He Took His Female Assistant Home, I Made Him Taste His Own Medicine

I reached out to my lawyer to initiate the divorce. This farce of a marriage needed to end. I couldn’t bear to pretend anymore, not when everything was already broken. It was time to take control of my own life and put an end to the misery.

That evening, just before finishing work, I received a friend request from Lucy. Surprised, I accepted it, wondering what she wanted. Almost immediately, a message popped up: [Hey Samantha, Jody asked me to move in with you. Can you give me hands?]

The audacity of it. My stomach twisted in an instant. But it wasn’t until I heard the voice message that I felt a wave of disgust wash over me. Jody’s voice came through, casual as ever, as though nothing was wrong, as though he hadn’t just completely discarded me:

[If you don’t want to go with me this weekend, fine. But you have to go home and move your things to the guest room. Lucy is going to stay over tonight. She’ll use your room since it gets more sunlight—she’s sensitive to the cold.]

The words hit me like a slap across the face.

Sensitive to the cold? Does he think I’m not?

Did he think I wouldn’t notice the shift in his words, his priorities? His complete disregard for me was palpable in that message and I felt a sick, bitter laugh bubble up from deep within. It felt like the last shred of dignity I had was being torn apart, piece by piece.

I didn’t reply immediately. My mind was racing, trying to make sense of the cruelty, the thoughtlessness. How had I gotten here? What had happened to the man I once loved, the man I thought I knew?

I stood there, staring at my phone, paralyzed for a moment. Then the phone rang. Jody.

“Are you dead?” he barked, his voice tinged with fury. “Did you not get my message? Or is it just that you don’t want to make room for Lucy? She’s living in a cramped room now and she’s got it worse than you.”

I wanted to scream at him, tell him how wrong he was, how much he was hurting me with every word. But I kept it together. His words were like venom and I had to remind myself that I wasn’t going to let him control me anymore.

He paused for a moment before his voice took on a sharper, colder edge.

“If you haven’t cleared it out by the time we get there, don’t blame me if your things end up on the curb.”

I heard the threat loud and clear and it was the final straw. The coldness in his voice—the complete lack of empathy or concern from someone I had shared so much with—sent a chill through my entire body.

I exhaled slowly, my frustration threatening to boil over, but I forced myself to remain calm. This was no longer a conversation; it was just him exerting control.

Before I could say anything else, the line went dead. He hung up on me. Too lazy, too indifferent to offer anything more. It was over.

I decided then to return to the house Jody and I had once shared. I’d left in a rush the night before, forgetting some things and I needed to take care of a few lingering details—especially the wedding photos still hanging in the master bedroom. I wasn’t sure what I expected to find, but nothing could have prepared me for the chaos that greeted me.

The moment I stepped into the room, I was hit with the overwhelming sight of disarray. The quilt lay in a heap on the floor, the sheets were crumpled and the sofa had been shoved out of place. A piece of lace was carelessly draped across it and the trash can was overflowing with wadded tissues.

My eyes narrowed and I took in every detail, but it wasn’t until I looked closer that the true horror became apparent.

Among the garbage was the unmistakable evidence of what had taken place in my absence: a condom pack, shoved carelessly into the trash, as if it didn’t matter.

The air in the room reeked, a mix of stale perfume and something else—something far worse. The stench hit me like a physical blow and my stomach lurched.

I couldn’t help it. I grabbed the edge of the wall, holding on for dear life as a wave of nausea swept over me. I doubled over, retching uncontrollably, my body shaking with disgust and rage. It felt like the last shred of respect I had for Jody had been completely obliterated and in its place was nothing but contempt.

“Jody… this is what you call work?” I muttered.

The realization struck deeper than I’d anticipated. I took out my phone and quietly snapped photos of the mess, capturing every detail. Then my eyes fell on our wedding photo.

We were smiling, holding each other close, as if nothing could ever come between us. I remembered that it was the only picture we’d taken together in the past two years. Since then, he hadn’t even wanted to be in the same frame as me.

I climbed onto a stool to reach it, took it down and cut it into pieces, including the frame. I tossed the fragments into the trash bin downstairs, feeling a strange sense of relief.

Driving back to my old apartment, I called my old boss. “You mentioned needing more staff for the Amberstone project. Is that position still available?”

She hesitated. “I thought you said you couldn’t leave Sunridge. What’s with the sudden decision? Did something happen?”

I forced a steady tone. “I’ve realized that career should be on my first list.”

After a pause, she agreed and we arranged for me to leave in two months—just enough time to settle the divorce.

When I arrived back at my old apartment, my phone rang again. Jody, his tone immediately accusatory, said, “Why aren’t you back here yet? Lucy just moved in and this is how you welcome her? You’re the lady of the house. Where’s your sense of hospitality?”

It was obvious he hadn’t noticed the missing wedding photo, nor did he realize I’d left for good. Calmly, I replied, “I won’t be back, Jody. Enjoy your time with Lucy.”