My Husband Left Me With His Dying Mother For A “business Trip,” But I Found Photos Of Him In Miami With Another Woman. He Thinks He’s Inheriting Everything, But My Mother-in-law Left It All To Me. How Do I Break The News?
A Calculating Divorce
I delivered my final blow. I took out a will I had drafted myself based on my mother-in-law’s instructions and with legal advice on inheritance rights, and placed it in front of him.
“Mom knew you were not her blood, and seeing your behavior, she wrote down her last wishes. This old house and the land she leaves to me as compensation for taking care of her. As for you…” I paused, watching his expression. “According to the law, an adopted son has the right to inherit, but he must also assume the deceased’s debts. That $22,000 debt from the hospital plus the loan Mom took from the bank last year to fix the house, which has not been paid off yet… you will have to assume half of it.”
Michael’s head snapped up; his forehead beaded with sweat. He was already drowning in debt from gambling and from supporting Natalie. Hearing that he had to take on more debt, he turned pale with fear.
“This run-down house is worthless and you expect me to take on the debts?” He shouted, as calculations of profit and loss swirled in his head. “Are you trying to set me up?”
“I am not setting you up; I am offering you a way out.” I took the divorce papers, already signed by me, out of my bag. “Let’s get a divorce. I will keep this house and assume the entire $22,000 debt. In return, you sign the papers. We will have no more ties, no shared assets or debts. You will be free, without burdens, without the responsibility of honoring someone you share no blood with.”
Michael grabbed the divorce papers, examining each clause. His gaze flickered, calculation reflected in every line on his face. He was weighing his options. On one hand, a debt of over $22,000, responsibility for a deceased adoptive mother, and a town house he considered useless.
On the other, freedom—shedding the burden that I and this family had become so he could go off with his young, attractive mistress. He cleared his throat, trying to sound magnanimous, but he could not hide his relief.
“Are you sure you will take on the entire hospital debt and never ask me for alimony or anything else?”
“I am sure,” I replied, my voice firm and devoid of emotion. “I just want this house as a place to honor Mom. You go your own way.”
Michael smirked, the smile of someone who believes he has just shed an enormous weight. He took out a pen and signed the divorce papers. His signature was quick and decisive, as if severing 15 years of marriage without the slightest hint of nostalgia.
“As you wish. If you like dealing with problems, that is on you. I have signed. From now on, we go our separate ways. What is mine is mine, and the debts are yours too.” He tossed the papers toward me with a triumphant air. “I am giving you the house. I have no interest in this god-forsaken hole.”
“Thank you,” I said, my tone strangely calm. “You can leave now and never come back.”
I held the divorce papers in my hand as tears fell silently. I was not crying for the end of my marriage; I was crying for my mother-in-law. She was right. She had seen through the dark soul of her adopted son.
If I had not listened to her, if I had softened and given him the passbook from the start, I would be on the street now, with nothing and drowning in debt. He, for his immediate gratification and his desire for fleeting pleasures, had lost the most fundamental values: filial love, marital respect, and a fortune he so desperately craved.
The Sting in the Tail
I pulled another stack of papers from the outer pocket of my purse, thick and neatly stapled, and gently tossed it to Michael. “Wait. Do not leave so quickly. We have one last parting gift to sort out.”
Michael frowned with suspicion as he picked up the documents. He opened the first page, and instantly his triumphant smile froze and shattered. They were the detailed statements for his credit card and the bank transaction history for the last three months.
Every figure, every party destination was clearly marked in red. “Where did you get this?” Michael’s voice cracked. His hands began to shake as he flipped through the pages.
I answered calmly, my voice like ice, “Did you think I was a fool who only knew her way around a kitchen?”
“While Mom was dying, you were using the credit card to buy a Hermès bag for your mistress, pay for five-star hotels in Miami, and constantly withdraw cash from ATMs near casinos. In total, you spent and racked up debts under the guise of business expenses for over $30,000.”
Michael turned white; sweat poured down his face. He tried to defend himself, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left. “So what? It is money I earned. I can spend it how I want. Besides, we were married. You are responsible for half of that debt too.”
“You are wrong,” I cut him off, my voice like steel. “Read the third clause of the divorce agreement you just signed: ‘Both parties declare they have no shared debts. Any debt incurred in the name of one party or spent for personal purposes will be the sole responsibility of that party.'”
Michael was stunned. He quickly pulled the agreement from his pocket to reread it. In his haste to get rid of the house debt and hospital bills, he had not bothered to read the fine print.
I stepped closer to him, staring into his panic-stricken eyes. “All the money you spent on your mistress and on gambling has been proven to be for personal purposes, not for the family’s needs. I consulted with a lawyer. Now, not only have you lost the inheritance, but you will have to carry a debt of over $30,000 all by yourself. Congratulations. You have the freedom you wanted so badly.”
Michael stood motionless; the paper in his hand fell to the floor. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. The trap his own greed and arrogance had set had snapped shut on him, trapping him in a brutal reality he had never foreseen.
