Imagine this—you come home after a long day, dreaming of peace, only to find your husband and his ex-wife standing in your living room. Sounds unreal, right? Well, that’s exactly what happened to me. But Melissa wasn’t there for a simple chat. What she was doing was something I could never have imagined in my worst nightmares.
You know the feeling when you finally return home after a day filled with meetings, deadlines, and stress? All you want is to shower, slip into your soft pajamas, grab a cup of coffee, and collapse into bed while watching your favorite show. That’s heaven.
That’s all I wanted two weeks ago. I was excited to continue my true-crime documentary—episode three was waiting for me. But the second I stepped inside my house, all of that slipped from my mind.
I unlocked the door, hung my car keys like always, and started walking toward my room. But something stopped me in my tracks. Something strange.
At first, I thought I was imagining things. But no. My eyes weren’t lying.
The couch was missing. The rug? Gone. Even the bookshelf—vanished. I rushed to the hallway, then to the kitchen. The coat closet? Empty. The dining table? Gone. Even my beloved coffee machine had disappeared.
My heart dropped.
What the heck was happening?
“Where’s Roger?” I muttered to myself, panic rising in my chest.
Roger, my husband, usually came home before me. But he wasn’t anywhere in sight. Then I heard his voice—he was shouting. It came from the end of the hallway. The living room.
I dropped my bag on the kitchen island and followed his voice. My footsteps echoed against the empty floor. And then I heard something else. A woman’s voice.
My stomach twisted.
I pushed open the living room door and froze.
There she was—Melissa. Roger’s ex-wife. The woman he swore he would never see again. The woman he once called “a filthy rich spoiled brat.”
My heart jumped to my throat. “Roger?” I whispered. “What… what happened to our house?”
Roger spun around, guilt written all over his face. “Oh, Liz… you’re here?”
“Yeah,” I snapped. “I just got back. What is she doing here?”
“I’ll explain everything,” Roger stuttered, his hands shaking. “I’ll fix it, I swear.”
Melissa smirked, tilting her head like she owned the place. I almost thought they were having an affair—until Melissa opened her mouth.
“No, you won’t,” she barked at Roger. Then she looked at me with a smile that could cut glass. “Didn’t he tell you? Everything you own is actually mine.”
Roger’s face went pale. “I… I…” He stammered, lost for words.
Melissa stepped closer, her heels clicking against the bare floor. “Well, honey,” she said, her voice dripping with poison, “all this furniture belongs to me. Your husband and I bought it together when we were married. So, I’m just taking back what’s mine.”
I stared at her, my fists tightening. Was this woman serious? She was practically gutting my house and acting like it was her God-given right.
I turned to Roger, my voice sharp. “And you’re letting her take everything? You didn’t even try to stop her? Why didn’t you tell me she was coming? You knew, didn’t you?”
Roger lowered his gaze like a coward. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“Seriously, Roger? That’s it?” I rolled my eyes, fury bubbling inside me. “I never thought you’d let your ex walk out with our whole life! This is beyond ridiculous.”
Melissa laughed, her voice echoing in the hollow room. “Ridiculous? I’m sorry, sweetheart, but technically everything here belongs to me. Even the bed you two share. I paid for all this. I have every right to take it.”
My blood boiled. She was wealthy—richer than anyone I knew. She owned one of the most successful businesses in town. She could buy herself ten new houses fully furnished. But no, she didn’t want new things. She wanted my things. She wanted to humiliate me.
I clenched my teeth. “Fine,” I spat. “Take it. Take everything you think you own. But don’t you dare ever contact me or my husband again.”
“Sure, honey,” she smirked, satisfied, like she had just won some grand prize.
I stood frozen as workers came in, lifting out every last piece of furniture. Out the door. Into a giant moving truck parked in the backyard. She wasn’t just taking furniture. She was ripping apart my home.
Roger sat there, silent, helpless. Watching.
But I wasn’t about to let Melissa walk away smiling.
When she stepped outside to check the truck, I darted into the kitchen. My hands shook as I yanked open the freezer and grabbed a bag of frozen shrimp. Quickly, I hid them inside the furniture Melissa was taking—inside chair cushions, the side table, the mattress, and even the decorative pillows.
I knew she wouldn’t use this furniture in her mansion. She’d dump it in some storage unit. And when those shrimps rotted, oh, the smell would be unbearable.
By the time the last piece was loaded, Melissa turned to me one last time. “Yup, I’m done, honey. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Sorry?” I muttered under my breath.
She strutted out, climbed into her shiny SUV, and drove away.
Roger collapsed onto the bare floor, his face buried in his hands. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I didn’t know how to tell you. She called me a few days ago, said she’d come over, but I didn’t think she’d actually do this. I never thought she’d go this far.”
I sighed, sitting beside him, placing my hand on his arm. “It’s alright, babe. Honestly, I wouldn’t want to live in a house filled with your ex-wife’s furniture anyway.”
He looked at me with swollen, red eyes. I could’ve yelled at him, blamed him, made him feel worse. But no. That’s exactly what Melissa wanted. She wanted us broken. I wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction.
Instead, I forced a smile. “But since you’re apologizing, you better buy me all new furniture. And this time, I get to pick everything.”
Roger gave a watery laugh. “I’ll do that. I’ll buy every piece you want. I promise.”
I squeezed his hand. “I love you, Roger. We’ll get through this together.”
That night, we slept on the bedroom floor. No bed, no couch, no dining table. But somehow, I didn’t care. I realized something important—I didn’t need Melissa’s furniture to make this house feel like home. I had Roger, and that was enough.
But the story didn’t end there.
A few days later, while scrolling through Facebook, a post from Melissa popped up in a local community group. And oh, it was golden.
HELP NEEDED URGENTLY!
Does anyone know how to get rid of a horrible rotting meat smell in furniture? I recently moved some furniture into a storage unit, and now it smells like something died inside. I’ve tried everything—airing it out, deep cleaning, baking soda—but nothing works! The smell is unbearable. Please, I’m losing my mind here!
I nearly fell off the couch laughing. All her pride, her wealth, her smug attitude—ruined by a few hidden shrimp.
Revenge had never smelled sweeter.