught when he leaned in and kissed her. That’s when it all clicked.

He was cheating on me. And all the money I’d given him—money that was supposed to be for Sarah’s treatment—had been going to fancy dinners with this woman.

My hands gripped the steering wheel as tears filled my eyes, but the anger burned deeper than the hurt. I had worked so hard, sacrificing for him, for his mother.

And this is how he repaid me? I couldn’t believe it. I felt betrayed, furious, and heartbroken all at once. All my effort, my trust—wasted.

I walked into Sarah’s hospital room, and she looked so fragile, much weaker than before. As soon as she saw my face, her eyes filled with concern.

“Mila, what’s wrong? What happened?” she asked, her voice shaky.

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “They called me… the hospital,” I began, my throat tightening. “They said your treatment hasn’t been paid for in months, even though I’ve been giving Ryan the money. He told me he was taking care of it because he’s not working.”

Sarah’s face tightened. “What? He didn’t pay?” she asked, her voice rising.

I nodded, wiping away fresh tears. “And on my way here, I saw him with another woman at a fancy restaurant. He’s been using the money for her instead.”

“That bastard!” Sarah said, her voice breaking with anger. “How dare he? I didn’t raise him like this!” She started coughing, and I rushed to her side.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling terrible for upsetting her. “I shouldn’t have told you. I don’t want to make things worse.”

“No, Mila, don’t apologize,” Sarah replied, taking a deep breath. “I need to know the truth about my son.”

“But now I don’t have any money left to pay for your treatment,” I said, my voice cracking.

“You shouldn’t be dealing with this, but I’m grateful you care about me,” Sarah said, squeezing my hand gently.

I looked at her, lost. “What do I do now?”

Sarah’s eyes hardened with determination. “I have an idea. That scumbag won’t get away with this.”

I carried the last box of Ryan’s things outside. The locksmith had already come by earlier to change the locks, making sure Ryan wouldn’t be able to get back in.

It was all part of Sarah’s plan, and I still couldn’t believe how fast everything had come together. I sat down on the porch, waiting for him to come home. My heart pounded, but I felt ready.

Soon, I heard Ryan’s car pull up. He got out, looking tired from what he’d call another “interview,” though I knew better. I knew he had been with her again. He walked toward the house, his eyes narrowing when he saw the boxes stacked outside.

“What’s all this?” Ryan asked, his eyes darting between the boxes on the porch.

“Your stuff—or what’s left of it,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

“What do you mean, ‘what’s left of it’? And why is it all outside?” he asked, his tone growing sharp.

“I sold anything that was worth something. Honestly, turns out you don’t have much that’s valuable,” I replied, crossing my arms.

“What? Why are you selling my stuff?” Ryan’s face turned red with anger.

“Because you’ve been spending MY money on your girlfriend. For months!” I snapped, the anger rising in me. I had tried to stay calm, but I couldn’t anymore.

“What? No! You’ve got it all wrong!” Ryan stammered, trying to defend himself.

“I got a call from the hospital, Ryan. They said no one’s been paying the bills for your mom’s treatment. And on my way there, I saw you and her at that fancy restaurant,” I shouted, my hands shaking with fury.

“It was a mistake! I still love you,” Ryan said, his voice softer now, as if that would fix everything.

“Don’t even start,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“I’ll fix it. I’ll get a job. I’ll leave her. It’ll be different,” he said, his voice pleading now.

“Do whatever you want. It’s not my problem anymore,” I replied coldly.

Ryan’s face fell. “I can’t make it without you,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice.

“For once, you’re being honest,” I said. “You can’t make it without me because you’ve never had to take care of yourself. You don’t know how to clean, cook, or pay a bill on time. But here’s the thing—I can make it without you. And I’ll be just fine.”

“Please, Mila, don’t do this,” Ryan begged.

Just then, a couple approached us. “Good afternoon, we’re here for the car,” the woman said, smiling politely.

“Oh, right. Here are the keys,” I said, handing them over without a second thought. They got into Ryan’s car and drove off.

“What the hell?! That’s my car!” Ryan yelled, his voice rising again.

“No, it’s not. It’s registered in my name, so I sold it,” I said, looking him straight in the eyes.

“You witch!” he shouted, his face twisting with anger.

“Oh, and one more thing,” I said, taking a step closer to him. “The house your granddad was going to leave you? We sold that too. To pay for your mother’s treatment. You sick, selfish bastard!” I spat the words at him and turned, walking back into the house without looking back.

Ryan stood outside, yelling at the top of his lungs, cursing me, the situation, and anything else he could think of. His words didn’t bother me anymore; they were just noise in the background.

I had finally taken control of my life, and there was no going back. But I wasn’t done yet. After everything he put me through, I wasn’t going to let him off that easily.

I found his mistress and told her the truth. I told her who Ryan really was—how he had been lying to both of us, using my money, neglecting his sick mother, and pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

She was shocked and disgusted, just like I had been when I found out. In the end, Ryan lost everything—his home, his car, his girlfriend. He had nothing left, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of justice.