On my 15th wedding anniversary, I hoped to rekindle our fading romance. I had meticulously prepared for the evening, despite Todd’s increasing criticism and dissatisfaction. “You’re terrible, Katie,” he had said. Todd had even compared me unfavorably to his mother, causing me deep pain.
When Todd arrived, he handed me an envelope containing divorce papers instead of a romantic gesture. “I’m divorcing you,” he declared coldly. “I’ve met someone else.” Shocked and heartbroken, I watched him leave for Italy with his new partner, Stephanie.
In a twist of fate, Todd was hit by a car and suffered amnesia. At the hospital, I seized the opportunity to exact revenge. “I’m your boss,” I told him, making him do all the housework and labor I had previously managed.
Months later, when Stephanie visited, Todd remembered everything and confronted me angrily. But I had prepared. I had the police evict him from the house I had legally reclaimed. Watching Todd and Stephanie leave was sweet justice.
