The Price of Pettiness

My ex-husband, Dan, and I were married for eight years. We had two kids and a cozy little house I inherited from my grandmother. I thought we were happy—until I found out Dan was cheating.

I forgave him once. The second time, I didn’t even wait for an excuse. I filed for divorce before he could pretend to be sorry.

The process was cleaner than I expected. The house was mine, our finances were split 50/50, and Dan insisted I take full custody because he didn’t want “the responsibility.”

After everything was finalized, he promised to move out by the weekend. I took the kids to my mom’s house to give him space.

When we returned, I walked into a nightmare.

The wallpaper—our floral wallpaper—was gone. The walls were shredded, jagged patches of drywall exposed like open wounds.

I found Dan in the kitchen, his hands gripping another strip of wallpaper, yanking it down with force.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice shaking.

He barely glanced at me. “I paid for this wallpaper. It’s mine.” Another rip. More drywall exposed.

I felt sick. “You’re destroying your kids’ home.”

He shrugged. “I paid for it.”

The kids peeked around the corner, eyes wide, fear written all over their little faces. My heart broke. I didn’t want this to be their last memory of their dad in this house.

I inhaled deeply, forcing down the anger clawing at my throat. “Fine. Do what you want.”

I gathered the kids and walked out. Let him ruin the walls. I knew life would prove him wrong.

### **Six Months Later**

I had repainted the walls, making the house my own again. The kids and I were doing well—better than ever, really. Dan had disappeared from our lives, as I expected he would.

Then, one evening, my phone rang.

Dan.

I almost let it go to voicemail but answered out of curiosity.

“I need to share important news,” he said, his voice oddly tight.

I leaned against the kitchen counter. “What?”

There was a pause. Then, he exhaled sharply. “You know that wallpaper I ripped down?”

I tensed. “Of course I do.”

“Well… I took it with me. Shoved it in a garbage bag and threw it in my garage.”

I rolled my eyes. “Dan, why are you telling me this?”

“Because… I was cleaning out the garage today. The bag split open. And, uh… there was something underneath the wallpaper.”

A strange chill crawled up my spine. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated. “Hidden inside the wall, behind the wallpaper… there were envelopes. Stacks of them. Full of cash.”

My breath hitched. “What?”

“It was old. Some of it dated back decades. I took a few bills to a collector. Some are worth thousands.” He swallowed hard. “Lucy… I think your grandmother hid her savings in the walls.”

I gripped the counter. “How much are we talking?”

Dan cleared his throat. “I stopped counting at fifty grand.”

The room tilted slightly. My grandmother had always been frugal, but this?

Dan let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Guess I *really* paid for that wallpaper, huh?”

I almost laughed. Almost.

Instead, I smiled. Because for once, karma had done the work for me.