After losing my husband in a car accident, I wasn’t looking for love.

I just wanted peace for myself and my two grieving kids. Then I met Brian charming, sweet, the kind of man who brought real lemonade for my children and made balloon animals out of napkins. Slowly, he worked his way into our lives.

He remembered birthdays, cooked pancakes in the rain, and helped my son learn to ride a bike. For two years, I believed we were building something real. Then it all unraveled.

Brian grew cold, distant. He stopped caring, stopped showing up. When I suggested therapy, he mocked me. I ignored the signs until the night I saw him at a pizza place, holding hands with another woman. When I confronted him, he didn’t deny it. He just shrugged and then demanded I return everything he’d ever given me and my kids. Even the little stuffed elephant he won at the fair.

So I packed it all the Xbox, my bracelet, Nancy’s elephant, half-melted chocolates, cheap earrings, and nearly-empty perfume into a box. I left it overnight in the garage and delivered it to his porch the next morning. The spilled perfume and sweets had invited an army of ants, a beetle or two, and a spider for dramatic flair. When he opened the box, chaos erupted. Brian the big, tough mechanic screamed like a horror movie extra, flailing in his bathrobe as bugs crawled out. I watched from my car across the street, trying not to laugh.

When he called, raging, I calmly said, “Maybe it’s just karma.” After the show was over, I retrieved our things from his trash. The kids never knew the full story just that their Xbox and elephant were back. That night, we made a blanket fort and stayed up late with popcorn and cartoons. I don’t regret loving Brian. I regret letting my kids love him. Next time, I’ll choose more carefully. And if someone tries to hurt us again? Well, karma and I already have each other on speed dial.