I’d been married to Logan for five years, and while it started as a fairytale, reality hit hard. Struggles with infertility and the toll it took on my mental health pushed us apart. Instead of supporting me, Logan distanced himself, focusing on “finding himself” with gym memberships and flashy purchases. I blamed myself for our problems, never imagining he would betray me.

One evening, my best friend Lola dragged me out to a jazz club to lighten my mood. As we laughed, she suddenly froze, her eyes wide. “Natasha… is that Logan?” she whispered.

I turned and saw him, seated with a younger woman draped over him, giggling as he leaned in to whisper something. My body moved on its own as I marched to their table. “Logan, are you serious right now?!” I demanded.

Instead of remorse, Logan smirked. “Natasha, it’s better you know now. I’m in love with someone else. It’s over,” he said casually, as if he were discussing the weather. Stunned, I allowed Lola to lead me away, her words promising he’d regret this.

The next morning, I returned home to confront him, hoping he’d come to his senses. Instead, I found my belongings scattered across the lawn. Logan stood on the porch with his mistress, Brenda, smugly watching me. “This house belongs to my grandfather. You have no claim here,” he sneered. Brenda added insult to injury, mocking my taste in decor.

As I numbly loaded my things into my car, a sleek black BMW pulled up. Out stepped Mr. Duncan, Logan’s grandfather. He took one look at the scene and demanded, “What the hell is going on here?!”

Logan, visibly nervous, tried to dismiss it as a private matter. But Mr. Duncan wasn’t having it. “You’ve kicked my favorite granddaughter-in-law out of the house for… that?” he said, gesturing at Brenda. Then, he dropped the bombshell: “This house belongs to me. If you’re going to treat Natasha like trash, you can pack your things and leave. Effective immediately.”

Logan stammered, “What… what do you mean?”

“I’m cutting you off,” Mr. Duncan replied. “No money, no support. Natasha stays. You’re out.”

Brenda’s face fell as Logan’s went pale. Within minutes, they were both gone. Mr. Duncan turned to me with a kind expression. “Natasha, I came to offer help with IVF, but it seems I arrived just in time. Consider this house yours.”

True to his word, he transferred the deed to my name and cut Logan off financially. Word quickly spread that Brenda left Logan when she realized his accounts were empty, leaving him to couch-surf.

A week later, Logan showed up at my door, disheveled and desperate. “I made a mistake. Please talk to my grandfather for me. I can’t live like this,” he pleaded.

But there was no apology, just regret for losing his privileged life. It felt amazing to finally say, “Nope! You made your bed, lie in it.” I slammed the door in his face, ignoring his angry shouts.

Maybe I’ll feel bad for him someday—but not today.