They say you see someone’s true colors when a relationship ends. Mine glowed neon when my husband of ten years took the door handles after our divorce—because he “paid for them.” I said nothing and let karma handle it.
Three days later, he called, nearly in tears.
I’d filed for divorce after months of trying. Mike’s response? A petty inventory of every object he believed he owned. “I paid for it” became his mantra—from the TV down to the kids’ beanbags.
He even took the door handles. I watched, silent, as he unscrewed them one by one, collecting them like trophies. I knew he wanted a reaction. I gave him none.
Three peaceful days passed. Then came the call.
He’d tried to install the “better” door handles at his mother’s house to impress her. But the key broke. Now he was locked inside—with no spares, no escape, and an interview in 30 minutes.
He begged for help. I sipped my coffee.
Eventually, I offered a suggestion: “Try the upstairs window. Maybe the trellis?”
The next day, the beanbags reappeared on our porch. No note, just a quiet return.
Later, Mike showed up with new door handles. “I missed the interview. Fell into my mom’s roses. She gave me a lecture I’ll never forget.”
“Very karmic,” I said, smiling.
He asked to say hi to the kids. They didn’t run to him—but they didn’t turn away either.
As I shut the door behind him, I realized: what we lose isn’t always a loss. Sometimes, letting go is what sets us free.