I thought my marriage was solid until my MIL invited my husband’s ex to his birthday. Before I could react, my mom set me up with mine. I walked into a disaster I never saw coming—and that was just the beginning.
I always thought Alex and I had the perfect balance in our marriage. We weren’t one of those couples who fought over scattered socks or a coffee cup left on the table.
Our arguments never lasted more than an hour, and even then, they felt more like a warm-up for new jokes.
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I had my own café—a small, cozy place where people could sit with a book, enjoy a homemade dessert, and escape the city’s chaos. Alex sometimes joked that my cappuccinos would bankrupt him, I knew he was proud of me.
Everything was great… until he came home with a strange smile one day.
I was scrolling through my phone when he sat down next to me and, almost proudly, announced:
“You won’t believe who Mom and I ran into today while we were out.”
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By “out,” he meant dragging his mother around to buy things she absolutely didn’t need—a monthly ritual of theirs. A mother-and-son tradition.
Sounds nice, right?
And it would be… if MIL, Cynthia, didn’t turn those shopping trips into a full-scale circus performance, juggling antique trinkets that would later gather dust in her china cabinet.
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But Alex endured it all. Because, well, it was Mom.
“Aliens?” I smiled, pulling myself out of my thoughts about Cynthia.
“Amanda.”
My fingers froze over the screen. I slowly lifted my gaze.
“That Amanda?”
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“Yeah.”
Amanda. His ex. The love of his youth. The girl who once thought she was “the one and only” in his life.
“Where did you run into her?”
“At a café.”
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It was an unpleasant coincidence, but I exhaled. It happens. Just a random encounter.
“And how was the coffee?” I asked, lacing my voice with sarcasm.
“Oh, amazing! Because it was your café.”
“Oh, I’m so glad Amanda liked it. Makes opening it all worthwhile.”
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He nodded, completely missing my point.
“Oh, Mom was thrilled! They hadn’t seen each other in so long. And, well…”
“And what?”
“She invited her to my Birthday party.”
Fantastic. Just what I needed. Why couldn’t life stay the way it is?
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“Oh, your mother is really on fire.”
“Babe, you’re not jealous, are you?”
The tea had already boiled over in my hand.
“Of course not. And what did you say to that?”
“Well… I couldn’t exactly say no. That would’ve been rude.”
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I wanted to scream: And did you think about asking ME?!”
But instead, I silently exhaled, swallowing the mix of emotions brewing inside me.
“Babe, don’t worry so much. It’s just a party. Just a guest.”
Is he really that naive, or is he just pretending?
I had a bad feeling about that. And, as it would turn out later, I was absolutely right.
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***
Alex’s birthday was always an event. Not because he cared much about celebrating. He would have been pleased with a quiet dinner and a slice of cake.
No, the real mastermind behind these annual extravaganzas was Cynthia, his mother.
For her, that was a grand showcase. A carefully curated spectacle. A chance to prove to the world she could throw a party magnificent.
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I tried to prepare myself mentally, but nothing could have truly prepared me for what I saw when I stepped into the backyard.
There she was. Amanda.
She looked even better than I remembered. Moreover, she was seamlessly integrated into the party as if she had never left Alex’s life.
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They were standing side by side in front of a giant birthday cake.
What’s happening?
And then I saw the contest.
Of course, Cynthia had organized some ridiculous, over-the-top game. Alex and Amanda were paired in a “Who Can Eat Their Cake Faster Without Using Their Hands?” challenge.
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I wanted to turn away. But I couldn’t.
Amanda laughed too hard, tilting her head down as Alex tried to beat her to the first bite. The whole thing looked… ridiculously playful.
“Oh, isn’t that adorable?” someone cooed behind me.
I turned my head slowly. It was my mother. Perfect timing.
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“Adorable?” I repeated, barely concealing my irritation.
“Well, they do look very… comfortable together.”
I swallowed my retort.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I ran into someone interesting the other day.”
I didn’t care. I didn’t want to care. But she knew me too well.
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“Who?”
“Nick.”
I turned my head fully toward her.
“You mean my ex?”
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“Oh, don’t look so shocked, sweetheart.” She waved a dismissive hand. “You know, he’s doing exceptionally well these days. Owns his own company. Has some high-profile clients. And…”
“Please tell me you didn’t invite him to this party.”
She laughed. “Of course not! That would be inappropriate.”
I exhaled in relief.
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“But,” she added, too casually, “he’s actually looking for a place to host networking events for his clients. And I thought, you know… your café might be perfect.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying—maybe you should meet with him. Discuss business. Make a smart move for your café.”
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“I don’t need his help.”
“Are you sure? I mean, look at Alex.”
I didn’t want to. But I did. And there it was: Amanda, laughing with my husband, holding a huge black cake I’d ordered for him.
I felt my irritation spike to a dangerous level.
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I turned back to my mother, my voice suddenly much calmer than I felt.
“You know what? Fine. Set up the meeting.”
“Oh, wonderful! I knew you’d come around.”
I had no idea what I was getting myself into. But if Alex wanted to play that game, I’d play it too.
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***
I spent the following day mentally preparing myself for meeting with Nick.
I told myself it was strictly business. I reminded myself that I wasn’t doing this to prove a point.
I assured myself I wasn’t being petty or reacting emotionally to Amanda’s little flirtation circus at Alex’s birthday party.
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At least, that’s what I kept repeating like a mantra as I walked into the restaurant. And then I saw Nick. Smiling. Relaxed. Effortlessly confident in that way that used to drive me crazy years ago.
And suddenly, I wasn’t so sure about my mantra anymore. Damn it.
“Wow,” he said, giving me an appreciative once-over. “You look amazing.”
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“Thanks. You, uh… still dress like a business magazine cover.”
He chuckled.
“Well, you know me. Always selling something.”
I sat across from him, trying to shake off the weird nostalgia and irritation that came with seeing him again.
He poured us both some tea and said, “So. Tell me about your café.”
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I started explaining my vision, how I wanted to make the café a hub for creative entrepreneurs, and how I planned to add live events, poetry readings, networking nights…
“Sounds incredible.”
I stopped mid-sentence. There was a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“What?” I asked.
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“You. You’re still the same. Passionate. Determined. Always thinking big.”
“Well, some things don’t change.”
“Some do.”
I was about to steer the conversation back to strictly professional territory when a familiar voice cut through the restaurant noise like a knife.
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“Wow. Well, isn’t this cozy?”
I turned my head. There, standing just inside the restaurant entrance, were Alex and Amanda. My stomach dropped. Alex’s gaze flickered from me to Nick.
“Oh, what a crazy coincidence!” Amanda said, placing a hand on Alex’s arm. “You two know each other, right?”
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I stood up so fast that my chair nearly toppled over. Apparently enjoying the drama, Nick leaned back in his chair with a relaxed grin.
“Oh, we’re more than familiar.”
“You’re looking good, man,” he told Alex. “Married life must be treating you well.”
“Yeah,” Alex said. “It was. Until I walked in and saw my wife on what looked like a date.”
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“Oh, please! If anyone’s on a date here, it’s you two!” I gestured at Amanda.
She clutched her chest.
“Me? Oh, no, no, I’m just supporting Alex. As a friend.”
Alex let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, you’re a real saint, Amanda.”
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Nick clapped his hands together, clearly having the time of his life. “Well, this just got interesting.”
I whipped back around to face him.
“Nick, shut up.”
Amanda huffed. “You don’t need to be so defensive, darling. It’s not like you’re the only one who can enjoy an old friend’s company.”
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Oh. Oh, she did NOT just say that.
Without thinking, I grabbed my glass of orange juice and flung it directly at Amanda’s expensive silk blouse. She gasped, horrified.
Nick let out a loud laugh. Alex picked up his glass of water and threw it straight at Nick. Nick spluttered, soaking wet, and shot to his feet.
“Oh, you wanna play, buddy?” he said, reaching for the sauce bottle on the table.
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“DON’T YOU DARE…” I started.
Too late. Before I could blink, barbecue sauce was flying through the air. The following five seconds were a complete disaster. By the time the chaos settled, the entire restaurant was dead silent.
“I. Am. Leaving,” Amanda declared, storming off in her stained designer dress.
Nick looked down at his soaked clothes, then at me.
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“Well. This wasn’t exactly how I pictured our reunion.”
“You planned this?”
He winked. I groaned. Alex grabbed my hand.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here before someone calls the cops on us.”
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I didn’t argue. We left the restaurant sticky, soaked, and absolutely done with the night. As we stepped onto the street, I glanced at Alex.
“We just got played, didn’t we?”
“Oh, 100%. And I have an extreme suspicion about who’s behind this.”
“Yeah. Our mothers.”
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And just like that, everything started making sense.
Alex and I exchanged a knowing glance, the kind only two people could understand. A slow grin spread across my face as I wiped a streak of sauce from his cheek.
“We can’t let them get away with this.”
“Oh, absolutely not.”
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We embraced and burst into laughter — sticky, soaked, and victorious. Because no matter what our mothers threw at us — our love wasn’t that easy to break.
At that very moment, our mothers probably enjoyed a peaceful dinner together at our house. Blissfully unaware of the little surprise we had prepared for them.
***
When we got home, our mothers were lounging on the couch, sipping wine, looking very pleased with themselves.
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“Oh, you’re back!” my mom beamed. “How was your evening?”
Alex and I exchanged a knowing look.
“Oh, life-changing,” I said, slipping off my jacket.
“What do you mean?”
Alex sighed heavily. “We’ve made a decision.”
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Both moms leaned forward.
“We’re breaking up,” I announced.
Silence. Cynthia gasped. My mom clutched her chest.
“But wait,” Alex added, raising a hand. “There’s good news, too. We’re having a baby.”
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Cynthia choked on her wine. My mom’s eyes bulged.
“You CAN’T break up if you’re having a baby!”
“Well, you two can co-parent.”
Alex nodded. “Or, you know… foster care.”
The horror on their faces was delicious.
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“You… YOU WOULDN’T.”
“Oh, but you thought meddling in our marriage was fine?”
“We weren’t trying to ruin anything,” my mom muttered. “We just… read that book that said love only lasts three years. And well, your anniversary is coming up, and everything seemed so… calm.”
“So, naturally, you decided to light a match and throw it into our excellent relationship?” Alex asked.
Cynthia sighed, rubbing her temples. “We thought a little jealousy would… reignite the spark.”
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I exchanged a look with Alex, half-amused, half-exasperated.
“Well, congrats. You gave us the messiest week of our lives.”
Alex chuckled. “But we’re still standing. Still together. And stronger than ever.”
“Well, now that we’re done with family drama,” I said, grabbing my coat, “how about we finally go eat? You two dragged us through so much that we never got dinner.”
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They perked up immediately. And as we all headed out together, I threw an arm around Alex.
“Oh, and by the way,” I added, “we’re sending you two on a weekend getaway. Somewhere far. Very far.”
Alex grinned.
“Think of it as a little break… from ruining our lives.”
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I Cooked a Festive Dinner for 20 People for My Husband’s Birthday — Then He Ditched Me to Celebrate at a Bar
I thought I was being a good wife, throwing a festive dinner for my husband Todd’s 35th birthday. But just as the guests were about to arrive, he told me he was ditching the party to watch the game at a bar. What happened next? Let’s just say, I got the last laugh.
You’d think six years of marriage would teach someone a little gratitude, but not Todd. Every year, I’d pour my heart and soul into his birthday, only for him to take it all for granted.
This year, though, his entitlement hit a whole new level.
A man standing in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
Six years. That’s how long Todd and I have been married.
Don’t get me wrong, our relationship isn’t all bad. Todd can be charming when he wants to be, and we’ve had some wonderful times together. But there’s one thing about him that drives me absolutely up the wall.
His entitlement.
Take last Thanksgiving, for example. Todd had this brilliant idea to host a dinner for both of our families. He announced it at breakfast one day, grinning like he’d solved world hunger.
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“Claire,” he said, “I think we should host Thanksgiving this year.”
“Okay,” I replied. “That sounds nice. How are we dividing up the responsibilities?”
He waved me off like I’d just asked him to do a headstand.
“Oh, you’re so much better at that stuff,” he said. “I’ll handle… I don’t know, drinks or something. Just make it memorable, alright?”
I should’ve known better, but I went along with it.
For two weeks, I planned and prepped while Todd played fantasy football and occasionally asked me, “You need me to pick up anything?”
A man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney
On the big day, I roasted the turkey, whipped up sides, and even made two pies.
And Todd? He carried the cooler of beer into the living room. That’s it.
After dinner, as everyone raved about the food and decor, Todd decided it was time to take credit for everything.
“Glad you all love it,” he said. “I wanted it to be special this year.”
I thought I’d misheard him.
“Oh, really?” I asked. “What part did you want special? The green bean casserole or the centerpiece?”
A woman standing in her living room | Source: Midjourney
He ignored me, of course.
And that’s Todd in a nutshell. He wants the credit without lifting a finger.
Then there was last year on his birthday.
I spent weeks creating a customized photo album, filling it with pictures from our travels and special moments together. I couldn’t wait to see his reaction when he unwrapped it.
But when he was done flipping through the pages, he just said, “Oh. So, where’s the real gift?”
It wasn’t just his words that hurt. It was the sheer audacity.
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I’d married a man who once wrote me poetry, and now he couldn’t appreciate a heartfelt gesture. That moment shattered something in me.
It made me realize he wasn’t the man I’d fallen for anymore.
And then came his 35th birthday. The final straw.
We were having dinner when Todd casually told me his plans.
“Claire, I want a big, proper birthday dinner this year,” he said. “Invite the family, my buddies, everyone.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You mean you want me to plan it?”
A woman in her house | Source: Midjourney
“Well, yeah,” he said. “You’re good at this stuff. Just make it decent, alright? I don’t want to be embarrassed in front of everyone.”
“Decent?” I repeated.
“Yeah, just don’t go overboard or anything. Keep it classy.”
You see the entitlement here? See the way he thinks he deserves a birthday party while knowing how he’d hurt me with his words last time?
Honestly, I didn’t want to agree, but I decided to give him another chance. After all, it was his birthday, and I wanted to make it special even if he didn’t deserve it.
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For the next two weeks, I threw myself into planning Todd’s “big, proper birthday dinner.” If he wanted classy, I’d give him classy.
I drafted an impressive menu that had spinach-stuffed chicken, rosemary potatoes, a charcuterie board with cheeses I couldn’t pronounce, and a three-layer chocolate cake that would be the pièce de résistance.
Every day after work, I’d come home, tie my hair up, and get to work cleaning, organizing, and prepping. I even borrowed extra chairs and a folding table from our neighbor, Janice, just to make sure everyone would have a seat.
Todd’s contribution? Absolutely nothing.
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“I’m swamped at work,” he said one night, kicking off his shoes and plopping onto the couch. “But you’ve got this, babe. You’re good at these things.”
Good at these things? I was so tired I could’ve cried.
But instead of snapping, I smiled and said, “Yeah, I’ve got this.”
The day of the party finally arrived.
I woke up early, determined to make everything perfect.
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The house was spotless. The table was set with matching linens and little name cards I’d handwritten. The appetizers were chilling, the main courses simmering, and the cake was decorated with edible gold flakes.
Yes, I went that far.
Todd strolled into the kitchen around noon, scrolling through his phone as usual. He barely glanced at the spread I’d laid out.
“Looks good,” he muttered as he opened the fridge to grab a soda.
“Looks good?” I repeated, half-joking but half-hoping he’d notice the effort I’d put in.
A woman standing in her house | Source: Midjourney
“Yeah,” he said, shutting the fridge door. Then, like it was no big deal, he added, “But hey, uh, don’t bother finishing all this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m heading to the bar with the guys to watch the game instead. Cancel everything. Tell everyone something came up.”
“You’re ditching your own birthday dinner?” I asked. “Todd, I’ve been planning this for weeks!”
“It’s not a big deal, Claire,” he shrugged it off. “Just call everyone and tell them we’re busy or something. They’ll understand.”
A man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney
“They’ll understand?” My voice rose. “Todd, people are already on their way! You told me to make this decent and now you’re leaving?”
“I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of the guys,” he said, ending the conversation.
Then, he grabbed his jacket and walked out of the door.
“You can’t do this, Todd!” I shouted, but he’d already left.
I was so heartbroken. I’d poured my heart, soul, and savings into this dinner, and he just walked out like it was nothing.
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Cancel everything? After all the work I’d done?
But more than anything, I felt humiliated.
How could he treat me like this? How could he brush off all my efforts as if they didn’t matter?
I stared at the table while the candles flickered mockingly.
Is this what you’re worth, Claire? I asked myself. Is this how you’ll let Todd treat you? No. You can’t do this.
At that point, I decided I wouldn’t cancel the dinner. I won’t allow him to make me feel bad again.
A woman standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
If Todd wanted to act like a spoiled brat, I’d let him, but not without showing him what “embarrassing” really looked like. He had no idea who he was messing with.
I grabbed my phone and sent a group text to all the guests:
Party’s still on! Change of plans. Meet us at the bar on the main street near our place. Bring your appetite!
Then, I got to work.
I packed all the food and loaded it into the car. Then, I drove straight to the bar Todd had mentioned.
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When I arrived, the place was already buzzing with noise. I looked around and spotted Todd sitting at a table with his buddies, his back to the door. He was completely oblivious to my presence.
“Uh, ma’am? Can I help you?” the bartender asked with wide eyes after noticing the trays of food I was carrying.
I flashed him my sweetest smile. “Oh, I’m just here to share a meal with some people who’ll actually appreciate it.”
A woman standing in a bar | Source: Midjourney
I picked a table near the bar, in full view of Todd’s group, and began unpacking dish after dish. The aroma of the food quickly caught everyone’s attention. Patrons nearby craned their necks to see what was going on.
“What’s this about?” one man asked, gesturing toward the feast I was setting up.
I raised my voice just enough to carry across the room. “Oh, this was supposed to be my husband’s birthday dinner. But he decided to ditch me and come here, so I thought, why let all this food go to waste?”
A woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
The room erupted in murmurs and laughter, and a few people even clapped. That’s when Todd finally turned around and spotted me.
He immediately stormed over while his buddies murmured amongst themselves.
“Claire! What the hell are you doing?” he hissed, his eyes darting nervously between me and the growing crowd.
I didn’t even look at him.
Instead, I addressed the nearest group of patrons. “You like ham? Help yourselves! There’s cake coming too.”
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Just as Todd sputtered out another protest, the front door swung open, and in walked his parents, my parents, his sister, and our cousins.
They looked at us, then at the food, and then at all the people munching on what was supposed to be a formal dinner.
Todd’s mom, bless her bluntness, walked right up to him. “What’s going on, Todd? Claire said to meet here for your birthday dinner, but why is she serving food in a bar?”
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Todd looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor.
“Uh, it’s complicated, Mom,” he muttered.
“Oh, I’d love to explain!” I intervened. “Todd decided that watching the game with his friends was more important than the dinner he demanded I plan. So, I brought the dinner to him!”
His dad shook his head. “How disrespectful,” he muttered.
Meanwhile, my mom grabbed a plate and said, “Well, the food smells amazing. Let’s eat!”
A woman in a bar | Source: Midjourney
Soon, both our families joined the other patrons and dug into the feast I’d worked so hard on.
And Todd’s friends? They were still laughing at his expense and told him they’ll never forget this day.
By the time I brought out the cake, the bar felt like a full-blown party. On top of the cake, in bold frosting letters, I had written:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SELFISH HUSBAND!
The bar erupted in laughter when I read it aloud, but Todd wasn’t too happy about that.
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“Was this really necessary, Claire?” he muttered under his breath.
I tilted my head, smiling sweetly. “Absolutely.”
Once everyone was done, I started packing up the empty trays. That’s when the bartender stopped me.
“Ma’am, you’re a legend,” he said. “Drinks on the house if you ever come back. Without him, of course!”
I chuckled. “Thank you! I’ll definitely drop by sometime.”
The families didn’t stick around long after the food was gone. My dad gave me a proud nod as he left, while Todd’s mom told him he could’ve done better.
An older woman speaking to her son | Source: Midjourney
As we drove back home, Todd kept muttering about being “humiliated.” Once we were back, he protested even more.
“Claire, you humiliated me in front of everyone!” he said, throwing his hands in the air.
“No, Todd,” I shot back. “You humiliated yourself. And for the record, don’t expect another homemade meal anytime soon.”
He knew he couldn’t argue with me at that point. He just turned around and stormed off to the bedroom.
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It’s been two weeks since that night, and I kid you not, Todd has changed. Well, mostly.
His unrealistic demands have dialed down, and he’s been unusually polite, almost as if he’s afraid I’ll pull another stunt like that. He hasn’t apologized outright for ditching me, but his sheepish behavior says enough.
I guess now he knows I’m not the kind of wife who’ll roll over and take his nonsense anymore. If nothing else, that’s a win in my book.
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What would you have done if you were in my shoes?
If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might like: My entitled husband booked first class for himself and his mom, leaving me in economy with the kids. But I wasn’t going to just sit back. I made sure his “luxury” experience had a little turbulence, turning his flight into a lesson he won’t forget.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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