My Mother Demanded I Divorce My Husband And Give Him Our House Because He Got My Sister Pregnant. Little Do They Know, I’m A Cfo And Have Already Secured The Assets. How Do I Tell Them They’re Now Trespassing On My Property?
The Weekend Move
The weekend was a surreal blur of method acting. I went back to the house—my house—and packed. But I didn’t pack everything. I packed my clothes, my jewelry, my personal papers, and the things that held sentimental value only to me.
My parents came over on Sunday to supervise, to make sure I wasn’t stealing anything that belonged to the baby.
Barb was there, sitting on my sofa, eating my snacks, pointing out to Greg where to hang a tacky new painting she’d bought.
“Veronica,”
Barbara called as I taped up a box of books.
“Leave the Dyson vacuum. My back has been killing me. I can’t be lugging a heavy one around.”
I looked at her. She was glowing with the triumph of the golden child who had finally won the grand prize. She had my husband, my house, and my future—or so she thought.
“Of course, Barb,”
I said.
“And the espresso machine,”
she added.
“Greg says you make great lattes. I’ll need to learn. Leave it.”
My mother walked into the room, shaking her head.
“See Veronica? It feels good to give, doesn’t it? You have so much; it’s only right to share with those less fortunate.”
“It’s clarifying,”
I said.
“Well, don’t look so sour about it,”
Mom chided.
“You’re a free woman now. You can focus on your career. That’s what you always wanted, isn’t it? No husband to cook for, no kids to worry about. Just you and your money.”
The contempt in her voice when she said “money” was palpable. Yet she was standing in a house my money bought, wearing a sweater my money paid for.
“Yes, Mom,”
I said, lifting the last box.
“Just me and my money.”
I walked to the door. Greg was standing there holding out his hand for the keys I was supposed to give him.
“No hard feelings, Veronica,”
he said, offering a hand I refused to shake.
“Hopefully we can be friends for the sake of the family.”
“Friends?”
I repeated, looking him dead in the eye.
“Goodbye, Greg. Enjoy the house. Really soak it in.”
I handed him a set of keys. They were the old keys. I’d already scheduled a locksmith for Monday morning, 1 hour after the eviction notice was set to be served. But he didn’t need to know that yet.
I walked to my car, a rental because I had stashed my company car in a garage Diana recommended. I drove away watching them in the rearview mirror: my parents waving, Greg and Barbara kissing on the doorstep. A perfect picture of a happy family.
I drove two blocks, pulled over, and threw up in some bushes. The act was over. The nausea of pretending to be weak, of pretending to accept their abuse, finally caught up with me. I wiped my mouth, took a sip of water, and looked at myself in the mirror.
“You did it,”
I whispered.
“Now burn it all to the ground.”
The Waiting Game
The next 30 days were a lesson in patience. There’s a waiting period for divorce, even an uncontested one. But because we had filed the settlement agreement immediately, the clock was ticking toward the final decree. During that time, I lived in a corporate apartment owned by my company. I went to work. I smiled in meetings. I ignored the posts Barbara put on Instagram.
So happy to be nesting with my soulmate in our forever home. (Caption on a picture of her feet on my coffee table). Nursery coming along. (A picture of Greg painting my guest room a garish shade of blue).
Every picture was a piece of evidence I saved just in case. But the real weapon was the paperwork Diana had filed.
Let me explain exactly how the trap worked, because if you are a woman with assets, you need to know this. 10 years ago, a mentor told me, “Veronica, never own anything in your own name if you can help it. Put it in an LLC. It protects you from lawsuits and it protects you from life.” So Miller Holdings LLC owned the house on Maple Street. It owned the car. It owned my investment accounts.
When I married Greg, he signed the prenup. He was lazy so he didn’t read it. The prenup said any asset held by a separate legal entity prior to the marriage remains separate property, regardless of who lives in it. But the absolute beauty of Diana’s legal maneuver was the infidelity clause’s forfeiture provision combined with the settlement agreement Greg had just signed.
The agreement said: Gregory Miller agrees to vacate the marital residence upon the final divorce decree becoming effective unless a separate lease agreement is signed with the property owner.
Greg thought he was the new property owner because of our verbal agreement and my “gift” of the house. He thought the owner was us, or him. He didn’t understand that the owner was a corporation, and a corporation doesn’t have feelings. A corporation doesn’t have a sister. A corporation only has contracts. And since Greg had no lease agreement with Miller Holdings LLC, the moment the judge stamped FINAL on our divorce, Greg became a trespasser.
“This is brutal,”
Zoe said one night as we drank wine in my temporary apartment.
“It is the most beautiful and brutal thing I have ever seen.”
“It had to be,”
I said, looking out at the city lights.
“If I had just fought them, a judge might have given him the house just so the baby would have a roof over its head. Judges are sympathetic to kids. But this way, he gave it up himself. He agreed to leave. He just didn’t know when.”
“What about the money?”
Zoe asked.
“Joint accounts are closed,”
I said.
“Credit cards canceled. But I left one account open—the one tied to the autopay for the house’s utilities.”
“Why?”
“Because I want the lights to stay on until after the wedding,”
I smiled.
“I want them to feel comfortable. I want them to feel safe.”
“You’re terrifying,”
Zoe laughed.
“I’m just a CFO,”
I shrugged.
“I manage risk.”
