“Celine, well, about time you found out,” he said, smirking. The woman, Lila, smiled back at him and gave me a look like she’d won something.
“Joren,” I tried to speak, not even sure what to say, but he cut me off.
“Look, Celine, it’s better this way. I’m done sneaking around,” he said, all casual. “I’m in love with someone else. We’re done.”
Just like that. No guilt, no regret. I wanted to yell, cry, or smack that smug look off his face, but I just stood there, stunned.
Veda grabbed my arm, muttering that Joren would pay for this, and pulled me outside.
I didn’t even notice her driving us to her place. She sat me on her couch, and I finally broke down, crying my eyes out.
The next morning, after barely sleeping, I decided to go home and face him. Maybe he’d rethink things.
But when I pulled up to our house, the sight hit me like a fresh wound. My stuff—clothes, picture frames, even my old college books—was thrown across the front lawn like trash.
There was Joren on the porch with Lila, grinning like he’d won big. I got out of my car, feeling numb, and walked toward them.
Joren didn’t hold back. “This house is my grandfather’s, and you’ve got no right to it,” he sneered as I kept my face blank. “You’re out. Take your stuff and go. Now.”
His words sank in. Not only had he cheated and dumped me, he was kicking me out of our home. And the worst part? He seemed to love every minute of it.
I tried to stay cool. No way was I letting him see me fall apart. So I started picking up my things, stuffing clothes and random stuff into my car’s trunk. But the shame burned deep.
Lila stayed on the porch, watching me. She didn’t even hide her grin. Then she rubbed it in. “I can’t wait to fix up this house,” she said, all smug. “It’s so old and ugly.”
I kept my face blank, thinking about anything I might’ve left inside as I loaded my sedan. I’d need another trip. Hopefully, Veda wouldn’t mind me staying with her. But as I tried to keep it together, I heard it: the low rumble of a car pulling up.
I turned, and there was Mr. Roland, Joren’s grandfather, stepping out of a sleek black sedan. He looked confused.
Everyone in town knows Mr. Roland is tough. He built his fortune from nothing and expects a lot from his family. I thought being his grandson’s wife would be hard, but he’d always treated me like family. I never knew why, but he seemed to love me with Joren.
Still, I braced myself as he took in the scene—my stuff on the lawn, a strange woman on the porch, and Joren nowhere in sight.
“Joren, come out here!” Lila called, sounding nervous.
Her voice made Mr. Roland frown. Then his confusion turned to rage.
“What in the world is going on?!” he roared as Joren stepped out, mouth hanging open.
“Grandpa, we didn’t know you were coming,” Joren stammered. “It’s a bad time. We’re dealing with something personal. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Personal?” Mr. Roland snapped. “I’m old, not stupid. I see exactly what’s going on.”
“Grandpa,” Joren tried, but he was cut off.
“It looks like you’ve kicked my favorite granddaughter-in-law out and moved in with this woman. Am I missing something?” Mr. Roland’s voice was sharp, and I didn’t mind his dig at Lila.
“Celine and I… we’re done,” Joren said. “She doesn’t belong here anymore.”
“Who gave you the right to decide that?” Mr. Roland’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced at me with a kind look before glaring at Joren. “This house is mine. I let you live here to build a life with Celine. If you’re going to treat her like garbage, you’re the one who’s out. Right now.”
Joren’s face went pale. “What… what do you mean?”
“I mean Celine stays, and you leave,” Mr. Roland said, not budging. “And as of now, you’re cut off. No more money, no more help. You think you can disrespect your wife and shame our family for some midlife fling with a gold digger? Not on my watch!”
“Grandpa!” Joren begged.
“Get out!” Mr. Roland barked.
Once Joren and Lila were gone, Mr. Roland led me inside and explained why he’d come. “Celine, I heard from my son about your struggles to have a baby. I came to offer to pay for IVF.”
“Oh, sir,” I choked out, tears welling up.
“But I got here just in time to see this mess instead,” he said. “You don’t deserve any of this.”
I swallowed hard. “Thank you, Mr. Roland… I didn’t know what to do, so I just started packing.”
He shook his head, putting a hand on my shoulder. “No need. This house is yours. I’ll handle the paperwork to make it official. It’s my apology for not raising a better grandson.”
I nodded, tears falling.
In the days that followed, Mr. Roland kept his promise. My name went on the deed, and Joren was cut off from the family’s money. Word got around that Lila ditched him when she realized the cash was gone, and Joren was crashing on friends’ couches.
A week later, he showed up, looking rough in the same clothes from that day. “I screwed up,” he blurted. “I’ve got nothing left. My family won’t help. Can you talk to Grandpa? He’ll listen to you. I can’t live like this.”
No apology, no regret for what he did to me—just whining about losing his family’s money.
“Nope,” I said, feeling a rush of satisfaction. “You made your bed, now sleep in it.” Cliché, sure, but it felt amazing.
His face twisted with anger, but before he could throw insults, I slammed the door. His shouting faded as the thrill of payback washed over me.
Maybe I’ll feel bad for him someday. But what did he expect? Entitled jerk.