When Lisa’s husband suggested they take a month-long break to “reignite their relationship,” she had a bad feeling about it.
“It’ll help us reconnect,” Derek had assured her over coffee one morning. “It’ll be like dating all over again. You’ll miss me, I’ll miss you. When we come back together, it’ll be a fresh start.”
Lisa wasn’t convinced, but Derek was persistent. He made it sound like some modern relationship trend that couples try to rekindle the spark. Reluctantly, she agreed. She packed a bag and moved into a short-term rental across town, telling herself this would be good for them.
The first week felt lonely. Derek barely called or texted. When he did, his messages were short and vague. Whenever she tried to start a conversation, he’d respond with, “Just enjoying the space, Lisa. You should too.”
Trying to distract herself, she invited her sister, Penelope, over one evening.
“Are you sure about this?” Penelope asked as she poured herself a glass of wine. “A husband asking for a break out of nowhere? It doesn’t sit right with me.”
Lisa sighed, slicing some cheese for their charcuterie board. “I don’t love it either, but he made such a big deal about it. Whenever I hesitated, he’d get so defensive. I figured it was something he needed.”
“Lisa,” Penelope said, lowering her voice, “something feels off. If I were you, I’d keep an eye on him.”
Lisa felt the same unease, but she shook it off.
Then, one quiet Saturday evening, her phone rang. It was her neighbor, Mary.
“Lisa,” Mary’s voice was urgent. “You need to come home. Right now. There’s a woman in your house. I saw her through the window.”
Lisa’s heart stopped.
“A woman? Are you sure?” she whispered, gripping the counter.
“Positive. She’s moving around like she owns the place. You need to see this for yourself!”
Lisa didn’t hesitate. She grabbed her keys and bolted out the door.
When she reached her house, she didn’t knock. Her hands were shaking as she shoved the door open. She stormed up the stairs and into her bedroom—then froze in shock.
There she was.
Not a mistress.
Derek’s mother, Sheila.
She stood in the middle of the bedroom, surrounded by piles of Lisa’s clothes. The closet doors were wide open, and Sheila was holding one of Lisa’s lace bras between her fingers, looking disgusted.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Lisa shouted.
Sheila barely flinched. She looked up at Lisa with a cool expression, as if she hadn’t just been caught rummaging through someone else’s belongings.
“Oh, Lisa,” she said, waving the bra dismissively. “You’re back early.”
Lisa’s eyes darted around the room. Several trash bags were lined up against the wall, stuffed with her clothes—lingerie, dresses, casual outfits. Her things.
“Sheila,” Lisa seethed, “what is going on?”
Sheila sighed as if Lisa were the unreasonable one. “I’m cleaning up. This house was in desperate need of a woman’s touch. And these—” she pointed at the trash bags, “—aren’t suitable for a proper wife. Derek asked me to help get things in order while you were gone.”
Lisa felt white-hot rage bubble inside her.
“Get things in order? By throwing away my clothes? Who gave you the right?”
Sheila pursed her lips. “Honestly, Lisa, someone had to step in. This house is a mess, and your wardrobe sends the wrong message. Derek deserves better.”
Lisa was so furious she could barely speak. Sheila had always been critical—snide remarks about Lisa’s cooking, backhanded comments about how she kept the house—but this? This was an invasion.
“Where is Derek?” Lisa demanded, voice shaking.
“Out running errands,” Sheila said breezily. “He knows I’m here. We both agree this is for the best.”
Lisa was still processing the betrayal when Derek finally came home an hour later. Sheila had moved to the living room, leaving Lisa stewing in their bedroom.
Derek walked in, looking surprised. “Lisa? What are you doing here?”
Lisa turned on him. “Why am I here? Because Mary called and told me there was a woman in our bedroom, going through my things. Imagine my shock when I found out it was your mother!”
Derek sighed, like she was the one being unreasonable. “Lisa, calm down. Mom was just helping out.”
Lisa’s eyes widened. “Helping out?! By throwing my clothes in the trash?!”
“Yes,” Derek said, his tone maddeningly patient. “You’ve been struggling lately. The house is always messy. The fridge handle is sticky. The bed has crumbs—”
“That’s because you eat in bed, Derek! Like an animal!” she snapped. “And the fridge is sticky because of your peanut butter and jelly hands!”
“Don’t blame me for everything, Lisa!” he barked. “I thought Mom could step in while we figure things out.”
Lisa stared at him in disbelief. “Figure things out? This separation was supposed to reignite our relationship—not for your mother to move in and ‘fix’ me like I’m broken!”
Derek ran a hand through his hair. “Lisa, don’t twist this. Mom was just trying to help. I didn’t think you’d react like this.”
Lisa let out a bitter laugh. “You didn’t think I’d react to you letting your mother invade my home and throw away my belongings? Derek, this isn’t a marriage. This is control. And the fact that you don’t see that? That’s the real problem.”
Derek’s face fell, like he finally realized she was serious. But Lisa didn’t care. She was done.
She grabbed a suitcase and packed whatever Sheila hadn’t deemed “inappropriate.” Without a second glance, she walked out the door.
That was three days ago.
Now, Lisa was staying at Penelope’s while filing for divorce. Some people might think she was overreacting, but to Lisa, this wasn’t just about the invasion of privacy.
It was about Derek showing, loud and clear, that he didn’t see her as an equal.
He didn’t want a partner. He wanted a housekeeper.
“What was the worst part of it for you?” Penelope asked, rolling out pizza dough for their dinner.
Lisa hesitated. “That my husband saw me as a failure. Our marriage wasn’t perfect, but I never thought we were in this deep. And Sheila always hated me. Remember when she criticized my wedding dress?”
Penelope sighed. “Lisa, I always knew Derek was the biggest mistake of your life.”
Lisa scoffed. “Wow, thanks.”
“I’m serious,” Penelope said. “After you met him, you stopped painting. You lost yourself. Where’s the Lisa who could turn a blank canvas into something magical?”
Lisa was quiet for a moment.
“I didn’t realize,” she admitted.
“Find her, Lisa,” Penelope said softly. “She deserves to come back.”
And so, she did.
Lisa rented a new apartment—with an extra bedroom for an art studio. She was done with Derek. Done with Sheila.
It was time to reclaim herself.
