When the gavel fell, James leaned back like a conquering king. The papers said he’d won everything—the house, cars, accounts, even the furniture from our “forever.” I zipped my bag, stood… and laughed softly. He thought he’d won. He had no idea he’d walked into his own trap.
James loved two things: mirrors and spectators. Every promotion became a purchase, every dinner a performance we couldn’t afford. The house he “had to have” nearly broke us—until my mother wrote the down payment check. Her one condition: she would live in the downstairs suite. He agreed without a second thought. “As long as I get the house, I don’t care.”
