To get his own back on his wife, the husband sold his half of the house to the first homeless man he came across, and flew off to the seaside with his mistress: little did he know what a surprise his jilted wife had in store for him 😨😱
‘Meet him, darling, this is our local tramp,’ said the husband with a nasty smirk, throwing the door wide open and letting a thin, scruffy man in a worn jacket into the flat. ‘From today, he’ll be living in our house. Feed him, my love, and give him some new clothes. You might as well marry him.’
‘What on earth are you doing? What does this mean?’ his wife turned pale in an instant.
‘I’m fed up with you,’ he said indifferently. ‘I’m leaving you for someone else—young and beautiful. You can rot here; I don’t care. All I wanted from this marriage was a son, and he’s already grown up. My life is only just beginning. Goodbye, darling.’
The day before, in a rush, her husband had drawn up a contract with a notary he knew: he had indeed sold his share of the flat to ‘the first person he came across’ — a homeless man called Victor, whom he’d found near a supermarket and bribed with a bottle of booze and a few thousand.
He thought he’d devised the perfect revenge: now, by law, his wife would be forced to share her home with a vagrant. Handing Viktor a crumpled folder of documents, he slammed the door shut, and within a couple of hours he was sitting on a plane next to his heavily made-up mistress, dreaming of the sea and a new, happy life.
But when her husband returned, a terrible reckoning awaited him at the hands of the wife he had left behind.
As the door slammed shut behind him, his wife stood in the hallway for a few more minutes, listening to the monotonous dripping of the tap in the bathroom. Then she took a deep breath and turned to face the unexpected visitor.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked wearily.
‘Victor,’ the man replied awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. ‘I… can leave if you’d prefer.’
‘No, Victor,’ said the wife calmly. ‘First, you’ll have a shower, then you’ll have something to eat, and afterwards we’ll discuss everything.’
A couple of hours later, sitting opposite her was no longer a dirty homeless man, but a haggard yet perfectly ordinary man wearing her old tracksuit top. Her wife laid out the documents on the table, which he was nervously crumpling in his hands.
‘You do realise,’ she said, ‘that according to the papers, you’re now the owner of half the flat… but you can see for yourself that you’ve simply been used.’
Victor lowered his head guiltily.
‘He said he didn’t care, as long as he ruined your life…’
‘But I do care,’ his wife replied firmly. ‘Here’s a fair deal: I’ll help you get off the streets, sort out a place in a shelter, buy you some decent clothes, and you’ll transfer that share to me.’
A week later, they were sitting at the notary’s office. Victor signed the deed of gift, received a decent sum of money from her and a referral to a rehabilitation centre.
Meanwhile, his wife set about dealing with other matters: she packed her husband’s belongings into large bin bags and took them to the same shelter, and transferred the car into her name.
She rang his office herself: she calmly explained that her husband had been behaving strangely of late, forgetting important things, selling off their possessions for a song, abandoning his family and flying off to who knows where. The management quickly drew their conclusions: the ‘unreliable’ employee was first suspended and then dismissed outright.
Her husband only found out about everything two weeks later, when he ran out of money whilst on holiday and his bank card suddenly stopped working. His mistress didn’t stick around for long and flew home early — she had no time for other people’s problems.
Enraged and humiliated, he returned home, convinced that he would now swiftly ‘sort things out’. But when he reached the entrance, he didn’t recognise his own flat: there was a new lock on the door.
