**Diary Entry A Lesson Theyll Never Forget**
I came home after a long day at work only to find my own husband had changed the locks. I stood there, on the doorstep of our flat in London, heart in pieces. All that effort to save our marriage, gone in an instant. But what they didnt know was that I was about to teach them a lesson theyd never forget.
*James, its nearly ten at night,* my voice shook when I called him the evening before. *You promised youd be home by seven!*
He tossed his keys onto the side table without even looking at me.
*Work, Emily. What do you want me to tell my boss? That I need to rush home to my wife?* he snapped, as if I were a burden.
I swallowed my tears, staring at the table Id set for a simple birthday dinner. Two candles flickered beside the cake Id bought on my lunch break.
*Yes, James. Exactly that. Just once,* I crossed my arms, fighting back the tears. *Todays my birthday.*
He finally glanced at the table. His expression shifted when it hit him.
*Bloody hell, Emily, I forgot* he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
*Seems like it,* I replied coldly, my throat tight.
*Dont start,* he rolled his eyes. *Im working for us, you know that.*
I laughed bitterly.
*For us?* I asked. *Youre barely home, James. When was the last time we had dinner together? Watched a film? Talked like husband and wife?*
*Thats not fair,* he frowned. *Im building a career for our future.*
*What future? We live like strangers under the same roof!* my voice cracked. *I earn more than you, so spare me the providing for the family act.*
His face turned to stone.
*Right, you were bound to throw that in my face,* he sneered. *How am I supposed to compete with my successful wife?*
*Thats not what I meant*
*Enough, Emily. Im going to bed.* He cut me off and walked away, leaving me alone with a cold cake and dying candles.
I blew them out, trying to convince myself things would get better. He was my husband. I loved him. Every marriage has problems, right? Thats what everyone says.
How wrong I was to forgive so easily.
Wed been married three years, but the last one was a slow, painful unraveling. No childrenthank God for that. Me, a marketing director, covered most of our expenses, while James, a salesman, constantly moaned about stress, overtime, traffic everything except the truth, which I discovered too late.
Three weeks after my ruined birthday, I came home early with a splitting headache. All I wanted was painkillers and bed. But when I reached our building in Kensington, something felt off. The doorknob and lock, once brass, were now silver and brand new.
*What the?* I tried my key. It didnt fit.
Tried again. Nothing. Checked the flat numberdefinitely ours.
Then I saw the note taped to the door, handwritten by James: *This isnt your home anymore. Find somewhere else.*
The ground vanished beneath me.
*Are you joking?!* I shouted.
I pounded on the door, calling for him. Finally, it openedthere stood James, with his mistress behind him, wearing my cashmere dressing gown, a gift from my mother.
*Youre serious?* My voice trembled with rage and hurt.
*Emily, listen* he crossed his arms, smirking. *Ive moved on. Me and Sophie are together now. We need the space. Go crash at someones place.*
Sophie. The *colleague* hed mentioned for months. She stepped forward, hands on hips, and sneered:
*Your stuffs in boxes in the garage. Take it and leave.*
I stood there, stunned. Then I turned and walked to my car, fury burning inside. They thought they could toss me out like rubbish and get away with it? They were wrong.
I needed a plan. A good one.
I called my sister, Lucy.
*Emily? Christ, whats happened?* She pulled me into her flat the second she saw my tear-streaked face.
I collapsed onto the sofa and spilled everything.
*What a bloody wanker!* she fumed when I finished. *And that Sophie wearing YOUR dressing gown?*
*Mums gift,* I choked out. *The cashmere one, remember?*
Lucy marched to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of wine.
*Drink,* she ordered. *Then well figure out how to ruin them.*
*What can I do?* I took a sip. *The flats in his name. The mortgage was under his credit because mine was still recovering from my masters.*
Lucy narrowed her eyes.
*Who paid for everything else?* she asked.
*Both of us, but* I paused, realising. *I bought it all. The furniture, the appliances, the bathroom renovation last year. Everything.*
*Exactly!* She grinned wickedly. *Whats James got left? An empty flat.*
I opened my banking app and scrolled through the statements.
*Ive got every receipt. Always kept track.*
*Course you did, Miss Spreadsheet,* Lucy laughed. *Queen of organisation!*
For the first time that awful day, I felt control slipping back into my hands.
*They think theyve won, dont they?* I whispered.
She clinked her glass against mine.
*Theyve no idea who theyre dealing with.*
The next morning, I called my solicitor friend, Hannah.
*What he dids illegal,* she said over coffee. *He cant just change the locks and kick you out, even if the flats in his name. Youve got a right to live there.*
*I dont want to go back,* I said firmly. *But I want whats mine.*
Hannah smiled.
*Lets make a list.*
We spent the morning noting everything Id bought: the sofa, the TV, the fridge, even the rugs. By lunch, I had a detailed recordreceipts, dates, amounts.
*Impressive,* she approved. *With this, no one can argue.*
*Can I just take it all?* I asked.
*Legally, yes. But Id bring a police escort to avoid trouble.*
I remembered James smug grin. Sophie in my dressing gown. Their certainty theyd beaten me.
*No,* I said slowly. *Ive got a better idea.*
That same day, I hired a removal company. The owner, Rob, listened to my story and nodded.
*Had a similar case last year,* he said. *Woman caught her husband cheating, took everything while he was out.*
*I need the same,* I replied. *Except I want them there when it happens.*
I waited until Saturday. At noon, the removal team arrived, and I knocked on the door with a smile, ready to strip that flat of every last thing Id paid for.
**Lesson learned:** Never underestimate a woman scornedespecially one with receipts.
