My Daughter Encouraged My Wife to Cheat, Saying We Live Only Once; I Got Revenge on Them Both

In an instant, I transferred it all to an offshore account I’d opened discreetly. If Karen wanted to go to college, she could ask her father or mother to pay for it. While part of me felt guilty over the college fund, the memory of Karen’s smug grin erased my hesitation. She’d orchestrated this entire fiasco, pushing her mother into bed with a violent abuser.

She’d sneered at me, told me I was irrelevant, taken me for a fool. So, no, I wouldn’t fund her education, not after all that. She had dug her own financial grave, and I wasn’t about to bail her out. I also arranged for a quick sale of the house, my house in my name only. Though in truth, I wanted to keep the property for my own long-term plans.

But for the short term, I ensured that by the time Brenda’s 30 days were up, the locks would be changed and she’d have no legal right to re-enter as my spouse. For good measure, I canceled all their phone lines that were in my name. It was petty, maybe, but after everything, petty felt justified. Three or four days passed in peace.

I drank coffee in the morning with no anxiety gnawing at me, no tightness in my chest. I watched an old movie, read a book, and even got a decent night’s sleep without the tension of Brenda’s phone lighting up at 2:00 a.m. with some suspicious text. Then, on the fifth day, the calls started.

Brenda tried my cell phone first, maybe two or three times in an hour. I didn’t pick up. Karen started calling next, leaving short, angry voicemails that grew increasingly confrontational. “Brian, pick up, you asshole.” She spat in one message. “We know you did something with the money. Mom’s card got declined. Call me back.

” I just sipped my whiskey and let it go to voicemail. I was done dealing with them on their terms. Eventually, Brenda tried the house phone, which I’d forgotten to unplug. I found myself staring at the old cordless handset as it vibrated across the coffee table, shrill rings echoing in the silent living room. Finally, I answered, if only to get it over with.

“Where the hell are you?” Brenda’s voice demanded the second I picked up. “I’ve been calling your cell. Karen’s been calling you, too.” I swirled the remains of my whiskey and replied calmly, “I’m taking care of my desires. Busy, you know.” A brief silence, then she snapped, “That’s not funny.” “Why did you empty our accounts? I got notifications that everything’s been cleared out. Everything, Brian.

” I allowed a small laugh, though my heart pounded. “What are you talking about, Brenda? You agreed for a 30-day separation. That means I can spend my money how I want. And I wanted a Jamaican vacation, so that required funds.” She let out a strangled sound. “You You can’t do that.” “Karen’s college fund was in there.

She needs that money, and I need we need Her voice faltered as the realization sank in. They were broke or close to it. On top of that, I’d sold Karen’s car and Brenda’s car. No doubt they discovered that, too. “What did you do to our vehicles?” Brenda asked shakily. “I sold them.” I said matter-of-factly.

“Or more specifically, I sold my vehicles. You and Karen didn’t pay a dime on them. You’re staying at Marcus’s now, anyway. Let him buy you new ones. Let him handle the costs.” “Brian, you son of a” I cut her off. “If you want to keep insulting me, that’s fine, but it’s not going to change anything. We’re separated.

You do your thing, and I’ll do mine. Then I hung up. For the next several days I repeated this cycle. They’d call, I’d sometimes ignore, sometimes pick up. The calls were laced with venom, insults, half-baked threats to call the police or sue me, but Brenda had signed the separation agreement.

She had effectively given me a free pass to do what I wanted financially. She had also effectively let me set the stage for a divorce that would come down squarely on her shoulders considering her documented affair and the proceeding timeline. One evening, about a week into this fiasco, I got a voice message from Karen. “She sounded furious, borderline unhinged.

You piece of shit!” she screamed into my voicemail. “You can’t cut me off like that. You think you can just not pay for my college? I’ll sue you for domestic abuse or something, I don’t know. My dad said we can probably get a lawyer to spin this as your fault, and you also sold the damn car I was using. I can’t even get to school now.

What am I supposed to do? Take the bus like some loser? You are so going to regret this, Brian.” That was her message. That gave me more clarity than ever. Karen had always wanted me to keep paying, keep providing the lifestyle she was accustomed to while she helped orchestrate her mother’s affair. She was in it for her own gain, perhaps hoping to get her father back with her mother while I continued funding them.

The gall. I saved that voicemail as evidence. If she tried to accuse me of something, I’d have a record of her extortion threats. At that point any residual fatherly sympathy I had evaporated. She was not my daughter biologically. I had never adopted her, and she had always treated me with resentment. Now, she was crossing lines that couldn’t be uncrossed.

During those 30 days I also worked with my lawyer to expedite a formal eviction. Brenda might try to return after the month was up and claim squatter’s rights or spousal rights, but not if I filed the correct paperwork. I served them with notices, pinned them to the door. Even though they weren’t physically there, I wanted everything documented.

The day the official eviction was set to be executed was about 2 weeks into Brenda’s birthday month for Marcus. The home was by that time nearly empty of my personal possessions. I’d placed them in storage or sold them off as I prepared for a fresh start. I remember hiring a moving company to clear out the last bits of furniture that belonged solely to me.

As the movers packed items into their truck, who should arrive but Brenda and Karen, presumably having caught wind of the forced eviction. The car that pulled up outside was a battered old sedan, likely Marcus’s, that sputtered as it came to a stop. The moment Karen jumped out, I could see rage twisting her features.

“You mother ducker!” she screamed, stomping up the driveway in a fury. “What the hell do you think you’re doing with all my stuff? Those are my chairs and that’s my table!” I turned calmly to the movers. “Hey guys, do me a favor, don’t engage. Everything here is under my name, purchased with my credit or in my name.

If anything belongs to them, they can talk to my lawyer.” One of the mover guys nodded. He was a tall, burly fellow with a shaved head who could probably bench press a small car. Karen tried to barrel past him, presumably to come after me physically, but he reached out an arm and blocked her. “Ma’am,” he said, “you can’t be in here while we’re working.

” Brenda came rushing up from behind. “Don’t you dare touch my daughter!” she snarled, aiming a finger at the mover. “Brian, call them off! This is still our house, too.” I raised an eyebrow. “Not anymore. You signed separation papers, remember? And I’m the owner. I have every right to remove my belongings.

If you want to claim something as yours, you’ll have to show the receipts.” Karen, livid, lunged forward. “You can’t do this, you piece of You owe me a college fund! You promised! You promised me a future, you worthless asshole!” Her voice cracked, a mix of fury and desperation. She tried to claw at my arm, and the physically inserted himself between us.

“Hey, enough.” the mover said, giving Karen a firm look. Another mover gently grabbed her shoulders to keep her back. Her face twisted in rage, tears forming. “Let me go! I’ll ducking kill him!” she shouted dramatically, though I suspected it was mostly bluster. At this point, Brenda started shrieking, “Brian, you snake! You know I can drag you to court for this.

You’re not paying child support!” “She’s 18.” I reminded them icily, “and not my daughter. So, I’m not paying anything.” Karen’s eyes bulged. “After all these years, you think you can just throw us out? Are you insane?” I pointed at the envelope pinned to the front door. “That’s the eviction notice. You want to take it up with the judge? Be my guest.

But, remember, you two wanted this separation. You wanted your ex-husband, Brenda. You wanted your father’s house, Karen. Go stay there permanently. I don’t owe you anything.” Brenda’s face was turning scarlet. “This is exactly why I went back to Marcus.” she hissed. “You’re a cold, heartless bastard.

Marcus may have been rough, but at least he had a real soul. You just hide behind your precious logic and rationality to be cruel.” “Sure.” I said flatly. “I’m the cruel one. I never beat you. I never threatened you. I gave you a comfortable life, a car, a house, money for your daughter’s college. That’s cruelty, right?” She said nothing for a moment, just glared.

Karen tried again to break past the mover’s arm, but he was a rock wall. Finally, with a swirl of bitter tears, Karen shrieked, “You’ll regret this, Brian! You’re going to pay for humiliating us!” I said nothing in return, just gave a dismissive nod to the mover. He let them both know they needed to leave or the police would be called.

With no options left, Brenda and Karen stalked off, cursing and shouting. The battered sedan roared away, sputtering down the street, and I was left standing there, heart racing with adrenaline. It was an ugly scene, but necessary. The illusions had to end. They would learn, sooner or later, that actions have consequences.

And oh, how those consequences were unfolding. The next day, I got a call from Brenda’s new attorney. The man tried to rattle me, claiming I was guilty of abandonment and psychological abuse. He threatened to demand child support for Karen. I calmly explained that Karen was 18 and I never adopted her. If they wanted to argue she was still a minor in some sense, they could try, but they’d fail.

I also mentioned the separation agreement Brenda signed, handing me the freedom to do as I pleased with my assets for the entire month. My attorney was quick to jump in and demolish their arguments in court. He produced the evidence of Brenda’s affair that began before the separation, all documented by the PI.

The judge, almost amused by the brazen nature of it all, granted the divorce under adultery. I owed them nothing. Even the judge seemed to see the comedic tragedy of the situation. “Tough luck, lady.” he’d said to Brenda, barely masking his disdain for the blatant manipulation. Brenda’s face had gone white, her spirit finally seeming to crack as reality set in.

Karen was in the back of the courtroom, fuming, glaring at me, her arms folded. This wasn’t the triumphant return to Marcus’s arms they had envisioned. It was an unmitigated disaster for them. The final decree was that the remainder of our joint account, a paltry sum I deliberately left behind, would go to Brenda.