Eight years of marriage crumbled when my husband Mike brought home his pregnant mistress, Jessica, and kicked me out. Stunned, I packed my bags, but what I unpacked was a revenge plan for the ages.

First, I froze our joint account. Then, I hired a locksmith to change all the locks and movers to take every item I owned—including the toilet paper. My masterpiece? A huge billboard on our front lawn that read: “Congrats, Mike! Hope your baby doesn’t inherit your infidelity!”

I threw a party at the house, inviting his family, coworkers, and even our nosy neighbor. The next day, Mike called in a panic—he couldn’t get inside, and the place was swarmed with people. I calmly reminded him the house was in my name.

As the cherry on top, I had the utilities cut off, transferred our assets, and served Mike divorce papers delivered by a mailman dressed as a pregnant woman.

Days later, Jessica left him when she realized he was broke and homeless. Meanwhile, I sold the house for a nice profit, moved to a beautiful new place, and started my own business.

Karma never felt so sweet—especially when my new cat, fittingly named Karma, curled up beside me in my new jacuzzi.