She turned her key and let herself into her hallway.
Hanging up her fur coat, she slipped off her shoes and poked her feet into her fluffy cat slippers.
She picked up her mail, and smiled on opening her bank statement, finally no longer in the red.
Padding into her kitchen, she flicked on her kettle, reaching for her personal mug and a tea bag. Opening a packet of her favoured custard creams, she put three on a plate and the rest in her cookie jar on the counter.
Walking into her lounge, she flipped on her 42 inch television with its surround sound, admiring the deep pile of her new carpet, her baby grand piano in the corner, and placing her plate on top of her glass-topped coffee table with the gold leaf trim.
Entering the bedroom, she changed out of her work clothes into a satin kimono.
The click of the kettle made her retrace her steps and pour the boiled water into her mug.
Opening her fridge, she took out her bottle of full cream milk, and generously added it to her tea.
Carrying it back into her lounge, she sat in her oversized chair with its soft equally oversized cushions and watched the news.
It was the third item.
There in full glorious high-definition colour was a picture of her pathetic Ex Husband and the story of his trial for fraud, embezzlement and theft.
She had it all, and no-one could touch her.