A woman is angry and hurt when her husband forgets their 50th wedding anniversary and throws his belongings in the gutter — until he comes home with an unusual excuse.
Betty Carmichael was sure her husband had forgotten their anniversary yet again, only this time she wasn’t going to take it lying down. She had been married to Donald for fifty years and she deserved better!
She had stood by his side through thick and thin and given him three children and the best years of her life, and what did she get? Not even a bouquet of ratty daisies, let alone red roses.
Donald hadn’t brought Betty flowers in years. | Source: Pexels
Betty looked at the wall clock and frowned. 21:30. He hadn’t even bothered to come home for the special dinner she’d prepared! This was the last straw!
Trust is the cornerstone of any relationship, and doubt wears away at the love that holds it together.
Two hours later, Betty heard her husband’s car pull into the driveway and smiled grimly. Donald wasn’t going to enjoy his evening, not one little bit.
She immediately heard a shout: “BETTY! What is going on here!”
She marched outside and stood on the porch, her fists on her hips. “What do you want?” she asked.
Betty prepared a romantic dinner but Donald didn’t come home. | Source: Unsplash
Donald was standing in the garden and he looked very angry. He pointed a finger at an old worn-out recliner sitting on the lawn along with several boxes of books and bric-a-brac.
“What are my things doing out on the lawn?” he asked. “Have you run mad, woman?”
“Mad!” screamed Betty, and the lights went on in the house next door. “You are the one who must be mad! Do you have Alzheimer’s or amnesia? I’m kicking you out. I’m divorcing you!”
“Divorcing me?” gasped Donald, flabbergasted. “I’m seventy-eight years old and you’re seventy-five and you want a DIVORCE?”
“Yes!” cried Betty angrily. “Do you think that just because I’m seventy-five I’m no longer a woman? That you can take me for granted? Well, I won’t let you!”
Betty was sure Donald didn’t love her anymore. | Source: Pexels
“Betty,” Donald said. “Be reasonable. What is this all about?”
“You forgot our anniversary AGAIN!” Betty said angrily. “We’ve been together for fifty years and I have to remind you of my birthday. I understand you weren’t there, but you were definitely there for the wedding!”
“Bets,” Donald protested. “That was the happiest day of my life…”
“Then why don’t you remember it?” Betty asked. “Why don’t you bring me flowers or take me dancing? You don’t love me anymore. You haven’t loved me in years.”
Donald shook his head. “I love you, Betty,” he said. “You are the love of my life…”
Betty brought Donald’s favorite chair out in the street. | Source:Source: Unsplash
“Then why didn’t you come home for dinner?” Betty asked. “I made a special dinner and lit candles and set out flowers and you didn’t show up! Where were you? Out with another woman?”
Donald grinned. “Yes,” he said and stepped aside. Standing there was a slim girl in her twenties with Betty’s blue eyes and Donald’s wide smile.
“Hannah!” Betty cried and ran down the steps. She would have fallen if Donald hadn’t caught her. She threw her arms around the girl and started crying.
“Oh, Hannah,” she sobbed. “It’s been too long! I’ve missed you so much!”
Hannah came to visit her grandparents. | Source: Unsplash
“Hi, Gran Betty,” Hannah said. “I’m sorry we were so late, but my flight was delayed. Poor Gran Donald waited for hours!”
Betty turned to her husband. “You knew she was coming and you didn’t tell me?” she protested.
“I didn’t KNOW,” Donald said triumphantly. “I arranged it! It was supposed to have been your anniversary surprise, but the flight was late… You’ve been complaining about how much you miss your only grandchild, so I sent her a plane ticket!”
“Oh, Don!” Betty cried, and put her arms around her husband. “I’m sorry! I thought… I started thinking crazy things…”
Donald and Betty renewed their vows. | Source: Unsplash
“Betty,” Donald said tenderly. “I haven’t looked at another woman in fifty years and I’m not about to start now.”
“Donald,” Betty said. “What did I do to deserve you?”
“I don’t know,” Don said. “But I can tell you we’re going to have a hell of a time getting all my stuff back in the house where it belongs!”
With Hannah’s help, Don and Betty got everything tidied up and sat down for a midnight snack. “By the way,” Donald said. “I have another surprise for you. Tomorrow night we’re having a party with all our children and all our friends. I’ve arranged for Father Bartholomew to be there so we can renew our vows.”
Betty and Donald had a wonderful anniversary party. | Source: Unsplash
“But what am I going to wear?” gasped Betty.
“I don’t know about the dress, but I have a ring!” Don said, then he dropped down to one knee and pulled out a little jewelry box. “Betty Delancy Carmichael, will you marry me again?”
The next day, the Carmichaels celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary in style and Betty looked lovely in a pretty cream suit and a little veil. As Donald kissed her, she vowed never to doubt him again as long as she lived.
What can we learn from this story?
- Trust is the cornerstone of any relationship, and doubt wears away at the love that holds it together. Betty started imagining that Don didn’t love her anymore, and didn’t realize he had a sweet surprise for her.
- Marriage is about every single day, not just the special occasions. Betty forgot that Don was there for every difficult day and stood by her through thick and thin.
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If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a man who was shocked and hurt when his wife of thirty years asked for a divorce even though he’d always been a faithful husband.
This account is inspired by our reader’s story and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
I Opened a Mysterious Door in My Cellar—Now I Regret Everything
I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.
You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.
When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.
I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.
You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.
When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.
In the back corner, we found something even stranger: an old wooden chest, covered in dust and cobwebs. It was locked, but the lock seemed weak, like it could easily break. Florence begged me to leave it alone, but I was too curious. I forced it open, and what I saw made my heart race.
Inside were old documents, letters written in a language I didn’t understand, and something wrapped in a faded cloth. When I unwrapped it, I froze. It was a small, strange object that didn’t belong in this world. Florence screamed and ran out of the cellar, terrified.
I should have followed her, but I was too deep into it. I put everything back in the chest and closed the door, but the feeling that something had changed wouldn’t leave me. Since that day, things have been different. Strange noises, cold drafts, and shadows moving where they shouldn’t.
Now, I regret opening that door. Florence refuses to go back into the cellar, and I can’t sleep at night. I don’t know what we uncovered, but I fear we’ve let something into our home that we can’t control. Every day, I wish I had just left the door hidden behind the wallpaper, where it belonged.
Now, the cellar remains locked. I’ve sealed the door with heavy boards, hoping that will keep whatever we disturbed at bay. Florence refuses to go near it, and our once happy home feels suffocating with the tension between us. It’s like the house itself has changed, like it’s watching us.
At night, I hear whispers coming from the floor below. I try to convince myself it’s just the wind or my imagination, but deep down, I know something’s wrong. The object I found in the chest haunts my thoughts—I’ve hidden it away, but it’s like it calls to me. Florence says I need to get rid of it, but I’m too afraid to touch it again.
I tried contacting the previous owners, but they didn’t know anything about the hidden room. They had lived here briefly before selling the house. No one in the neighborhood seems to know its history, and records of the house are vague. It’s like this part of the house was meant to stay forgotten.
I keep telling myself everything will be fine if I just leave it alone, but the strange occurrences are getting worse. Lights flicker, doors creak open on their own, and sometimes, I catch glimpses of something moving in the dark corners. It feels like the house is alive—angry that we disturbed its secret.
Florence is talking about moving, and maybe she’s right. But part of me knows that whatever we let out, whatever we disturbed, might not stay behind. And now, I wonder if sealing that door was just the beginning of something far more terrifying.
I never should have opened that door.
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