My Husband and His Mistress Changed the Locks While I Was at Work Little Did They Know What Awaited Them
So there I was, standing outside our flat in London after a gruelling day at the office, only to find my own husband had changed the locks. I couldnt believe it when my key no longer fit. Heart in tatters, I stood on the doorstep, all my efforts to salvage our marriage crumbling in an instant. But what they didnt realise was that I was about to teach them a lesson theyd never forget.
“James, its nearly ten at night,” I said, voice trembling when I called him the evening before. “You promised youd be home by seven!”
He tossed his keys onto the sideboard without so much as glancing at me.
“Work, Emily. What do you want me to tell my boss? That I have to rush home to my wife?” he snapped, as if I were some burden.
I swallowed my tears, staring at the table Id set for a simple birthday dinnertwo candles flickering beside the cake Id bought on my lunch break.
“Yes, James. Exactly that. Just once,” I crossed my arms, fighting back the sting in my eyes. “Its my birthday today.”
Finally, he looked at the table. His expression shifted as realisation dawned.
“Christ, Emily, Id forgotten,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“Seems that way,” I replied coldly, throat tight.
“Dont start,” he rolled his eyes. “I work for us, you know that.”
I laughed bitterly.
“For us?” I shot back. “Youre barely home, James. When was the last time we ate together? Watched a film? Had a proper conversation as 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 dont give me that providing for the family rubbish.”
His face went icy.
“Right, you were always going to throw that in my face,” he sneered. “How am I supposed to compete with my high-flying wife?”
“That wasnt 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, clinging to the lie that things would get better. He was my husband. I loved him. Every marriage has its rough patches, doesnt it? Thats what everyone says.
How wrong I was to forgive so easily.
Wed been married three years, but the last one had been a slow, painful unravelling. No kidsthank God for that. Me, a marketing director, covered most of our bills while he, a salesman, moaned about stress, overtime, trafficanything but the truth, which I discovered far too late.
Three weeks after my ruined birthday, I came home early with a pounding headache, desperate for painkillers and bed. But as I reached our building in Kensington, something felt off. The doorknob and lock, once brass, were now silver and shiny-new.
“What the?” I tried my key. It wouldnt turn.
Tried again. Nothing. Checked the flat numberdefinitely ours.
Then I saw the handwritten note stuck to the door, James scrawl unmistakable: “This isnt your home anymore. Find somewhere else.”
The floor might as well have vanished.
“Are you serious?!” I shrieked.
I hammered on the door, shouting his name. When it finally opened, there he waswith his mistress behind him, wrapped in my cashmere dressing gown, a gift from my mother.
“Youre joking, right?” My voice shook with rage.
“Emily, look” He crossed his arms, smirking. “Ive moved on. Me and Sophie are together now. We need the space. Go crash at someone elses place.”
Sophie, the “work colleague” hed mentioned for months. She stepped forward, hands on hips, sneering.
“Your stuffs in boxes in the garage. Take it and piss off.”
I stood frozen, then turned and walked to my car, fury boiling under my skin. They thought they could toss me out like rubbish and get away with it? They were dead wrong.
I needed a plan. A good one.
I called my sister, Charlotte.
“Emily? Bloody hell, what happened?” She yanked me inside the moment she saw my tear-streaked face.
I collapsed on the sofa, spilling everything.
“What a complete wanker!” she fumed when I finished. “And that cow Sophie wearing your dressing gown?”
“Mums gift,” I sniffed. “The cashmere one, remember?”
Charlotte stormed to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of wine.
“Drink,” she ordered. “Then we 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 degree.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes.
“Who paid for everything else?”
“Both of us, but…” I paused, realisation dawning. “I bought it all. The furniture, the appliances, the bathroom remodel last year. Everything.”
“Exactly!” She grinned wickedly. “Whats James got besides an empty flat?”
I opened my banking app, scanning the statements.
“Ive got every receipt. I keep everything organised.”
“Course you do, Miss Spreadsheet,” Charlotte laughed. “Queen of bloody organisation!”
For the first time that awful day, I felt something like control returning.
“They think theyve won, dont they?” I whispered.
She clinked her glass against mine.
“Theyve no idea who theyre dealing with.”
The next day, I phoned my lawyer friend, Rebecca.
“What he did is illegal,” she said over coffee. “He cant just change the locks and kick you out, even if the place is in his name. Youve got a right to live there.”
“I dont want to go back,” I said firmly. “But I want whats mine.”
Rebecca smiled.
“Then we make a list.”
We spent the morning cataloguing everything Id boughtthe sofa, the telly, the fridge, even the rugs. By lunch, I had a detailed list with receipts, dates, and costs.
“Impressive,” she approved. “With this, no ones disputing a thing.”
“Can I just take it all?”
“Legally, yes. But Id bring a police escort to avoid trouble.”
I remembered James smug smirk, Sophie in my gown, their certainty of victory.
“No,” I said slowly. “Ive got a better idea.”
That same day, I hired a removal firm. The owner, Tom, listened to my story and nodded.
“Had a similar case last year,” he said. “Wife caught her husband cheating, wanted to strip the place while he was away.”
“I need the same,” I said. “Except I want them there when it happens.”
I waited until Saturday. At noon, the crew arrived, and I knocked on the door with a smile, ready for them to take every last piece of the home Id built with my own hands.
