My ex-husband’s selfishness tore our family apart, but I thought the worst was behind us after the divorce. Then, one night, I woke up to my daughter’s terrified scream. What I discovered that night led me to send her away for safety, install security cameras, and prepare for the worst. But even then, I wasn’t ready for the depths of Liam’s greed.
A few weeks ago, my divorce was finally finalized. Lying in bed that night, I expected to feel relief. Instead, I found myself reflecting on everything Liam had put me through. Our entire marriage had felt like trying to pull a thorn out of my skin—painful, exhausting, and never-ending.
Liam had given me nothing but frustration and heartache. Marriage isn’t supposed to be easy, but life with him wasn’t just hard—it was unbearable. Everything was always about him. His schemes, his latest obsessions, his so-called “investments.”
Two years ago, our daughter, Danielle, begged me for ballet lessons. She was ten at the time, and I was ready to make sacrifices to make it happen. Any parent with a child in ballet knows how expensive lessons and outfits can be, but I was determined.
I had just figured out the budget when Liam came home grinning, acting like he’d won the lottery. With pure excitement, he announced he had used our entire savings to invest in a cryptocurrency his buddy swore would blow up.
“We’re going to be rich!” he said, oblivious to my shock.
We weren’t. The whole thing was a scam. Danielle never got her ballet lessons, and I had to be the one to break her heart.
Liam just shrugged. “These things happen! The next venture will be our golden ticket.”
It was always the next thing. The next investment. The next obsession.
Months later, I found him glued to trading videos, and I finally had enough.
“Liam, you have to stop this,” I pleaded. “We need to think about the future. What if we have an emergency? What about Danielle’s college?”
He scoffed, barely looking up. “I am thinking about the future. We’re going to be rich. You just don’t believe in me.”
I folded my arms. “You’re right. I don’t. This needs to stop or—”
“Or what?” he challenged, his eyes narrowing.
I hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“Well, since you don’t trust me, let’s just get a divorce,” he said, leaning back smugly.
I stared at him, searching for any regret. Any sign that he wanted to fight for us. There was nothing.
“Fine,” I said, sealing our fate.
Divorcing him took years. By the time it was over, Danielle was twelve. The separation had been hardest on her. Liam rarely called or visited, and the few times he did, it was always about him.
At least we got to keep the house. It had belonged to my grandfather before he passed, and my mother always said he wanted me to have it.
That night, I should’ve felt free. Instead, as I drifted off to sleep, I found myself wishing Liam had been the man he promised to be. Not for me, but for Danielle.
Hours later, a piercing scream jolted me awake.
“Mommy!” Danielle’s terrified voice echoed through the house.
Heart pounding, I leaped out of bed and sprinted down the hallway.
I barely reached her room before a shadowy figure shoved past me, slamming me into the doorframe. Pain exploded in my shoulder, but I barely registered it. My only thought was Danielle.
Flipping on the light, I found her curled up in bed, trembling.
“It was a man,” she whispered, eyes wide. “He had a crowbar. I think… I think it was Daddy.”
My stomach dropped. “Are you sure?”
She nodded, her little hands shaking. “I saw his face, Mom. It was him. But his eyes… they were scary.”
I clenched my fists, trying to contain my rage. How could Liam do this? He had already abandoned his daughter emotionally—was he trying to traumatize her now too?
When the sun rose, we discovered Danielle’s gold jewelry was gone. A pair of earrings and a necklace from her godparents—small, sentimental pieces.
I couldn’t let her stay here. I called my mother immediately.
“Mom, can Danielle stay with you for a while?”
“Of course, Gina,” she said without hesitation. “She’ll be safe here.”
By the afternoon, Danielle was packed and climbing into my mother’s car. My heart ached watching her leave, but I knew I had no choice.
Then I did what I should have done a long time ago.
I installed a high-tech security system with motion detectors and cameras that sent alerts straight to my phone.
For a week, nothing happened. I tried to distract myself with work and chores, but I never stopped looking over my shoulder.
Then, one night, at exactly 2:17 a.m., my phone buzzed with an alert.
Motion Detected – Front Door.
My breath caught.
Tapping into the live feed, I saw movement inside the house.
Whoever it was had entered, passed through the kitchen, and was now in the garage.
I didn’t hesitate. I called 911.
“There’s someone in my house,” I whispered to the dispatcher. “Please send help.”
“Stay on the line, ma’am. Officers are on their way.”
I should’ve hidden, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed to see him.
Moving carefully, I crept downstairs and edged toward the garage door. Peering inside, I spotted the intruder—dressed in black, prying at a shelf with a crowbar.
I knew that stance.
“Liam?” I called out.
He froze, then turned toward me. Even with a mask, I recognized those eyes.
But instead of running, he took a step forward, gripping the crowbar tighter.
My pulse spiked.
Before he could reach me, I lunged toward the wall and slammed the garage door button. With a loud rumble, the door began rolling up, flooding the space with light.
And just in time—because two police cars screeched into the driveway, sirens blaring.
“Freeze!”
Liam stopped in his tracks, his crowbar clattering to the floor.
The officers secured his hands behind his back, yanking off his mask.
“What the hell were you thinking, Liam?” I demanded.
His eyes darted away. “Gina, it’s not what you think…”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, really? Because it looks exactly like what I think. You already stole from our daughter! What is wrong with you?”
He swallowed hard but said nothing as the officers dragged him away.
And that should’ve been the end. But as I stood in the garage, my gaze landed on the very shelf Liam had been prying at.
There, half-hidden in the shadows, was a small safe.
I didn’t even know it existed.
The next morning, I hired a locksmith. When he cracked it open, I nearly fell over.
Inside were neatly organized bank documents. I skimmed through them, my hands shaking.
My grandfather had left an untouched fortune in safety deposit boxes—entirely in my name.
All this time, I had no idea.
And Liam? His greed had handed me the key to a life he could only dream of.
Weeks later, as I testified against him in court, I leaned in just before the judge delivered the verdict.
“Thank you, Liam,” I whispered. “Because of you, I found out I’m rich. And you? Well… enjoy prison food.”