My former husband’s selfish actions destroyed our family, but I believed we had moved past the worst part after our separation. Then, one evening, I awoke to my daughter’s scream, and what I found made me send her to safety and install surveillance cameras—only for my ex to reveal his nastiest side.

A few weeks before, I had finalized my divorce from Liam, and as I was about to go to bed that night, I thought about everything he had put me through. Honestly, the entire process felt like pulling a thorn from my side.

Liam only gave me years of frustration and pain. I’m not saying marriage should be simple, but living with him wasn’t just difficult; it was intolerable.

He had this incredible talent for making everything about himself. We were always secondary to his devices, schemes, and so-called “investments.”

For instance, about two years ago, when our daughter Danielle was 10, she pleaded with me to enroll her in ballet classes. I was willing to make sacrifices to make her happy. Anyone who has a child in ballet knows that lessons and clothes are costly.

But just as I was about to call the dance school, Liam came home smiling like he’d won the jackpot. He announced he had used all our savings to invest in a cryptocurrency his friend claimed would soon skyrocket.

He swore we would become wealthy. But that didn’t happen. It was a scam, and I had to tell my daughter ballet wasn’t an option for now.

My husband merely shrugged, saying, “These things happen all the time. The next investment will be our big break!”

He had this way of dismissing problems while spending money on gadgets or investments without considering the family’s needs.

Months later, after the scam, I caught Liam watching videos about trading and finally sat down for a serious talk.

“Liam, you can’t keep doing this,” I warned. “You need to think about our future. We might have an emergency. We need to manage our money better. And we also have to consider Danielle’s college plans.”

He made a face and waved dismissively. “I AM thinking of the future. We’re going to be rich thanks to these ventures. You just don’t believe in me.”

I nodded firmly. “It’s true. I don’t believe in you. This has to stop or…”

“OR?” he cut me off.

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Well, then. Since you don’t trust me, let’s get a divorce,” Liam said, crossing his arms and leaning back.

“Liam, please,” I sighed. “Be serious.”

“I AM serious,” he spat.

I closed my mouth and looked into his eyes, searching for any remorse or understanding. But I saw nothing. He wouldn’t change. He wouldn’t fight for us. So, why should I fight for him?

“Fine,” I decided, my mind made up.

But divorce takes time, often longer than expected—years, actually.

Danielle was now 12, and the separation had been tough for her, especially because Liam rarely called or visited after moving out.

It was some comfort that my daughter and I stayed in the same house, which belonged to my late grandfather. He had died suddenly years earlier, and my mother said he always wanted me to have it.

I thought I’d feel lighter once the divorce was finalized. But as I drifted to sleep that night, I still felt pain in my heart whenever I thought of Liam. I wished he had been the man he promised to be. Most of all, I wished he wanted to be a good father.

Hours later, Danielle’s piercing scream woke me. My heart hammered as I sprang out of bed, every nerve alert.

“Mommy!” she yelled again, her voice sharp and frightened. I hurried down the hall to her room.

I saw a shadow moving toward me when I reached her door. Before I could react, he pushed past me, knocking me into the doorframe. The hit shot pain through my shoulder, but I mainly worried about Danielle.

I stumbled into her room and turned on the light.

She was sitting up, trembling. “It was a man,” she stammered, her eyes wide. “He had a crowbar. I think… I think it was Daddy.”

I froze. “Are you sure?” I asked in a calm voice for her sake.

She nodded quickly. “I saw his face, Mom. It was him. But his eyes… they were scary.”

My stomach sank. The idea of Liam breaking into our house and frightening her made me furious. But I had no time to dwell on anger.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “But what’s happening? Why did he do that?”

I hugged her tightly, trying to shield her from the terror surrounding us. “You’re safe now, sweetheart. I’m here.” But was she really safe? Could I be?

My mind raced, trying to decide what to do next.

In the morning, we found Danielle’s jewelry had vanished. Just a few earrings and a small necklace her godparents gave her when she was born, but it still hurt to see her things stolen.

I felt dread at the thought of another night like that. So I called my mom, Helen, and asked her if Danielle could stay with her for a while.

“Don’t worry, Gina,” Mom said on the phone. “She’ll be safe here. You focus on fixing things. I’ll pick her up soon.”

By the afternoon, Danielle was packed and on her way to her grandmother’s house. I hated to see her leave, but I knew it was safest. I couldn’t allow Liam to come back while she was here.

He had pushed me… someone I once loved!

The rage and fear almost overwhelmed me, but I had to focus. I needed to secure my house again. I called a security company and had a top-tier alarm system installed. It included motion sensors and cameras that send alerts straight to my phone.

Thankfully, I could afford it since Liam no longer controlled my finances.

I spent the day overseeing the installation, making sure everything was perfect. When they left, I tested the system multiple times.

For the first week, nothing happened. I kept busy with work and chores to distract myself. But the fear remained.

Danielle wouldn’t return for at least a month. In hindsight, this was a good choice. About ten days after she left, around 2 a.m., my phone buzzed with an alert: “Motion detected – Front Door.”

I looked at the screen. The app showed movement inside the house and in the garage. It meant someone had entered and gone through the kitchen into the laundry room, which led to the garage.

I exited the app and called 911, whispering, “Someone is inside. Please send help.”

The dispatcher was calm but I could hear my heartbeat pounding. “Stay on the line, ma’am. Officers are on their way.”

I should have stayed hidden, but I wanted to confront him. I tiptoed down the stairs, clutching my phone tightly. The house was dark, but a faint light seeped from the kitchen.

I moved past the kitchen into the laundry room. Soon, I heard something being moved inside the garage.

I pushed the door open slightly and saw a figure dressed in black trying to pull down a tool shelf on the wall. A crowbar shone in his hand. What was he planning to do?

I stepped further in and called out, “Liam?”

He froze and turned toward me. It was my ex. His face was partly masked, but I recognized those eyes and stance immediately.

Instead of running, like before, he started walking toward me, holding the crowbar up as if to threaten me.

Instinctively, I ran to the other side of the garage where we kept a button to open the garage door. The loud noise distracted him, and soon, the garage flooded with light from the street.

Two police cars then sped into the driveway, their sirens blaring. Officers jumped out with guns drawn.

“Freeze!” one commanded.

Liam stopped, dropping the crowbar with a loud clang. The police moved swiftly, handcuffing him. One officer pulled off his mask—there he was, looking more helpless than ever.

“What in the hell were you thinking, Liam?” I asked, voice trembling with rage.

He avoided my gaze. “Gina, it’s not what it looks like…”

“Oh, really?” I snapped. “Because it looks exactly like what I think: you broke into my house again! You already stole our daughter’s jewelry! What’s wrong with you?”

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered as the officers dragged him to the squad car.

I focused on my ex and asked, “What were you searching for?”

He couldn’t look at me and admitted, “When I was packing, I saw a safe in the garage. I thought there might be something valuable inside. I didn’t touch it then, but now… I just needed a little something to get by.”

I turned and saw a safe mounted on the wall, where my grandfather’s tool shelf had been. I had no idea it was there.

“You’re unbelievable, Liam,” I said bitterly as they placed him in the vehicle. “You’re out of money already. Pathetic.”

I watched the officers take him away, left standing in the garage.

The next morning, I hired a locksmith to open the safe. If Liam believed there was something valuable inside, I wanted to see it myself.

When the locksmith opened it, I held my breath. Inside, there were no gold bars, no jewels—just a collection of well-organized bank papers.

As I looked through them, I was stunned. My grandfather kept his entire fortune in multiple safety deposit boxes, all under my name.

My greedy ex had just handed me and my daughter the key to a fortune I never knew existed.

Weeks later, I sat in a courtroom, giving testimony against Liam for the charges of attempted theft, breaking and entering, and weapon possession.

My ex looked smaller than I had ever seen him, sitting there in his orange jumpsuit, and I didn’t feel sorry for him.

When the judge sentenced him, I leaned forward and said clearly, “Thank you, Liam. Thanks to your greed, I’ve discovered I’m wealthy. And you? Well… I hope you enjoy prison food.”