Barbra worked hard every day to support her husband, Christopher, who had become disabled after a serious accident at work. But one day, she discovered something that would change everything. She saw him walking on two legs and playing golf with a friend. When she confronted him, he revealed a shocking truth about his so-called disability.
Barbra sighed as she settled into her seat on the bus, heading back home after spending a relaxing weekend with her friend near the beach in Destin, Florida. It had been a lovely break, but she was ready to return to her husband, Christopher, in Tallahassee. The journey home was only a few hours, and she planned to unwind and rest before getting back to her busy life.
“Excuse me, can we switch seats? I get a little motion sickness, and sitting by the window helps,” Barbra asked the girl next to her.
“Of course! I’m getting off soon anyway,” the girl replied with a smile. Barbra gratefully took the window seat, gazing out as the bus began its journey.
Barbra worked a lot. She had a regular corporate job, ran a small Etsy shop where she sold custom knitted items, and worked part-time at a coffee shop. She did all of this because Christopher was in a wheelchair and couldn’t contribute financially.
Two years ago, Christopher had suffered a serious accident at work when a box fell on his head. Unfortunately, he was in an area he wasn’t supposed to be, so the company wasn’t legally required to pay him much in compensation. They covered his hospital stay and bought him a wheelchair, but that was it.
He received some disability payments from the government, but they weren’t enough to maintain the lifestyle they had before the accident. Barbra, determined to keep their lives as normal as possible, took on multiple jobs to make up the difference, even paying for his physical therapy out of pocket.
Barbra didn’t mind working hard. She loved Christopher and knew he was struggling with what had happened. He seemed down a lot, except for the weekends when his friend Bruce would invite him over. Bruce had a big house, a game room, and always took Christopher to baseball games.
Bruce’s work schedule was busy, but when he had time, they spent entire weekends together. Barbra used those weekends to visit her friend in Destin and take a break herself. It wasn’t often, but it was a nice getaway. However, now it was time to return to her regular life.
She dozed off during the bus ride but woke up as they neared Tallahassee. Looking out the window, she saw they were passing near Bruce’s house, and her heart stopped when she noticed two men standing in the front yard. They were heading toward a car and pulling out a bag of golf clubs.
Barbra squinted. One of the men was Bruce, but the other was wearing an ugly Hawaiian shirt that only her husband, Christopher, loved to wear. She watched in shock as Christopher walked alongside Bruce, laughing and swinging a pretend golf shot. They both headed to the back of Bruce’s house, where he had a small golf course.
Barbra couldn’t believe what she was seeing. For two years, she had worked tirelessly while Christopher was supposedly unable to walk. Yet here he was, walking and playing golf. Her mind raced with questions. Was this a recent development? Did he plan to surprise her? She hoped that was the case.
When the bus reached her stop, she hurried off and drove home, her heart pounding. She tried to stay calm, convincing herself that Christopher would explain everything when he got back.
Later that evening, Christopher arrived home with Bruce. Barbra waited, expecting a big reveal, but nothing happened.
“Hey, honey! How was your trip?” Christopher asked, as Bruce wheeled him into the living room.
“It was great. How about you guys? What did you do all weekend?” Barbra asked, hoping to hear the truth.
“Oh, you know, same old stuff. We went to a baseball game and hung out,” Bruce said casually before leaving.
Barbra served Christopher dinner, still waiting for him to mention something about walking. “You know, Bruce has a golf course. You could’ve played,” she hinted.
“I still haven’t figured out how to play from a wheelchair,” Christopher replied between bites, acting as if everything was normal.
Barbra couldn’t take it anymore. She slammed her fork down. “Really? You haven’t figured out how to play in a wheelchair?” she snapped.
Christopher looked startled. “What? It’s hard to play golf in a wheelchair—”
“I SAW YOU! I saw you walking and playing golf at Bruce’s house! Christopher, tell me the truth right now!” she shouted, her voice shaking with anger.
Christopher froze, unable to deny it. “How?” he finally asked.
“My bus passed by Bruce’s house. I saw you! You’ve been lying to me. For how long?” Barbra demanded.
He sighed, defeated. “It’s been about a year and a half,” he admitted. “I just didn’t want to go back to work.”
Barbra’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? A year and a half? I’ve been working my fingers to the bone, and you just didn’t want to work?”
Christopher tried to explain. “I needed a break. You were making enough money, and I liked how you took care of me. It’s been the best time of my life.”
“You’ve been lying to me for over a year,” Barbra repeated, shaking her head. “Where do you even go when I take you to physical therapy?”
“I lie to the therapist too,” Christopher confessed.
Barbra couldn’t believe it. “How long has Bruce known?” she asked.
“Since I started walking again,” he admitted.
Barbra stood up, unable to process everything. She grabbed her bag and left the house, going to stay with her mother. That night, she cried harder than she had in years, devastated by Christopher’s betrayal.
After a month at her mother’s house, Barbra filed for divorce. She cut all ties with Christopher, emptied their shared accounts, quit her jobs, and decided to travel the world. It was the best decision she ever made.
MY LATE GRANDMA’S NEIGHBOR ACCUSED ME OF HIDING “HER SHARE OF THE WILL” — WHEN SHE REFUSED TO LEAVE, I GAVE HER A REALITY CHECK.
The morning sun, usually a welcome sight, cast harsh shadows on the woman standing on my porch, her face a mask of indignation. Mrs. Gable, Grandma’s “entitled neighbor,” as she so lovingly referred to her, was a force of nature, and not a particularly pleasant one.
“How long am I supposed to wait for my share of the will?!” she demanded, her voice a grating rasp that could curdle milk. “My grandkids are coming over, and I want them to take their part of the inheritance before they leave!”
I blinked, trying to process the sheer audacity of her statement. “Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice calm despite the rising tide of annoyance, “Grandma’s will… it doesn’t mention you.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. “Nonsense! We were like family! She wouldn’t leave me out.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but everything in the house now belongs to me.”
I offered a small concession. “I’ve packed some boxes for donation. You’re welcome to look through them, see if there’s anything you want.”
“Donation boxes?!” she shrieked. “Your grandma was like family to us! We had to be mentioned in the will. Give it to me! I have to see for myself.”
“I can’t do that,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “The will is a legal document.”
She planted her feet, a stubborn look on her face. “Then I’m not leaving. I’ll just stand here until you give me what’s mine.” She proceeded to stand directly in front of my porch, peering into my windows and muttering under her breath.
I sighed. This was getting ridiculous. I needed to give this woman a reality check, a gentle but firm reminder that she wasn’t entitled to anything.
I went inside, grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper, and returned to the porch. Mrs. Gable watched me, her eyes filled with suspicion.
“What’s that?” she asked, her voice laced with distrust.
“I’m writing you a bill,” I said, my voice deliberately casual.
“A bill? For what?”
“For services rendered,” I said, scribbling on the paper. “Let’s see… ‘Consultation regarding inheritance, one hour… $100.'”
Mrs. Gable’s face turned a shade of purple I didn’t think possible. “Are you serious?!”
“Perfectly,” I said, adding another line. “‘Unauthorized surveillance of private property, one hour… $50.'”
“That’s outrageous!” she sputtered.
“And,” I continued, adding a final line, “‘Emotional distress caused by unwarranted demands, one hour… $150.'” I handed her the paper. “That’ll be $300, Mrs. Gable.”
She snatched the paper from my hand, her eyes scanning the ludicrous list. “You can’t do this!”
“Actually, I can,” I said, a smile playing on my lips. “And if you don’t pay, I’ll have to add late fees.”
She crumpled the paper in her fist, her face a mask of fury. “You’re just like your grandma!” she hissed. “Entitled and selfish!”
“Perhaps,” I said, “but I’m also practical. And I value my peace of mind.”
She glared at me for a moment, then turned and stomped off the porch, muttering about lawyers and lawsuits. I watched her go, a sense of satisfaction washing over me.
Later that day, as I sorted through Grandma’s belongings, I found a small, velvet-lined box tucked away in a drawer. Inside was a handwritten note, addressed to me.
“My dearest grandchild,” it read, “I know Mrs. Gable can be… persistent. Remember, you owe no one anything. Your happiness is your own. And sometimes, a little bit of absurdity is the best way to deal with entitlement.”
I smiled, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. Grandma had known exactly what to do. And she had left me the perfect tool to handle it. I had learned a valuable lesson that day: sometimes, the best way to deal with entitled people is to meet their absurdity with your own. And a little bit of humor never hurts.
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