I only took the old, rusty refrigerator during the divorce, and my spouse was initially pleased until he understood why.
I’m obtaining a divorce from my hubby. His persistent extramarital affairs and impolite conduct were the cause of the divorce. He raged and cursed, never came home at night, and I was sick of putting up with it all. I made the decision to leave him, but then the issue of property partition came up.
There was a thick quiet in the room. We sat across from one another, myself on the edge of the sofa with my fists clinched and him with his arms crossed and his face like stone.
He remarked impatiently, “You’re starting again.” For you, nothing is ever enough! The home, the furnishings, the vehicle… It’s all mine! I deserved it all!
“You?” Despite my throbbing chest, I grinned. “We collaborated! Together, we created our life. However, it seems that you were building with dozens of other ladies rather than with me.
He scowled but turned his head away, saying, “Don’t exaggerate.”
Despite my trembling voice, I responded calmly, “I’m tired.” I’m sick of putting up with your antics, your nocturnal “disappearances,” and your yelling. I’m heading out.
He raised his chin.
Then depart. But nothing will come of this. I keep everything.
I hesitated and said, seemingly considering each word carefully:
“All right… You can have it all. However, there is a requirement.
“Hm,” he squinted. “What would that be, then?”
“The refrigerator is mine.”
He was taken aback.
“Are you serious?” “The refrigerator?” He laughed. “Just the fridge?”
“Yes.” Just that.
However, why do you require it? It is almost forty years old, rusty, and ancient.
“That’s my problem now,” I said, obstinately meeting his eyes.
Feeling satisfied with his minor triumph, he shrugged.
“All well, then. Alright. Grab your refrigerator.
Slowly, I nodded.
“But there is one requirement.”
“Now what?” He scowled.
“You can’t open the refrigerator until I move out.”
“And why is that?”
“That or I’m going to court.”
He was aware that he would have to defend a lot of things in court, including his nocturnal “business trips,” bills, and property. He waved his hand grudgingly.
“All right. I refuse to open it.
I gave the movers a call two days later. My husband smiled as he watched the refrigerator being methodically unpacked, as though it contained nothing of value.
However, he failed to comprehend. Our documents, jewels, minor appliances, and all of our saved money were behind the ancient door with the chipped handle. One “useless refrigerator” contained my entire life.
Later, when he learned— he yelled, cursed, and attempted to accuse me of being dishonest.
I reminded him while maintaining a composed gaze:
“We made a deal.”
I shut the door behind me and walked out. And all that was left of his flat was emptiness, the walls, and the old sofa.
