“I’m starving… Dad was eating lobster… I drank plain water in the car…” my eight-year-old whispered. I drove straight to the upscale French restaurant. My husband was feeding his mistress and sneered, “This place isn’t for country women like you.” He didn’t know he was standing on my property, under my roof, using my electricity. I made one call. “Cut the power. Reclaim the lease.” Sixty seconds later, the restaurant went dark.

He looked down at the grease on his apron, shame burning his face red. He turned away, unable to bear the sight of what he had lost.

Elena didn’t stop. She didn’t gloat. She just squeezed Leo’s hand.

“Come on, baby,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

“To the farm?” Leo asked.

“No,” Elena smiled, looking up at the skyscrapers that belonged to her. “To the penthouse. We’re city people now.”

As they walked away, leaving Mark behind in the grease and the noise, Elena realized that she had finally evicted him not just from her building, but from her mind. The electricity bill was paid, the lights were on, and for the first time in years, the view was beautiful.