Two days before Christmas, I found a red gift box hidden in my husband Jimmy’s closet. It wasn’t for me—it was for someone named Julie. Inside was the diamond necklace I’d shown him months ago. He said it was too expensive. Apparently not for her.
I didn’t cry. I plotted.
With help from my friend Mark, we rigged the box to explode with green paint the moment it opened. I put it back exactly where I found it.
Christmas morning, Jimmy snuck out with the box. I followed.
At our favorite brunch spot, I watched from across the street as he handed it to Julie—his mistress. She squealed. Opened it.
SPLAT.
Green paint everywhere—her dress, hair, face. The whole café burst into laughter. I filmed it.
Jimmy came home drenched. “Paint balloons,” he stammered.
“On Christmas?” I smiled, handing him divorce papers. “Merry Christmas.”
I kept the necklace. Julie dumped him. And Jimmy? He’s now infamous as the Grinchy cheater. As for me? I’m thriving.
Every time I wear that necklace, I remember how I ended my marriage…
…with style.
