My husband broke up with me via text: «I’m done with you…

Let him think he’s won first. Another text from Mark. I know this must be hard for you.

You’re not getting any younger, after all. At least you have your little shop to keep you busy. My little shop.

The successful boutique I’d built from scratch. The one that generated more income than his middle management position. The one whose profits I’d carefully kept separate from our joint finances.

I smiled, thinking of the certified letters that would greet him in Miami. Let him enjoy his moment of triumph. I spent that evening in our house.

My house, since I’d inherited it from my grandmother and kept it in my name despite Mark’s repeated suggestions to add him to the deed. Another lucky instinct that had paid off. While organizing the paperwork my lawyer would need, I found our wedding album.

Mark looked so different then, before his midlife crisis had turned him into a caricature of his former self. These days he wore shirts too tight for his softening middle, tried too hard to connect with the twenty-somethings at his office, used slang that sounded ridiculous coming from a man of forty-five. My phone kept buzzing with texts from him, each one more condescending than the last.

I’ve been planning this for months. Melissa understands me in ways you never could. You’ll be fine.

Maybe you’ll find someone more your own age. Already told my family. They agree we grew apart.

It’s nobody’s fault, really. I screenshotted each message, adding them to my evidence folder. Let him dig his hole deeper.

My lawyer would love his casual admission of premeditation, his gleeful announcement about emptying our account. The last text caught my attention. BTW, I used the joint card to book our flights and hotel.

Consider it my parting gift, lol. Perfect. I called the credit card company.

Mrs. Harrison speaking. I need to report fraudulent charges and cancel a card immediately. Of course, ma’am.

Can you identify the charges? Two first class tickets to Miami booked today. Hotel charges at the Royal Palm. And I’ll need to remove my husband as an authorized user.

Do you have documentation of the fraud? Text messages from my husband admitting he used our joint card to book travel with his girlfriend after emptying our bank account. I’ll be happy to forward them. The representative’s professional tone couldn’t quite hide her satisfaction as she cancelled the charges.

Mark and Melissa would arrive at the airport tomorrow to find their tickets invalidated. Their hotel reservation cancelled. My phone buzzed again.

Don’t worry about the house. I’ll let you stay there until you find something smaller. I actually laughed out loud at that one.

Did he really think he had any claim to my grandmother’s house? Had his ego grown so large that he’d forgotten whose name was on the deed? Another buzz. And I know the shop means a lot to you. We can work out a fair payment for your half.

My half. Of my business. That I’d built myself, funded myself, grown myself while he complained about my long hours and called it my hobby.

I poured a glass of wine, the good stuff I’d been saving for a special occasion. This qualified. Tomorrow Mark would learn some hard truths about property law and separate assets…