When Gina and her husband, Brendan, decided to part ways, she took refuge with her parents for a couple of days to escape the chaos. Little did she know what awaited her upon her return—everything she owned was up for grabs on her front lawn. But fate had other plans, and Gina stumbled upon a valuable item belonging to her ex-husband, setting the stage for her own brand of justice.

Brendan, my husband, and I agreed to end our marriage, yet I felt he morphed into someone unrecognizable overnight. Gone was the man I had cherished for years, replaced by a person filled with bitterness and resentment.

This version of Brendan seemed bent on making our split as painful as possible.

“You’re really going to criticize my behavior? My tone?” Brendan yelled accusingly.

“All I’m asking is that you talk to me calmly,” I explained, feeling the stress in my temples. “Shouting won’t make your arguments any more valid.”

“Oh, Gina, don’t act like you don’t know,” he responded emphatically. “You drove me to this! All your endless demands and complaints. Just move on, will you?”

And so, I did just that.

As our divorce loomed, we attempted to divide our possessions and prepare for a new beginning.

“Allow me to pack these up, Gina,” Brendan requested as he sifted through my books.

“You’ll just take what’s mine if I let you,” I objected, determined to address my belongings on my terms.

“Fine, do as you like,” he grumbled.

The tension escalated, and I felt emotionally drained and uneasy. I decided to spend the weekend with my parents to gather my thoughts.

“Go run to your folks,” Brendan taunted as I packed my things.

“They’re better company than you,” I retorted, leaving the house.

The decision turned out to be wise. I needed space to reflect on this transition to being alone after twelve years. Despite needing my distance from Brendan, I felt uncertain about my future.

My parents’ nurturing care was what I needed most.

“Gina,” my mother said tenderly, offering a steaming roast lamb. “You need to rest and eat. Tell me what your heart desires, and I’ll prepare it. Dad can fetch anything from the store too.”

Her offer gave me peace. It was exactly where I needed to be.

“Are you sure divorce is the best route?” my father asked quietly during dinner.

“Yes,” I affirmed with a heavy heart. “Reconciliation is off the table. Brendan and I lost our love long ago and can’t see things eye to eye.”

“Do what’s best for your peace of mind,” my mom comforted. “Only you know what’s right for you.”

I spent my days taking leisurely walks, clearing my thoughts with Pippy, my parents’ lovable dog. I focused on giving myself room to breathe and reflect.

“This new beginning is right,” I assured myself. “There’s no shame in starting over.”

But as I approached our driveway Monday morning, I was confronted with an even bigger shock than I could have imagined. There was all my furniture strewn across the lawn—my cherished pieces from before and during my marriage with Brendan. A bright sign reading “Free Stuff!” boldly invited passersby to take whatever they pleased.

“What is going on here?” I seethed as I slammed my car door.

This couldn’t be happening. I scanned the scene, recognizing my old flea market couch, the coffee table, and most painfully, my grandmother’s rocking chair—all waiting to be taken by strangers.

In frustration, I kicked the sign to the ground, then shakily pulled out my phone to call Brendan. His smug voice answered after a few rings.

“Hey, what’s up, Gina?” he said nonchalantly.

“What’s up? Is that a joke?” I snapped. “Why is everything on the lawn? Are you insane?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I thought you wanted all my money anyway,” he finally retorted. “You were caught conspiring about it. Now you can feel what it’s like to lose what’s yours.”

I was stunned.

Though I had initially considered claiming what’s mine financially, my weekend away had changed my mind.

“You’re being ridiculous,” I declared. “Nothing good will come from this. You’re just making a fool out of yourself.”

His disdain was audible.

“It’s your mess now. Think of selling it instead of giving it away,” he sneered.

His words were infuriating, but arguing further was pointless. Brendan was fixated on his spite.

Exasperated, I hung up and looked at the jumble of memories on the grass. I couldn’t possibly move it all back inside alone. Frustrated, I kicked a small bedside table I had personally restored just months before.

To my surprise, a jingle followed it hitting the ground.

Curious, I opened the drawer.

Inside, I found something that made my irritation subside.

“Brendan, you fool,” I chuckled, seeing he had left a prized possession behind.

There, amongst random odds and ends, lay Brendan’s father’s watch, a cherished family heirloom seldom carried for its sentimental value and fear of loss.

Now, it was in my hands.

“Checkmate,” I said, grinning despite myself.

With the watch now secure in my pocket, I couldn’t deny a pang of satisfaction. He left it there to be grabbed by anyone. I was simply reclaiming what he’d tossed out.

Quickly, I texted my friends, rallying all available help to reclaim my scattered belongings.

“Brendan is something else, Gina,” my friend Jenny said, lifting a lamp. “He’s hit rock bottom with this one.”

“Truly,” I agreed. “But don’t worry, I’ve got a way to even this out.”

I shared the discovery of the watch and how it sat safely in my car. It would only be a matter of time before Brendan noticed its absence.

Later that night, as I tidied up the remaining furniture, my phone buzzed with his call.

“Hey, Gina,” he sounded uneasy, “I think I left something important. Can I pick it up?”

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” I replied, munching on pizza nonchalantly.

“Please,” he implored. “Just the bedside tables.”

“The neighbors took a few things,” I said slyly. “The tables are gone. But Cathy might sell them back to you, if asked nicely enough.”

There was a pause.

“Gina, my dad’s watch. I need it back.”

I let the silence linger before responding.

“Hmm, she’s got them. But with the right offer, I’m sure she’ll be fair.”

He knew I was bluffing, but couldn’t prove it. I wasn’t about to let him off so easily. Brendan had to earn this.

“How much?” he asked, begrudgingly.

“What’s it worth to you? A few hundred dollars?”

“Fine,” he agreed, his voice edged with defeat. “Get it back.”

“I’ll try, no promises though.”

As the call ended, I fondled the watch, considering its history. If we had kids, it might have gone to them, but thankfully we were parting before reaching that stage.

The next day, Brendan showed up as I sipped coffee on the porch.

“Here,” he said, offering an envelope. “$500. You know its value.”

I nodded and said, “Thanks, you can leave now.”

He spoke more about contacting me about the divorce proceedings. His lawyer needed to discuss things.

“Alright,” I said, not giving away much.

Brendan took a double-take before accepting the watch and shuffled away, perhaps wanting to speak but holding back.

What would you have done?