His wife turned pale.

“We planned it… you told me…”

“I didn’t say anything. Pack your things and leave. This is my house.”

She tried to explain that they’d split the rent, that they’d put every penny together, but the deeds actually only listed her husband’s name. He decided to use that against her.

“You’re not living in my house anymore.”

He didn’t even let her say goodbye. He simply threw her suitcases in the trunk, put her in the car, drove to the nearest hotel, and dropped her off right at the entrance.

She cried, clutching her stomach, begging him not to leave her there alone. “Please… don’t do this… I’m pregnant…”

But he got into the car, slammed the door, and drove away, thinking he’d finally put an end to it. He thought he’d emerged victorious from the whole situation.

But he had no idea what horror awaited him upon returning home. 

After meeting with friends, where he bragged about “solving the problem,” he returned home—and froze. His house was on fire. Fire trucks, smoke, screams, and flames pouring out of the windows were everywhere.

There was a message from his wife on his phone:

“Since we bought this house together, we’ll lose it together.”