To get revenge on his wife, the husband sold his share of the house to the first homeless person he saw and flew off to the seaside with his mistress. But he had no idea what a surprise his wife had in store for him 😨😱
“Meet our local homeless man, my dear,” the husband said with a nasty grin, opening the door and letting in a thin, overgrown man in an old jacket. “From now on, he’ll be living in our house. Feed him, my dear, give him new clothes. You can even marry him.”
“What are you doing? What are you even talking about?” the wife turned pale.
“I’m tired of you,” he waved her off. “I’m leaving for another, a younger, more beautiful woman. And you’ll rot here, I don’t care. All I wanted from this marriage was a son, and he’s already grown up, my life is still ahead of me. Bye, my dear.”
The day before, the husband had hastily drawn up a contract with a notary he knew: he had indeed sold his half of the apartment to “the first person he met”—a homeless man named Victor, whom he’d caught near a supermarket and bought for a bottle and a couple of thousand.
The husband thought it was a brilliant act of revenge: his wife was now legally obligated to share the apartment with a vagrant. Handing Victor the withered folder of documents, he slammed the door, and a couple of hours later he was sitting on a plane next to his made-up mistress, dreaming of the sea and a new life.
But when the husband returned home, terrible revenge from his abandoned wife awaited him. 😱😨 Continued in the first comment 👇👇
When the door slammed behind him, his wife stood in the hallway for a few minutes, listening to the dripping faucet in the bathroom. Then she took a deep breath and turned to face her guest.
“What’s your name?” she asked wearily.
“Victor,” the man replied, shifting awkwardly. “I’m… leaving, if anything happens.”
“No, Victor,” his wife said softly. “Now you’ll go shower, eat, and then we’ll talk.”
A couple of hours later, the man sitting before her was no longer a dirty homeless man, but a tired but perfectly ordinary man in her old sweatshirt. His wife spread the papers he’d been crumpling in his hands on the table.
“You see,” she said, “according to the documents, you now own half the apartment… but you know yourself that you were simply being used.”
Victor lowered his eyes guiltily.
“He said he didn’t care, as long as he could ruin your life…”
“But I still care,” his wife replied firmly. “Let’s do it this way: I’ll help you get off the streets, we’ll get you a room in a shelter, buy you some clothes, and you’ll transfer that share to me. Fair enough.”
A week later, they were already sitting at the notary’s office. Victor signed a deed of gift, received a decent salary from her, and a referral to a rehabilitation center.
Meanwhile, his wife was busy with other things: she collected her husband’s belongings in trash bags and donated them to the same shelter, and transferred the car’s registration to her own name.
She called his office herself and calmly explained that her husband had been acting strangely lately, forgetting important things, selling his belongings for pennies, abandoning the family, and flying off to who knows where. Management quickly drew conclusions: the “unreliable” employee was temporarily suspended and then fired.
Her husband only learned of this two weeks later, when the money for the trip ran out and his card suddenly stopped working. His mistress, unable to bear it, left early—she didn’t want any more trouble.
Insulted and angry, he returned home, confident that he would “put everyone in their place.” But when he approached the entrance, he didn’t recognize his own house: the apartment door had a different lock.
