During my pregnancy, the man who once adored me turned cruel. Arnie mocked my changing body, ignored my pain, and eventually walked out, announcing he’d found someone “better.” At my lowest, eight months pregnant and alone, he handed me divorce papers and declared he wanted nothing to do with me or our baby. His betrayal cut deep, but it also lit a fire in me I didn’t know I had.

While grieving the loss of my marriage, I quietly made a plan. With help from a trusted friend, I hired a woman—Stacy—to play the role of Arnie’s “dream girl.” He fell for her instantly, never suspecting a thing. Blinded by ego and lust, he eagerly signed over our shared assets without reading the fine print. By the time our divorce was finalized and our daughter was born, I had secured full control of the house and accounts—everything he thought he’d keep.

Months later, Arnie came crawling back, begging both Stacy and me for a second chance. That’s when I revealed the truth: Stacy had been working with me the entire time. He called me a witch, but I just smiled. “You destroyed yourself,” I told him. “I simply gave you the chance.” He stood there—broke, humiliated, and abandoned—the same way he’d once left me.

Now, my daughter and I live peacefully in the home he lost. I’ve rebuilt my lif