A man ridicules his unemployed wife, only to come home one day to find her gone. In her search, he discovers a note revealing she intends to divorce him. Can he stop her from doing so and save their marriage?
It was a bright, cold October morning, and Harry was excited about his gaming app presentation, a project he had poured himself into for the past six months.
As the clock struck eight, Harry entered the dining room, preoccupied with his phone, barely acknowledging his wife, Sara, and their sons, Cody and Sonny.
“Morning, honey,” greeted Sara.
“Good morning, Daddy,” the boys chimed in unison.
Ignoring them, Harry grabbed a toast and rushed back to his room.
“Sara, where’s my white shirt?” Harry’s voice boomed from the room.
“It’s in the wash with the other whites,” Sara replied.
Harry stormed into the dining room. “That’s my lucky shirt! I needed it for today!”
“I didn’t have enough whites for a full load until now. You have other white shirts!!”
“This is a big day for me, and you’re making excuses?” Harry retorted.
“You’re overreacting, Harry. Your presentation is what matters. It’s just a shirt. So stop barking, alright?”
“Oh really? I’m barking? You wanna do this now?”
“Do what, Harry? You’re making a scene for a stupid little thing. And nobody would be interested in what color shirt you’re wearing when all eyes would be fixed on your goddamn presentation.”
“A goddamn presentation? Come again…Did you just say that? Do you have any idea how I’ve been busting my butt off day and night for that project?”
“Watch your words. The kids….”
“You sit at home all day doing nothing,” Harry blurted out. “Is it too hard to remember one simple thing? All you do is Blah Blah Blah and NOTHING at home.”
“Harry, stop this. The kids are watching. You’re scaring them.”
“Oh really? And nobody watches you when you’re on the goddamn phone gossiping all the time with your friends. Nobody watches that, huh, Sara? You can never be a good wife if you can’t do even a simple thing for me!”
Harry dressed up in a random suit and stormed out of the house, grabbing his briefcase.
After a successful presentation and bagging the promotion, Harry anticipated an apology call from Sara – something she always did after their fights. But this time, there were no calls.
Thinking he would win her apology anyway, he returned home with white roses but found the apartment empty. A note from Sara on the table read, “I want a divorce.”
Confused and worried, Harry called Sara’s sister, Zara, who informed him that Sara was in the hospital. Harry rushed to the hospital, only to face an angry Zara. “You told her she was not ‘wife’ enough for you?”
“Look, we’ll talk about this later, alright?”
Harry rushed to meet the doctor. “Doctor, is my wife alright? Can I see her?”
“It was a mild attack. She’s out of danger. But she needs to take care of her health now. Go ahead and only ten minutes coz she needs to rest.”
Harry shakily walked into the ward, trying to force a smile as he approached Sara.
“Honey, I’m sorry. Please, let me explain. I—”
“I don’t wanna hear anything. I’m done. Divorce is the only thing I want.”
“Wha-What? Why…You’re taking it too far, alright?”
“I had ambitions, plans… I chose you over every opportunity, and it ruined my life,” she said. “It’s too late for your
“Honey, please. We can work this together,” he pleaded.
“No, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be fake to myself. To you. And to the kids. I’m 32, but I feel like a crone. I just hate you, Harry. You’re so disgusting.”
“What about the kids, Sara?”
“I’m in a tough spot to provide for them…So they’re staying with you.”
Harry spoke no more and stormed out of the hospital to pick up his kids from Zara’s house.
At home, he ordered pizza and ice cream for dinner. After tucking the kids into bed, he called his friend Alex, who suggested that Sara might have just cracked up and would be home soon.
The next morning, Harry’s kids awoke him, and as soon as he looked at his watch, he knew he was late! In the morning chaos, Harry burnt the French toast and his shirt while juggling the kids’ school preparations.
“Oh, no, the toast,” he exclaimed, rushing to salvage the breakfast.
“Daddy…Daddy, what’s happening?” the kids asked amidst the chaos.
“It’s just the smoke alarm. Don’t worry,” Harry reassured them, but things only got worse.
He had an important meeting, and he was getting late. “I’ll quickly get ready, and let’s grab something nice to eat on the way to school, yeah?”
He dropped the kids off at school and arrived late at the meeting. “Sorry! Traffic, you know….”
When he returned home in the evening, Harry found signs of Sara’s absence more evident. Her belongings were gone. “Did she leave me for real?” he wondered, overwhelmed.
“Daddy, what happened to Mommy’s pictures and her things?” the boys asked.
Harry, clueless, called Zara.
“Is this some kind of a joke, Zara? Your sister came here. Took all her things. And left me? With the kids?”
Zara coldly informed him, “She’d told you, hadn’t she, Harry? You took my sister for granted.” And then the line went blank.
Five months went by without Sara. Harry struggled to balance work and parenting, and his work performance declined.
One day, his boss, Mr. Adams, invited him for a beer. At the pub, Mr. Adams brought up Harry’s recent work issues.
“Harry, we’ve noticed you’ve been missing deadlines and coming in late. And we’re a business…If you know what I mean,” Mr. Adams said.
Harry, trying to lighten the mood, joked, “So, you plan to let your best game developer go?”
Mr. Adams was also Harry’s friend, and Harry could’ve never prepared himself for what happened next.
“I’m afraid, yes,” Mr. Adams replied seriously. “It’s out of my hands. I’ll give you good recommendations.”
“What? Please, don’t do this! I need this job for my kids.”
Mr. Adams remained silent, leading Harry to storm out in frustration. As he walked away, his phone rang. It was Sara.
“Sara?” Harry said, surprised.
“Harry, can we meet for a quick chat at five? At the café where we first…?” Sara asked.
At a café, Sara met with Harry to discuss their children. She revealed she had been in therapy and now wanted custody.
“Custody?? How dare you? After you left us?” Harry fumed.
“Harry, I’m their mother. I have rights,” Sara insisted.
“You abandoned them, and now you want to take them away? They’re used to me now,” Harry argued.
Sara was determined. “I deserve to have them back. I’ll see you in court.”
Days later, Harry, now adept at managing household chores and balancing a new freelance gig, prepared breakfast for his sons.
“Daddy loves you,” he kissed them goodbye and dropped them at school before heading to the custody trial.
“Mr. Wills, can you please tell us about your attention to your family while you lived together with my client, Miss Sara?” Sara’s lawyer asked Harry.
“Well, I did my best to provide for my family. I worked long hours. Overtime sometimes. I kept myself busy because I wanted to make sure they had everything they needed,” Harry said.
“That’s what most responsible family guys do, right?! And what about your wife’s ambitions? Did she want to build her own career?”
“Before we had our kids…Yes, she did want to work. But after that, she stayed home to look after the kids and the household.”
“Well, looking after the kids…the family…cooking, cleaning. So basically, your wife has been your cook. Your children’s nanny. Your wellwisher. And did you insult her, saying she did nothing at home?”
“I did. Yes, it was an outburst. I was late for office and—”
“Mr. Wills, were you fired from your job? Why were you fired exactly?”
“Objection, Your Honor. This is utterly irrelevant and immaterial to the case,” Harry’s lawyer rose.
“Objection overruled.”
“Thank you, Your Honor!” added Sara’s lawyer. “Mr. Wills, why were you fired from your job?”
After a momentous pause, Harry looked into Sara’s teary eyes and opened up. “Because I couldn’t balance my work and parental duties. I tried, but it was too much. But I didn’t give up. I would never give up on my kids. I love them.”
“Mr. Wills, how are you managing now? How do you intend to support your kids…without a job?”
“I have a job. I can support them well.”
“Be specific, Mr. Wills. What job and what’s the salary?”
“It…It’s a part-time freelance gig. I’m a video editor.”
“Mr. Wills, I admire your confidence despite your climbing down the career ladder! I’m sure you make nothing much like you used to in your previous job, right?” the lawyer added ironically. “A freelance job. Low salary. And raising two kids in today’s recession. Well…That’s all, Your Honor.”
Sara was then called up to the box as Harry’s heart started pounding.
“Ms. Sara, can you please tell us about your life with your husband…I mean, soon-to-be ex-husband?” Harry’s lawyer asked. “Did he ever refuse to give you money or care for you in any way?”
“No…Not at all. He was always generous with our finances. We never had any issues with money.”
“Did Mr. Wills ever raise his hands on you or the kids? Has he ever come home drunk and misbehaved at home?”
“No, he never laid a hand on us. My husband. Sorry. Mr. Wills has never come home drunk.”
“Your husband has taken care of you. You even agreed on that. He’s never laid his hands on you. Then why did you leave him and the kids?”
“I had a nervous breakdown. He was always busy. He would come home and sit with his laptop, barely asking me if I was sick…happy…or sad. I tried to cope. But I couldn’t do it anymore and left. I didn’t want my kids to struggle with me as I wasn’t emotionally stable at that time.”
Harry slowly started to break on the inside, and those words hit him like a bag of bricks.
“Ms. Sara, where were you these six months? What were you doing, and how will you care for the kids?”
“I was in Chicago at a friend’s place. I wanted to be away from everything and everyone for a while. Then I moved back to Boston…got a job as an interior designer.”
“What’s the guarantee you won’t have another breakdown and won’t abandon the kids again?” the lawyer broke Sara’s silence.
“Objection, Your Honor. This is baseless and….” Sara’s lawyer chimed in. “My client, Ms. Sara, has come for the children’s custody. Why would she leave them again?”
“Order…Order.”
“I won’t do it ever again. My children are my world. I’ll be there for them and never let anything like that happen again.”
And two hours later, the verdict was announced, and Sara was granted custody of the kids.
“….Mr. Wills, you’ll have the right to visit your children and take them with you two days a week. You’re required to pay $860 as support to your children every month. This case is now closed.”
Soon, the day arrived when the kids would go with Sara. She arrived, sad to separate the kids from their father but happy to have them back. As she was leaving with her two sons, her elder one stopped her.
“You’re just tearing us apart,” spoke Cody as he let go of Sara’s hand and bolted to Harry.
“We want both Mommy and Daddy!” added Sonny.
This was it. Sara could no longer hold herself back. She bolted in their direction and hugged them.
I Found My Son’s Photo in My Client’s Home — Then Uncovered a Disgusting Plan
Life has a cruel way of dragging the past back into your present, even when you think it’s long gone. I never expected that a simple cleaning job would lead me to a horrifying discovery about my ex and a dangerous plan that threatened my son.
So, I’m not usually the kind of person to spill my life online, but this… this is something else. I’m still reeling from what happened last week, and I need to get it off my chest.
A thoughtful and sad woman | Source: Midjourney
I’m Jocelyn, 40, a single mom, and honestly just trying to make it work every day. I’ve been hustling as a cleaner for a while now: scrubbing floors, dusting high ceilings, you name it.
It’s not glamorous, but it keeps food on the table for my nine-year-old son, Oliver, and that’s all that matters. The job gives me plenty of time to think, to plan, and sometimes, to worry.
A tired and worried cleaning lady | Source: Midjourney
I usually work in regular homes, nothing too fancy, but last week I got this new job through my agency. The place was in this upscale neighborhood that looked straight out of one of those reality shows — the kind where people have their own wine cellars and marble statues in the foyer.
I remember rolling my eyes when I came, thinking, “Great, another house with more rooms than people.” But hey, work is work.
The interior of a fancy house with a wine cellar and a marble statue in the foyer | Source: Midjourney
The house was empty when I arrived. Typical. Most of my clients are never home; they just leave the key somewhere discreet. This time, it was under the doormat along with a handwritten note on the marble countertop.
The note had the usual polite instructions: “Please clean the kitchen, vacuum the bedrooms, and make sure to dust the picture frames.” I tucked it into my pocket and got started.
As I moved through the house, I noticed how pristine everything was. The countertops gleamed, the floors were spotless, and honestly, it made me wonder why they even needed a cleaner.
A cleaning lady looking around a fancy house | Source: Midjourney
I tried to shrug off the nerves that were creeping in; this place was giving me weird vibes. The decor felt oddly familiar, like a place I’d been in a dream but couldn’t quite remember.
Halfway through dusting, I muttered to myself, “What is this place, a museum?” The silence was getting to me, so I called Oliver.
“Hey, bud. How was school?” I asked, keeping my voice light.
“Good. We had our art class. I painted a spaceship!” His voice was full of excitement, and it made me smile.
A closeup of a spaceship drawing painted by a kid | Source: Midjourney
For a moment, I forgot about the strange feeling that had been gnawing at me since I got here.
“Sounds awesome, Ollie. Save it for me, okay?”
I needed that little pep talk from my boy. It reminded me why I put up with weird houses and demanding clients.
Soon afterward, I made my way upstairs, figuring I’d tackle the bedrooms next. Each step felt heavier, like my body was picking up on something my brain hadn’t caught onto yet. I started in the guest room, nothing strange there.
A silver and white desk lamp beside a bed | Source: Pexels
Then, I moved on to the master bedroom, and that’s when everything fell apart.
On the nightstand, staring right back at me was a framed photo of Oliver. My Oliver. I couldn’t breathe. It was like my heart had stopped and the world was spinning. I walked closer, slowly, like I was in some nightmare where everything was in slow motion. I picked up the frame with shaking hands.
“What the—” I whispered, my voice barely audible. It was him, alright. Oliver’s goofy grin, the blue paint streaked across his cheek from last year’s school fair.
A happy little boy with blue paint streaked across his cheeks | Source: Midjourney
I remember that day like it was yesterday. But why was his picture here, in this stranger’s house?
Panic set in. My mind went to dark places. Was someone stalking us? Did something happen to him? My stomach twisted. I felt dizzy, desperate to understand. I sank onto the edge of the bed, clutching the frame as if it held the answer to all my questions.
I needed to stay calm, but it was like the room was closing in on me. I could barely think straight. Who lived here? And why did they have a picture of my son?
A cleaning lady sitting beside a nightstand with a photo of a little boy | Source: Midjourney
I couldn’t stop staring at that picture of Oliver. My head was spinning, but I knew I had to pull myself together. I set the frame down and started looking around the room, my eyes darting from one thing to the next.
That’s when I spotted more photos — ones that hit like a punch to the gut. There he was, Tristan, my ex, grinning in every frame like he had it all figured out.
A closeup photo of a man grinning | Source: Midjourney
I hadn’t seen Tristan in almost nine years, not since he walked out on us. I could still see him standing in the doorway of our tiny apartment, bags in hand, his eyes cold and distant.
“I can’t do this anymore, Jocelyn,” he had said, his voice flat and unfeeling. Oliver was just a baby, crying in the background, but Tristan didn’t even look back.
“Just like that? You’re leaving us?” I had asked, my voice breaking, but he just shrugged, his face hardening.
A teary-eyed woman | Source: Midjourney
“You’ll figure it out,” he said, turning away without a hint of remorse. And then he was gone, vanishing into thin air without so much as a goodbye. I’d spent sleepless nights wondering where he was and why he’d left, but after a while, I stopped caring. We didn’t need him then, and we sure as hell didn’t need him now.
But now, it was like he’d been hiding in plain sight, living in this mansion with some glamorous woman: his new wife, judging by the wedding photo on the dresser.
A closeup shot of a bride and groom | Source: Midjourney
She was all dressed up, looking like she’d stepped straight off a movie set, and there was Tristan, holding her close like he was the king of the world. My stomach churned, and anger bubbled up inside me.
I stormed out of the bedroom, pacing the hallway, trying to make sense of it all. “Unbelievable,” I muttered to myself, my voice shaking. “He knew. He had to know I’d be here.” My thoughts were a mess, each one nastier than the last.
Just when I thought I couldn’t feel any worse, I saw the note again, crumpled in my pocket. There was another message at the back, which I most likely missed reading the first time.
A cleaning lady holding a handwritten note | Source: Midjourney
My eyes zeroed in on the last line, scrawled in Tristan’s unmistakable handwriting: “I hear you’re still working these lowly jobs. Make sure the place is spotless. Wouldn’t want Oliver living in filth.”
My blood boiled. This wasn’t just a cleaning job; it was a setup. He wanted to humiliate me, to remind me where I stood in his eyes.
I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth. “He thinks he’s so clever, doesn’t he?” I whispered furiously. I could practically see him smirking, thinking he’d won, but he had no idea who he was dealing with.
A man smiling wickedly | Source: Midjourney
I wasn’t the scared, helpless woman he left behind. I had built a life from the ground up without him, and there was no way I’d let him waltz back in and make me feel small.
Determined not to let him get the best of me, I marched back to the kitchen, scanning the spotless counters with a mischievous grin. “Alright, Tristan. Two can play this game,” I muttered under my breath. I swapped the salt with the sugar, twisted the caps back on, and moved to the laundry room.
A cleaning lady standing in a laundry room with a clever smile on her face | Source: Midjourney
“Oops,” I whispered as I poured a good splash of vinegar into his expensive-looking detergent bottle. It wasn’t much, just enough to wreak some havoc in his perfect little life.
Before I left, I scribbled a quick note and tucked it under the picture of Oliver. “You might have all the money in the world, but that doesn’t buy love or respect. You abandoned your son once, and you’ll never have the chance to hurt him again. Keep your distance, or I’ll make sure you regret it.”
A cleaning lady smiling while writing a note | Source: Midjourney
I locked the door, feeling both relieved and defiant. My hands were still shaking, but this time it wasn’t from fear. I was proud. Proud that I hadn’t let him reduce me to the woman he once left behind. I had stood my ground, and for the first time, I felt like I had taken a piece of my power back.
A few days later, my phone buzzed with a call from the agency. “Jocelyn, we got a complaint from the client,” the manager said, her voice tinged with concern. “Apparently, the laundry smelled odd and some of the food tasted off.”
A female manager talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney
I chuckled, trying to keep my tone casual. “Must have been an off day,” I said lightly, though inside, I was savoring every word. The agency didn’t push it further, and I knew Tristan must have been livid. But I didn’t care. Not anymore.
Later that night, as Oliver and I snuggled on the couch, he leaned into me, his laughter filling the room as he watched his favorite show. I could feel the warmth of his small body against mine, a comforting reminder of why I did everything I did.
A happy little boy sitting in his room | Source: Midjourney
“Mom,” he said, looking up at me with those big, curious eyes, “do you think we’ll ever need more people in our team?”
His question caught me off guard, but I smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Maybe someday, Ollie. But right now, it’s just us, and that’s pretty perfect, don’t you think?”
He nodded, grinning as he leaned his head back against my shoulder. “Yeah, just us. We’re the best team.”
I kissed the top of his head, feeling a rush of love and pride. “The best team,” I whispered, my heart full.
A happy mother-son duo | Source: Midjourney
Oliver was my world, and no amount of money or fancy homes could ever change that. I didn’t know if Tristan got my message, but I sure hoped he did.
He’d better stay far, far away because if he ever tried to mess with us again, he’d find out just how strong and fiercely protective I’d become. And maybe, just maybe, he’d learn that you can’t put a price on family.
A woman smiling confidently while sitting in her living room | Source: Midjourney
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