She opened her eyes slowly.
“Sweetheart… you’re home early.”

“Why are you sleeping out here?” My voice trembled.

She hesitated and then said quietly, “Daniel told me there was nowhere else to sleep. He said all the rooms were being treated for mold.”

Something inside me snapped.

I checked every room—nothing was disturbed. No signs of mold treatment, no equipment, no workers.
Just lies.
Ugly, lazy lies that hurt the person who had already suffered enough.

I bent down, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “Rest. I’ll be right back.”

As I left the house again, I knew something had to change. And my mind was already crafting a plan.

By the afternoon, I returned home, pretending nothing had happened.

Daniel greeted me with a bright smile.
“Back already? How was the trip?”

“It was fine,” I said smoothly. “I brought you a present.”

I placed a striking golden box on the kitchen table.

Daniel eagerly opened it—then recoiled.

“JESUS, WHAT IS THIS?!”

Inside the box sat a large, writhing mass of… worms.

But that wasn’t the real surprise.

Tape to the underside of the lid was a folded sheet of paper. He grabbed it with a scowl and read it aloud.

“CONGRATULATIONS! You’re moving out.”