When Lisa earns her much-deserved promotion, she wants to go out and celebrate with her boyfriend, Troy. At the restaurant, Lisa learns that Troy just wants to put on a façade and be the ‘man’—disrespecting her and her hard-earned role. But when he gives his number to a waitress, things take a turn, causing Lisa to embarrass Troy and walk out of their relationship.
It was meant to be a night of pure celebration. After six months at my new job, I had finally earned a significant promotion and was eager to share the joy with Troy, my boyfriend.
He suggested the new upscale restaurant in town, famous for its ambiance and gourmet menu.
“Let’s just get dressed and go out, Lisa,” he said. “We don’t do this very often, so let’s make the most of it.”
I had to agree; we rarely did this—we rarely decided to go out and indulge in anything.
“Fine,” I agreed. “A night out is exactly what we need.”
And I believed that we needed it. Mainly because, as much as I wanted to believe that Troy and I were supposed to last forever, I had begun to see some cracks in our relationship. Something just felt different.
I was happy in my job, but Troy wasn’t happy in his.
“I do so much, but nobody bothers to recognize me,” he said grimly one evening when he came over for salsa night.
Troy sat on the couch and dug his chips into the salsa and guacamole, complaining about work the entire evening.
It was because of his moods regarding work that I didn’t tell him anything good about my job.
“Maybe you just need to give it more time,” I said, handing him a frozen margarita. “You just started there a few months ago.”
“Lisa, please,” he said. “You wouldn’t understand. Let me be.”
But when I had gotten news of this new promotion, there was no way that I was going to keep it to myself. I wanted to celebrate and be celebrated, and I hoped that Troy would want to do just that.
To my surprise, he seemed really excited about it, and he told me that he was proud of me.
“Really, babe,” he said when he came over to my apartment to pick me up. “This is a big deal, and I’m proud of you.”
The evening started beautifully. Troy showed up with a bouquet of flowers, and he sat down and waited while I got ready. Usually, he wasn’t pleased if I was still getting ready when he arrived, but this evening was different.
“Come on,” I said. “I’m ready!”
Troy put his phone away and stood up, leading the way out of my apartment to where his car was waiting for us.
We drove in silence, but for once, the silence wasn’t tense—it was peaceful, and I felt that maybe Troy was changing. That he was becoming someone who wanted to be here and be present with me.
The soft lighting and the stunning view of the city skyline from our table set a romantic backdrop for our evening. We toasted to my success, with Troy raising his glass of champagne high.
“To the most amazing woman I know,” Troy cheered, clinking his glass against mine. “And to many more successes to come.”
“To us and to the future!” I echoed, suddenly caught up in the moment.
We went through the menu and ordered our meals while Troy spoke about the shared dreams that we had—from the Bali holiday that we had been speaking about for a long time, to wanting to move in together soon.
“I just think it’s time,” Troy said. “And now that you have your promotion, it will be much easier for us.”
Everything went along well, until the waitress brought our food over. Troy kept glancing at her, hoping to catch her eye—he winked at her twice.
I didn’t want to make a scene about it—Troy did this whenever he had something to drink. He behaved as though being a flirt was second nature.
But then, as we neared the end of our meal, I noticed a change in Troy. His usual easy smile tightened when the check was brought to our table. He smiled at the waitress as she stepped aside.
“You should let me pay with your card,” he said, a strain of insistence in his voice.
I was surprised. On the one hand, I didn’t mind paying for the dinner because it was my promotion and I was making a lot more money than I had before. But at the same time, I had also hoped that Troy would want to spoil me for the night.
“Why can’t you use your own card?” I asked, surprised by the frown on his face.
Troy’s irritation was barely concealed.
“Clearly because you’re the one who got promoted, and I don’t have enough money for these fancy dinners, Lisa! You know that, and yet you act like you don’t.”
I was confused by his logic.
“I’ll just pay with my card,” I said, putting my handbag on the table. “It’s not a big deal.”
My boyfriend’s face hardened as he took a sip of his whiskey—he had switched from champagne halfway through the meal.
“It’s embarrassing, Lisa,” he said. “It’s like you’re actually trying to humiliate me by not letting me be the man who pays.”
I didn’t know how to react to Troy’s words. It didn’t make sense to me. And I couldn’t understand what the waitress had to do with who was paying for our meal.
I would have retaliated and stood up for myself, but I could feel my energy being drained by Troy.
I felt cornered. And because I wanted to avoid making a scene, I reluctantly handed over my card.
Troy smirked and picked up my card, signaling for the waitress with an exaggerated flourish, presenting my card as if he were performing a grand gesture.
“I’ll be right back with the card machine,” the waitress said.
Feeling uneasy, I excused myself to the restroom. I just needed a moment to be myself. Troy did this all the time. But I thought that the evening was going well and that he was changing.
Of course, I was wrong.
Before thinking it through, I pulled my phone out and logged onto my banking app. With a few swipes and clicks, I had blocked my card.
Let’s see him pay now, I thought to myself.
On my way back, I paused near the bar, my attention caught by Troy’s laughter from across the room.
He was flirting openly with the waitress, scribbling something onto a napkin—presumably his phone number.
He handed it to her with a wink. I was stunned. I was hurt. A rush of indignation surged through me.
I returned to the table as the waitress spoke.
“I’m sorry, but there seems to be a problem,” she said. “Your card was declined.”
Troy’s confident façade crumbled as he stammered, turning away.
“What?” he asked. “Surely that can’t be right.”
Feigning concern, I suggested that Troy call the bank.
He sat back in his chair and pulled out his phone, dialing the bank and putting the call on speaker.
The representative asked for the card number, which Troy read off my card, followed by a request for the account password.
Finally, Troy hesitated. He was at a loss.
“Okay, Sir,” the person said through the phone. “If you can verify the last three transactions, it would help.”
The waitress hopped from one foot to the other.
“I can answer that,” I said. “A lavender-scented candle, some skincare products, and a new book. And Sir, the name on the card is Lisa Simmons.”
The waitress’s expression cleared with understanding, and Troy was left floundering for a response.
I then pulled out another card and paid the bill myself.
“Lucky I have two cards,” I told Troy and the waitress. “But babe, since you enjoyed the service, I think you can get the tip.”
Troy, red-faced, scrambled through his wallet, pulling out only expired coupons and a few small bills.
I stood up, waiting for Troy to say something—anything, but he sat there tight-lipped.
“Hey, I didn’t take his number,” the waitress said, a smirk playing on her lips. “I just threw the napkin away.”
“I’ll find my own way home,” I told Troy as I walked out into the night.
As I walked outside, I didn’t know if I had made a mistake. But at the end of the day, no relationship should make a person second guess themselves or make them feel like celebrating themselves is wrong.
Which is something that Troy did all the time.
I think I’m finally done with him.
What would you do?
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When Kyra discovers, by accident, that her boyfriend, Henry, has been cheating on her, she goes completely numb. Until he sends her an invoice for everything that he had ever spent on her. Fueled by her anger, Kyra fights back, exposing Henry for who he is and asking for her monetary rewards in return.
I Almost Left after Seeing Our Baby – But Then My Wife Revealed a Secret That Changed Everything
When Marcus first sees his newborn baby, his world shatters. Convinced his wife Elena has betrayed him, he’s ready to walk away. But before he can, she reveals a secret that leaves him questioning everything. Is love enough to hold them together?
I was ecstatic the day my wife announced that we were going to be parents. We’d been trying for a while and couldn’t wait to welcome our first child into the world. But one day, as we were discussing the birth plan, Elena dropped a bombshell.
A pregnant woman on a sofa | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t want you in the delivery room,” she said, her voice soft but firm.
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “What? Why not?”
Elena wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I just… I need to do this part on my own. Please understand.”
I didn’t understand, not really. But I loved Elena more than anything, and I trusted her. If this was what she needed, I’d respect it. Still, a tiny seed of unease planted itself in my gut that day.
A frowning man | Source: Midjourney
As Elena’s due date approached, that seed grew. The night before she was scheduled to be induced, I tossed and turned, unable to shake the feeling that something big was about to change.
The next morning, we headed to the hospital. I kissed Elena at the entrance to the maternity ward, watching as they wheeled her away.
Hours ticked by. I paced the waiting room, drank too much bad coffee, and checked my phone every two minutes. Finally, a doctor emerged. One look at his face, and my heart plummeted. Something was wrong.
A doctor | Source: Pexels
“Mr. Johnson?” he said, his voice grave. “You’d better come with me.”
I followed the doctor down the hallway as a thousand horrible scenarios raced through my mind. Was Elena okay? The baby? We reached the delivery room, and the doctor pushed open the door. I rushed in, desperate to see Elena.
She was there, looking exhausted but alive. Relief washed over me for a split second before I noticed the bundle in her arms.
A woman holding her newborn baby | Source: Midjourney
The baby, our baby, had skin as pale as fresh snow, wisps of blonde hair, and when it opened its eyes, they were startlingly blue.
“What the hell is this?” I heard myself say, my voice sounding strange and far away.
Elena looked up at me, her eyes filled with a mix of love and fear. “Marcus, I can explain—”
An emotional woman | Source: Midjourney
But I wasn’t listening. A red haze of anger and betrayal descended over me. “Explain what? That you cheated on me? That this isn’t my kid?”
“No! Marcus, please—”
I cut her off, my voice rising. “Don’t lie to me, Elena! I’m not an idiot. That is not our baby!”
A grim man | Source: Pexels
Nurses bustled around us, trying to calm the situation, but I was beyond reason. I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. How could she do this to me? To us?
“Marcus!” Elena’s sharp voice cut through my rage. “Look at the baby. Really look.”
Something in her tone made me pause. I glanced down as Elena gently turned the baby, pointing to its right ankle.
A baby’s feet | Source: Pexels
There, clear as day, was a small crescent-shaped birthmark. Identical to the one I’d had since birth, and that other members of my family had, too.
The fight drained out of me in an instant, replaced by utter confusion. “I don’t understand,” I whispered.
Elena took a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you years ago.”
A woman glancing to the side | Source: Midjourney
As the baby quieted, Elena began to explain.
During our engagement, she’d undergone some genetic testing. The results showed she carried a rare recessive gene that could cause a child to have pale skin and light features, regardless of the parents’ appearance.
“I didn’t tell you because the odds were so slim,” she said, her voice trembling. “And I didn’t think it would matter. We loved each other, and that was all that counted.”
A serious woman | Source: Midjourney
I sank into a chair, my head spinning. “But how…?”
“You must carry the gene too,” Elena explained.
“Both parents can carry it without knowing, and then…” She gestured to our baby.
A baby | Source: Pexels
Our little girl was now sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the turmoil around her.
I stared at the child. The birthmark was undeniable proof, but my brain was having trouble catching up.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you,” Elena said, tears streaming down her face. “I was scared, and then as time passed, it seemed less and less important. I never imagined this would actually happen.”
A woman crying | Source: Pexels
I wanted to be angry. Part of me still was. But as I looked at Elena, exhausted and vulnerable, and at our tiny, perfect baby, I felt something else growing stronger. Love. Fierce, protective love.
I stood up and moved to the bed, wrapping my arms around both of them. “We’ll figure this out,” I murmured into Elena’s hair. “Together.”
Little did I know, our challenges were just beginning.
Bringing our baby home should have been a joyous occasion. Instead, it felt like walking into a war zone.
A suburban house | Source: Pexels
My family had been chomping at the bit to meet the newest addition. But when they laid eyes on our pale-skinned, blonde-haired bundle of joy, all hell broke loose.
“What kind of joke is this?” my mother, Denise, demanded, her eyes narrowing as she looked from the baby to Elena.
I stepped in front of my wife, shielding her from the accusatory glares. “It’s not a joke, Mom. This is your grandchild.”
My sister Tanya scoffed. “Come on, Marcus. You can’t seriously expect us to believe that.”
A skeptical woman | Source: Pexels
“It’s true,” I insisted, trying to keep my voice calm. “Elena and I both carry a rare gene. The doctor explained everything.”
But they weren’t listening. My brother Jamal pulled me aside, speaking in a low voice. “Bro, I know you love her, but you gotta face facts. That ain’t your kid.”
I shook him off, anger rising in my chest. “It is my kid, Jamal. Look at the birthmark on the ankle. It’s just like mine.”
A man gesturing to a crib | Source: Midjourney
But no matter how many times I explained, showed them the birthmark, or pleaded for understanding, my family remained skeptical.
Every visit turned into an interrogation, with Elena bearing the brunt of their suspicion.
One night, about a week after we’d brought the baby home, I woke to the sound of the nursery door creaking open. Instantly alert, I crept down the hallway, only to find my mother leaning over the crib.
A baby in a crib | Source: Pexels
“What are you doing?” I hissed, startling her.
Mom jumped back, looking guilty. In her hand was a damp washcloth. With a sickening jolt, I realized she’d been trying to rub off the birthmark, convinced it was fake.
“That’s enough,” I said, my voice shaking with rage. “Get out. Now.”
“Marcus, I was just—”
“Out!” I repeated, louder this time.
A man pointing to the door | Source: Midjourney
As I ushered her towards the front door, Elena appeared in the hallway, looking worried. “What’s going on?”
I explained what had happened, watching as hurt and anger flashed across Elena’s face. She’d been so patient, so understanding in the face of my family’s doubts. But this was a step too far.
“I think it’s time your family left,” Elena said quietly.
I nodded, turning to face my mother. “Mom, I love you, but this has to stop. Either you accept our child or you don’t get to be part of our lives. It’s that simple.”
A man speaking to his mother | Source: Midjourney
Denise’s face hardened. “You’re choosing her over your own family?”
“No,” I said firmly. “I’m choosing Elena and our baby over your prejudice and suspicion.”
As I closed the door behind her, I felt a mixture of relief and sadness. I loved my family, but I couldn’t let their doubts poison our happiness any longer.
Elena and I relaxed on the couch, both emotionally drained. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, pulling her close. “I should have stood up to them sooner.”
A couple relaxing on the sofa | Source: Pexels
She leaned into me, sighing. “It’s not your fault. I understand why they’re having trouble accepting it. I just wish…”
“I know,” I said, kissing the top of her head. “Me too.”
The next few weeks were a blur of sleepless nights, diaper changes, and tense phone calls from family members.
One afternoon, as I was rocking the baby to sleep, Elena approached me with a determined look in her eye.
“I think we should get a DNA test,” she said quietly.
An earnest woman | Source: Midjourney
I felt a pang in my chest. “Elena, we don’t need to prove anything to anyone. I know this is our child.”
She sat down next to me, taking my free hand in hers. “I know you believe that, Marcus. And I love you for it. But your family won’t let this go. Maybe if we have proof, they’ll finally accept us.”
She was right. The constant doubt was eating away at all of us.
“Okay,” I said finally. “Let’s do it.”
A thoughtful man | Source: Pexels
Finally, the day arrived. We sat in the doctor’s office, Elena clutching the baby to her chest, me holding her hand so tightly I was afraid I might be hurting her. The doctor entered with a folder in his hand, his face unreadable.
“Mr. and Mrs. Johnson,” he began, “I have your results here.”
I held my breath, suddenly terrified. What if, by some cosmic joke, the test came back negative? How would I handle that?
A concerned man | Source: Pexels
The doctor opened the folder and smiled. “The DNA test confirms that you, Mr. Johnson, are indeed the father of this child.”
Relief washed over me like a tidal wave. I turned to Elena, who was crying silently, a mix of joy and vindication on her face. I pulled them both into a hug, feeling like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
Armed with the test results, I called a family meeting.
A man staring at his mother | Source: Midjourney
My mother, siblings, and a few aunts and uncles gathered in our living room, eyeing the baby with a mixture of curiosity and lingering doubt.
I stood in front of them, test results in hand. “I know you’ve all had your doubts,” I began, my voice steady. “But it’s time to put them to rest. We’ve had a DNA test done.”
I passed the results around, watching as they read the undeniable truth. Some looked shocked, others embarrassed. My mother’s hands shook as she held the paper.
“I… I don’t understand,” she said weakly. ” All that recessive gene stuff was true?”
A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
“Of course it was,” I replied.
One by one, my family members offered their apologies. Some were heartfelt, others awkward, but all seemed genuine. My mother was the last to speak.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, tears in her eyes. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Elena, always more gracious than I could ever be, stood up and hugged her. “Of course we can,” she said softly. “We’re family.”
A woman speaking to her daughter-in-law | Source: Midjourney
As I watched them embrace, with our baby cooing softly between them, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. Our little family might not look like what everyone expected, but it was ours. And in the end, that was all that mattered.
Here’s another story: I was driving home when I saw a little girl on a school bus, banging on the back window in terror. My world stopped. Something was terribly wrong. But what danger could a little child possibly be in on a seemingly safe school bus? I chased the bus to find out, only for my heart to skip a beat.
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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