My Husband Took the Front Door Handles When He Left Because He ‘Bought Them’ — Just Three Days Later, Karma Had Her Say
They say the true colors of a person show when a relationship falls apart. Mine glowed neon when my husband of ten years took the door handles after our divorce because he “paid for them.” I stayed silent and let karma do its thing. Sure enough, my ex called me almost in tears three days later.
I stood at the kitchen window, my fingers wrapped around a mug of lukewarm coffee, watching the rain streak down the glass. The reflection staring back at me wasn’t the same woman who’d said “I do” a decade ago. That woman had dreams. She believed in forever.
“Mom, Emma took my dinosaur again!” Ethan’s voice broke through my thoughts as he stomped into the kitchen, his six-year-old face twisted in frustration.
“Did not! It was mine first!” Emma followed after him, all nine years of her radiating righteous indignation.
I set my mug down and knelt between them, fixing Emma’s braid. “Guys, remember our talk about sharing?”
“But Daddy never shares his stuff with us,” Emma muttered, her eyes downcast.
My heart clenched. Kids notice everything. They’d seen how Mike retreated further away from us with each passing day. His possessions were more sacred than family time and his buddies were more important than bedtime stories.
“Where is Daddy, anyway?” Ethan asked, the dinosaur dispute momentarily forgotten.
“He’s…” I hesitated. “He’s packing some things.”
The reality was I’d finally done it. After months of counseling attempts, tearful nights, and desperate prayers, I filed for divorce three weeks ago. The papers had been served yesterday.
Mike’s response? A room-by-room inventory of every item he believed belonged to him.
As if summoned by our conversation, he appeared in the doorway, his expression cold. “I’m taking the TV from the living room.”
“Fine.” I kept my voice steady for the kids.
“And the blender. I paid for these things.”
“Whatever you want, Mike. You can dig up the toilet too. Go ahead… claim it in the name of ‘I paid for it.’ Want the septic tank while you’re at it?”
His eyes narrowed. “The beanbags in the playroom. I paid for those.”
Emma’s lower lip trembled. “But Daddy—”
“They’re mine,” he snapped, cutting her off. “I bought them.”
I placed my hands on my children’s shoulders. “Why don’t you guys go play in your room for a bit?”
After they reluctantly trudged upstairs, I turned to Mike. “Those beanbags were Christmas gifts… for YOUR children.”
“Should’ve thought about that before you decided to ruin this family, Alice.”
I bit back a laugh that threatened to border on hysteria. “I ruined this family? When’s the last time you had dinner with us? Helped with homework? Had a conversation that didn’t involve your fantasy football league?”