Revenge of the Wrongful Marriage

On our seventh wedding anniversary, I found a dowry list in my husband Felixs safe.
It wasn't for me. It was for his ex-girlfriend.
The list was staggering: an 0-08.88 million settlement, ten sets of limited-edition designer jewelry, and two luxury condos in New York City.
A stark contrast to my own marriage. When I married Felix, I signed a prenuptial agreement. No dowry, not even a single piece of jewelry. Even the house we lived in, our supposed marital home, wasn't mine.
"What do you think you're doing, going through my things again?"
I turned to see him standing in the doorway, his face a mask of cold annoyance. I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I simply looked at him, my voice eerily calm.
"Felix, let's get a divorce."
His brow furrowed slightly. He strode into the room, snatched the crimson list from my hand, and ripped it into confetti.
"It's an old relic. Are you really going to blow this out of proportion?"
He didn't spare me another glance, turning his back and walking away as if I were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
And just as calmly, I picked up my phone and called my lawyer.
I was leaving with nothing.

1
My lawyer was efficient. By six that evening, the divorce papers were in my inbox.
He must have felt a pang of guilt, drafting such a simple agreement for a client who was walking away empty-handed from a marriage to a man of Felix's stature.
"Clara," he began, his tone hesitant, "are you absolutely sure about this? Given your husband's net worth, you could fight for a much more substantial settlement."
A bitter smile touched my lips. A settlement? There was nothing to settle.
For years, Felixs official salary had been a symbolic one dollar. As for his company dividends, he had made it crystal clear before we married: they were pre-marital assets. They had nothing to do with me.
So while other brides got lavish European weddings and honeymoons, I got a stack of legal documents to sign, meticulously detailing the division of property that left me with none.
I never thought much of it. Felix was a businessman, after all. Calculating, meticulousI understood that.
But that dowry list shattered my understanding. It turned my entire marriage into a cruel joke.
Because every single item on that listthe jewelry, the condos, the cashwas identical to the assets listed in the prenup I signed. The assets that were explicitly not mine.
The wedding ring on my finger? It wasn't for me. It was meant for her.
The ten sets of designer jewelry I had so carefully cleaned and stored? They were hers.
This very house, our home? It was bought for her.
His ex-girlfriend never claimed them. But even as his wife, I could never have them either.
A suffocating pain tightened around my chest, making my hands tremble. Still, I managed to keep my voice steady as I spoke to my lawyer. "No, this is enough."
I ended the call and connected my phone to the printer. But as my finger hovered over the Wi-Fi password prompt, another wave of bitterness washed over me.
The password: FLovesEM.
I never understood it before. But now, it hit me with the force of a physical blow. Felix loves Elara. Elarathe name elegantly scrawled at the bottom of the dowry list.
It all clicked into place. Three years ago, the Wi-Fi went out. I called a technician, had a new router installed, and changed the password to something simple.
When Felix came home that night, he couldn't connect. His rage was immediate and terrifying. He stormed into the bedroom and yanked me from a deep sleep.
"Did you change the Wi-Fi password?" he demanded, his face a cold, hard mask.
His fury jolted me awake. "The old router was broken," I stammered. "I had it replaced."
He said nothing more that night, but his silence was a weapon. He immediately called the provider, paying a ridiculous fee to have a technician come out in the middle of the night and change the password back.
For the next seven days, he treated me like I was invisible. He refused the food I cooked, slept in the guest room, and ignored every word I said.
The silence became unbearable. I finally broke down, apologized, and promised never to touch his things again. Only then did he deign to speak to me.
The memory was a fresh stab of pain. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the past away, and hit "print."
Once the documents were ready, I signed my name on the dotted line.
Then I called a friend in real estate. It was time to find a new place.

2
Thanks to my friend, the search was quick. I wasn't picky. By that afternoon, I had paid the deposit and first month's rent on a small apartment.
It was eight o'clock by the time I got home, but I stopped at the market anyway. Divorce or not, I wanted this to end with some semblance of peace.
I cooked his favorite meal and waited. Ten o'clock came and went. Then eleven.
Just after midnight, the front door finally opened. Felix walked in, his expression souring when he saw me on the sofa.
He tossed his suit jacket onto a chair, already loosening his tie. "That's enough, Clara. Stop this little drama."
He started towards the bedroom, not even glancing at the untouched dinner on the dining table. He didn't say another word to me.
My fists clenched.
"Felix," I called out, my voice cutting through the silence. "Here are the divorce papers. Please sign them."
He froze, his body tensing. He turned slowly, his eyes burning with irritation.
"Is this still about that list? Fine. You want the house? I'll add your name to the deed. Is that what you want?"
I almost laughed. Did he really think this was about money? If I had been after his money, I never would have married him in the first place.
He would never know. He would never understand the years I spent loving him from afar, a secret I had carried from middle school through graduation. My entire youth was a quiet orbit around him. I wrote 999 love letters I never had the courage to give him. For six years, I made sure there was milk and bread on his desk because he always forgot breakfast. I was a silent, lovesick guardian, content to just watch over him.
Then, after college, a twist of fate brought us together on a blind date.
So I endured it all. The dates he stood me up, leaving me waiting alone outside the movie theater. The rainy nights he promised to pick me up, leaving me soaked and shivering on the curb. I never once thought of leaving.
When he proposed, without a shred of genuine ceremony or warmth, I said yes.
There was no grand reason. Its just who I amthe kind of person who has to crash into a wall to finally learn to turn back.
But after ten yearsthree dating, seven marriedIve hit that wall enough. Im done.
Taking a deep, shaky breath to quell the ache in my chest, I stood up.
"That won't be necessary," I said, my voice firm. "I truly want a divorce."
I looked him straight in the eye, my resolve hardening. "When I wake up tomorrow, I expect to see these papers signed and on the coffee table."
Then, for the first time, I mirrored his own cold indifference. I walked past him without another word, went into our bedroom, and locked the door.
A moment later, the house erupted with his furious roar.
"Fine, Clara! You want a divorce? I'll sign it right now!" The sound of something smashing against the wall followed. "But after this, don't you dare come crawling back to me, because I will never take you back!"
The door to his study slammed shut.
Listening to the rage outside, my heart, already bruised, felt like it was being pierced by a thousand tiny needles.
Crawling back to him?
He seemed to have forgotten. In seven years of marriage, I had begged him hundreds of times.
On our first anniversary, I called him, pleading, "Can we please go to that new restaurant tonight? To celebrate?" He'd agreed, but just like when we were dating, he forgot. He called me at the time of our reservation to say he had a last-minute meeting, then hung up before I could reply.
And the honeymoon in the Maldives he promised? For seven years, I asked him, "Do you have time this year? Can we finally go?" And every year, the answer was the same: "Business is slow. I'm too busy." That promised honeymoon remained a debt he never paid.
I used to wonder why, after a decade together, there was still an invisible wall between us.
The dowry list gave me the answer.
It was simple. He never loved me at all.

3
When I woke the next morning, Felix was gone.
In his place, scattered across the floor outside my bedroom, were the shredded remains of the divorce papers. For a dizzying second, seeing the white confetti on the carpet, I felt a flicker of hope.
Maybe he didn't want this. Maybe he wasn't completely heartless.
Then my phone buzzed, and reality crashed back in.
It was a message from an unknown number, a woman who had added me on a messaging app a month ago. Her friend request read: Im back. Time to give Felix back to me.
Stunned, I had accepted. Since then, she had been torturing me with a steady stream of photos. Felix at a nail salon with her. Felix strolling along the beach with her. Felix kissing her under the soft glow of a streetlight.
She was the one who told me the password to his safe. She was the one who told me to look for the dowry list.
This time, the picture was of Felixs face, asleep on a pink pillow.
Bitch, I heard you found the list in the safe yesterday. See? I told you I wasn't lying.
By the way, all those things Felix gave you? I want you to have them professionally cleaned and sent to me. I have a thing about cleanliness; I don't like other women touching my possessions. I only let Felix marry you because I had to focus on my studies. You were a clean option, at least. Better to have you warm his bed than some random slut.
Oh, and you have seven days. Seven days to divorce him. Otherwise, I don't care if he's married. I'll sleep with him anyway.
Don't even think he won't touch me. You have no idea how passionate he gets. He's been coming to my place every night after work since I got back. We've come close to crossing the line so many times. If I wasn't trying to avoid the "homewrecker" label, I'd probably be pregnant with his child by now.
Anyway, I have to go. Felix's waking up, and I need to brush my teeth before giving him his good morning kiss.
The messages stopped. Tears blurred my vision, fat drops splashing onto the screen. Through the haze, I typed a shaky reply.
You don't like other women touching your things? You do realize I've fucked him more times than you can count, right?
I sent it. No reply came.
My impotent rage felt like punching a pillow, a suffocating frustration that twisted into sharp knives in my heart.
So thats why he was smashing things at midnight. It wasn't because I'd asked for a divorce. I had foolishly, pathetically allowed myself to hope he was angry about losing me.
No. He was just in a hurry to get to his ex-girlfriend's bed.
The last thread of hope inside me snapped. My fingers trembled as I sent a message to Felix.
Felix, are you free today? I'd like to go to City Hall and file for divorce.

4
Just like my message to Elara, my text to Felix went unanswered. For half an hour, I watched the "..." appear and disappear as he typed, but nothing ever came through. My calls went straight to voicemail.
Instead, a new message from Elara popped up. It was a voice memo.
Her voice, laced with smug annoyance, filled the air. "God, you're so annoying. Why do you keep calling him? Don't you know how much we hate it when you interrupt our time together?"
My heart seized. I fought back the fury and typed:
I asked Felix for a divorce last night. If you want this to happen, tell me where he is.
She didn't reply. I was done waiting.
With trembling hands, I booked a moving company online and started to pack. Or rather, to throw things away.
Our wedding photos? Gone.
Our matching couple's mugs that he never used once? Gone.
The expensive clothes Id bought for him that he never wore? Gone.
When the movers arrived, the living room was piled high with the ghosts of our marriage. I told them to take it all to the dump. Then, with their help, I packed my own belongings.
Even though Id lived in this house for seven years, it only took an afternoon. My life fit into a few dozen boxes.
As the moving truck pulled away, I looked back at the house one last time. I couldn't stop the tears from falling.
I had just finished unpacking the essentials in my new, empty apartment when my phone buzzed again. It was Elara.
A dropped pin. A location.
Come get him. Hes here.
My grip on the phone tightened. After a long moment, I typed back a single word.
Okay.
I changed into a comfortable set of athletic wear, then grabbed the golf club Id made a point to take from Felixs house.
I called a car.
After a month of Elaras torment, it was time she got a taste of her own medicine.

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