A Long Game of Revenge: Seven years ago, after a decade of hard work and saving, I was able to buy my own home. Being single, I needed to compromise on affordability, which meant buying a property on a shared block. However, I found the perfect setup: a freehold title that gave me the privacy I valued with minimal shared expenses. The real estate agent was a local, well-known to friends of friends, which made the purchase feel reassuring.
Five months after moving in, though, I received a surprise visit from the landlord next door to discuss shared insurance. Confused, I reviewed the paperwork and learned that the title wasn’t freehold as advertised; it was a strata title, with all the restrictions and bylaws I’d worked to avoid. My lawyer, equally surprised, scrambled to right the wrong, but the damage was done. When I confronted the real estate agent with undeniable proof, he refused to acknowledge any fault, offering no compensation. I attempted mediation, only asking for him to cover the sales cost when I eventually sold the property, but he refused. Despite being advised to pursue legal action, I decided against it—mostly because of my health. However, I didn’t forget, and that’s when my long game of revenge began.
I dug into his online presence, discovering photos from a “Boys on Tour” trip and his home address. On the anniversary of my purchase, I started sending him flowers with notes that read, “Remembering you on this, our special day. She has your eyes. Love, Elle.” For six years, I sent similar messages, hinting at a mysterious connection, each one signed “Elle.”
To deepen the mystery, I sent postcards and letters from the same foreign country he’d vacationed in, always with cryptic notes from “Elle.” It became a ritual, a way to remind him of our “special day” while leaving him uncertain of who this “Elle” could be.
Three weeks ago, I learned that he’d recently gone through a bitter divorce, lost his home, and was no longer working as a real estate agent. Through mutual acquaintances, I discovered that his wife had finally connected the dots between my messages and his past infidelity. Apparently, he’d brought back an STD from that infamous vacation years earlier but convinced his wife he was faithful. My notes rekindled her suspicions, and when he confessed, everything unraveled for him.
His losses were severe: his house, a good portion of his retirement savings, and ultimately his career. While part of me feels a twinge of guilt, I remember that he was willing to deceive me and others—to protect himself. I didn’t set out to destroy his life, but as the saying goes, karma is a patient force. In this case, Karma and I found common ground in patience and persistence.
