“Get out! You don’t belong here!” he screamed.

I shoved him away, hard. “This house is mine. I paid for it. If anyone’s leaving, it’s you.”

He burst into tears and ran straight into Lana’s arms.

I had bought this house to start a life with Micah after we got married. But clearly, he’d forgotten that. Instead, he’d decided it would be just the perfect little love nest for him, another woman and her child.

Lana wiped at her fake tears, looking tragically heartbroken. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have come. We should probably leave now.”

But Micah stepped in immediately, stopping her. He looked genuinely upset.

Then he turned to me, anger flaring in his eyes. “It’s already dark out. Where can she go with a kid at this hour? Can’t you show a little compassion?”

I let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. But they’re gone by morning—or I’m calling the cops.”

Micah’s jaw clenched. “If you’re really going to throw them out… then I’ll leave too.”

I let out a hollow laugh. “Please do.”

I opened the bedroom door, just wanting to crash and forget this nightmare.

But the moment I walked in, I stopped cold.

The bedsheets were crumpled. The blanket had been used. And under my pillow, there it was—women’s underwear. Not mine.

A wave of nausea hit me.

Lana had already slept in my bed?

I grabbed my essentials, didn’t even glance at the people in the living room and stormed out.

I slammed the door behind me. Hard.

I’d stay at a hotel tonight. That place felt dirty now. Tomorrow, I’d bring in a cleaning crew. Maybe even throw out the bed.

The day had drained every ounce of energy out of me. After washing up at the hotel, I collapsed on the bed—only for my phone to buzz.

A friend request.

I accepted without thinking.

Then came the photos.

Every single one showed Micah and Lana, in my house, tangled up in each other on what was supposed to be our marital bed.

The last image came with a message. [Smart women know when to quit.]

I replied: [And some are into leftovers. I’m more than happy to hand him over.]

Then I turned off my phone and went to sleep.

When I woke, the sun was already up. I ate breakfast, then went back to my house to reclaim what was mine. But when I opened the front door, I froze again.

Balloons. Streamers. Posters on the walls.

Micah and Lana’s wedding photos, everywhere.

Strangers—people I didn’t recognize—were lounging on my couch, raiding my fridge, drinking from my mugs.