My Husband And His Mistress Mocked Me In German To My Face. They Called Me A “walking Atm” And Planned My Replacement. They Didn’t Realize I Understood Every Word. What Should My First Move Be?
Mother and Son
Belated regret began to gnaw at his soul. Not because he loved me, but because he realized the wife he had always dismissed as a bookworm had seen through him all along. The phone rang, its shrill sound tearing through the empty room, amplifying the silence and the fear gripping David.
It was his mother, Eleanor. David answered with trembling hands. Before he could speak, a sharp scolding voice erupted from the other end.
“David, where are you? What on earth is your wife doing leaving a party midway through for no good reason? Our guests were asking, and I didn’t know where to hide my face. That kind of woman can’t even have a child, and now she’s making a scene. If you can’t discipline her, I’ll come over and do it myself.”
David didn’t dare mention the divorce papers. He just mumbled a few excuses before hastily driving to the family estate. His family’s old home, a sprawling Tudor in Greenwich, was filled with heavy dark wood furniture and the constant scent of potpourri, creating an atmosphere that was both stately and suffocating.
Eleanor sat on an antique chaise lounge, a teacup in hand, her face a mask of fury. She had never liked me from the day I married into the family. In her eyes, I was educated and professionally successful, but I came from a middle-class background in the Midwest, not a suitable match for their self-proclaimed East Coast dynasty.
Moreover, my greatest sin was failing to produce a male heir to carry on the family name after 3 years. She had no idea the fertility issues were with her son, and that I had been the one to silently bear the blame to protect his fragile ego.
“Mom, Catherine… she…” David stammered, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool evening.
Eleanor slammed her teacup down on the table, hot tea splashing onto the polished wood.
“She what? Is she trying to start a rebellion? I’m telling you, you spoil her, and that’s why she’s acting out. A daughter-in-law who doesn’t know how to maintain the family’s honor is useless. Look at Lisa. She’s beautiful, clever, and she gave birth to a son. I am very pleased with her. You’d better figure things out and not let your wife stand in the way of my grandson.”
The Lawyer’s Arrival
Just as the two of them were plotting how to discipline me, the doorbell rang. Eleanor gestured for the housekeeper to open it, muttering under her breath.
“She probably realized her mistake and has come back to apologize. Let her. I’ll make her learn her lesson this time. I’ll make her kneel and beg forgiveness from the family portraits before I even consider it.”
But the person who walked in was not me with a submissive demeanor as she expected. It was a middle-aged man in a sharp black suit carrying a leather briefcase, his face exuding an air of calm professionalism. It was Mr. Thompson, the legal counsel I had retained.
“Good evening, Mrs. Anderson, David.” Mr. Thompson nodded politely, but his eyes were as sharp as a scalpel.
“I am the legal representative for my client, Miss Catherine Miller. I am not here to offer an apology, but to carry out legal procedures as per my client’s request.”
Eleanor froze, staring at the stranger before turning to her son.
“A lawyer? Why did she hire a lawyer? Who is she planning to sue?”
David stood rooted to the spot, a sense of impending doom washing over him, making his limbs feel weak. Mr. Thompson didn’t keep them waiting. He calmly sat in the opposing armchair, placed his briefcase on the table, and unlatched it.
The crisp clicks echoed in the silent room like the cocking of a gun before a battle. Mr. Thompson smoothly extracted three sets of documents, arranging them neatly on the gleaming wood surface. Each movement slow and deliberate, yet carrying immense weight.
“This is a petition for a unilateral divorce filed by my client. This is the notice of case acceptance from the Superior Court. And most importantly,” he pushed the third document toward Eleanor and David, “this is the court’s decision to implement a temporary emergency measure.”
Eleanor squinted, picking up the paper, but the dense legal jargon made her head spin. Her eyes locked onto the bolded words in the center of the page: Asset Freeze.
“Asset freeze?” She shrieked, her voice piercing and shrill. “Asset freeze? What does that mean? What assets are being frozen? Our house? Our money? What right does she have to touch any of it?”
Mr. Thompson adjusted his glasses, his voice remaining calm and steady as he explained each word with precision.
“Ma’am, my client has provided sufficient evidence showing that Mr. Anderson has been diverting marital assets for illicit purposes, specifically transferring them to a third party. To protect my client’s legal rights during the divorce proceedings, the court has ordered a freeze on all bank accounts, company shares, and real estate properties held jointly or derived from marital assets.”
“Is she insane?” David roared, his face turning purple with rage, veins bulging on his neck. He snatched the order from his mother’s hands, his eyes bloodshot.
“Tomorrow my company has a massive import shipment that needs payment! The deposit is already paid. If we don’t transfer the rest of the funds, we lose the deposit and the shipment. She’s doing this to kill me, to destroy this company!”
