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.
Breakfast on a table | Source: Pexels
“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.
A woman looking at her husband | Source: Midjourney
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.
A close-up shot of a woman’s eyes | Source: Midjourney
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.
A woman cleaning the house | Source: Pexels
“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.
A woman standing in the hallway | Source: Midjourney
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.
A woman looking outside the window | Source: Midjourney
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.
A woman driving | Source: Pexels
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.”
A close-up shot of food in a plate | Source: Pexels
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?”
An older woman | Source: Midjourney
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.
A man laughing | Source: Pexels
“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.
A doorknob | Source: Pexels
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.
A woman standing by a window | Source: Pexels
What would you have done if you were in my shoes?
I Went to Pick Up My Wife and Newborn Twins from the Hospital — I Found Only the Babies and a Note
When I arrived at the hospital to bring home my wife and newborn twins, I was met with heartbreak: Suzie was gone, leaving only a cryptic note. As I juggled caring for the babies and unraveling the truth, I discovered the dark secrets that tore my family apart.
As I drove to the hospital, the balloons bobbed beside me in the passenger seat. My smile was unstoppable. Today, I was bringing home my girls!
A man driving a car | Source: Midjourney
I couldn’t wait to see Suzie’s face light up when she saw the nursery, the dinner I’d cooked, the photos I’d framed for the mantle. She deserved joy after nine long months of back pain, morning sickness, and an endless carousel of my overbearing mother’s opinions.
It was the culmination of every dream I’d had for us.
I waved to the nurses at the station as I hurried to Suzie’s room. But when I pushed through the door, I froze in surprise.
A man holding balloons | Source: Midjourney
My daughters were sleeping in their bassinets, but Suzie was gone. I thought she might have stepped out for fresh air, but then I saw the note. I tore it open, my hands trembling.
“Goodbye. Take care of them. Ask your mother WHY she did this to me.”
The world blurred as I reread it. And reread it. The words didn’t shift, didn’t morph into something less terrible. A coldness prickled along my skin, freezing me in place.
A man reading a note | Source: Midjourney
What the hell did she mean? Why would she… no. This couldn’t be happening. Suzie was happy. She’d been happy. Hadn’t she?
A nurse carrying a clipboard entered the room. “Good morning, sir, here’s the discharge —”
“Where’s my wife?” I interrupted.
The nurse hesitated, biting her lip. “She checked out this morning. She said you knew.”
A nurse holding a clipboard | Source: Pexels
“She — where did she go?” I stammered to the nurse, waving the note. “Did she say anything else? Was she upset?”
The nurse frowned. “She seemed fine. Just… quiet. Are you saying you didn’t know?”
I shook my head. “She said nothing… just left me this note.”
I left the hospital in a daze, cradling my daughters, the note crumpled in my fist.
A worried man leaving a hospital | Source: Midjourney
Suzie was gone. My wife, my partner, the woman I’d thought I knew, had vanished without a word of warning. All I had were two tiny girls, my shattered plans, and that ominous message.
When I pulled into the driveway, my mom, Mandy, was waiting on the porch, beaming and holding a casserole dish. The scent of cheesy potatoes wafted toward me, but it did nothing to soothe the storm brewing inside.
“Oh, let me see my grandbabies!” she exclaimed, setting the dish aside and rushing toward me. “They’re beautiful, Ben, absolutely beautiful.”
An excited woman | Source: Midjourney
I stepped back, holding the car seat protectively. “Not yet, Mom.”
Her face faltered, confusion knitting her brow. “What’s wrong?”
I shoved the note in her direction. “This is what’s wrong! What did you do to Suzie?”
Her smile vanished, and she took the note with shaking fingers. Her pale blue eyes scanned the words, and for a moment, she looked like she might faint.
A woman reading a note | Source: Midjourney
“Ben, I don’t know what this is about,” Mom replied. “She’s… she’s always been emotional. Maybe she —”
“Don’t lie to me!” The words erupted, my voice echoing off the porch walls. “You’ve never liked her. You’ve always found ways to undermine her, criticize her —”
“I’ve only ever tried to help!” Her voice broke, tears spilling over her cheeks.
I turned away, my gut churning. I couldn’t trust her words anymore. Whatever had happened between them had driven Suzie to leave. And now I was left to pick up the pieces.
A man carrying twin babies into a house | Source: Midjourney
That night, after settling Callie and Jessica in their cribs, I sat at the kitchen table with the note in one hand and a whiskey in the other. My mother’s protests rang in my ears, but I couldn’t let them drown out the question looping in my mind: What did you do, Mom?
I thought back to our family gatherings, and the small barbs my mother would throw Suzie’s way. Suzie had laughed them off, but I could see now, too late, how they must have cut her.
I started digging, both literally and metaphorically.
A man searching through a closet | Source: Midjourney
My sorrow and longing for my missing wife deepened as I looked through her things. I found her jewelry box in the closet and set it aside, then noticed a slip of paper peeking out beneath the lid.
When I opened it, I found a letter to Suzie in my mother’s handwriting. My heart pounded as I read:
“Suzie, you’ll never be good enough for my son. You’ve trapped him with this pregnancy, but don’t think for a second you can fool me. If you care about them, you’ll leave before you ruin their lives.”
A man reading a letter | Source: Midjourney
My hand shook as I dropped the letter. This was it. This was why she’d left. My mother had been tearing her down behind my back. I replayed every interaction, every moment I’d dismissed as harmless. How blind had I been?
It was almost midnight, but I didn’t care. I went to the guest room and banged on the door until Mom opened it.
“How could you?” I waved the letter in her face. “All this time, I thought you were just being overbearing, but no, you’ve been bullying Suzie for years, haven’t you?”
An angry man holding a letter | Source: Midjourney
Her face paled as she scanned the letter. “Ben, listen to me —”
“No!” I cut her off. “You listen to me. Suzie left because of you. Because you made her feel worthless. And now she’s gone, and I’m here trying to raise two babies on my own.”
“I only wanted to protect you,” she whispered. “She wasn’t good enough —”
“She’s the mother of my children! You don’t get to decide who’s good enough for me or them. You’re done here, Mom. Pack your things. Get out.”
A man pointing | Source: Midjourney
Her tears fell freely now. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” I said, cold as steel.
She opened her mouth to argue, but stopped. The look in my eyes must have told her I wasn’t bluffing. She left an hour later, her car disappearing down the street.
The next weeks were hell.
A man with his head in his hands | Source: Midjourney
Between sleepless nights, dirty diapers, and endless crying (sometimes the babies, sometimes me) I barely had time to think.
But every quiet moment brought Suzie back to my mind. I contacted her friends and family, hoping for any hint of where she might be. None of them had heard from her. But one, her college friend Sara, hesitated before speaking.
“She talked about feeling… trapped,” Sara admitted over the phone. “Not by you, Ben, but by everything. The pregnancy, your mom. She told me once that Mandy said the twins would be better off without her.”
A man speaking on his phone | Source: Midjourney
The knife twisted deeper. “Why didn’t she tell me my mom was saying these things to her?”
“She was scared, Ben. She thought Mandy might turn you against her. I told her to talk to you, but…” Sara’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry. I should’ve pushed harder.”
“Do you think she’s okay?”
“I hope so,” Sara said quietly. “Suzie’s stronger than she thinks. But Ben… keep looking for her.”
Weeks turned into months.
A man rocking a baby | Source: Midjourney
One afternoon, while Callie and Jessica napped, my phone buzzed. It was a text from an unlisted number.
When I opened it, my breath caught. It was a photo of Suzie, holding the twins at the hospital, her face pale but serene. Beneath it was a message:
“I wish I was the type of mother they deserve. I hope you forgive me.”
I called the number immediately, but it didn’t go through.
A man making a phone call | Source: Midjourney
I texted back, but my messages didn’t go through either. It was like shouting into a void. But the photo reignited my determination. Suzie was out there. She was alive and at least a part of her still longed for us, even though she was clearly still in a bad place. I’d never give up on her.
A year passed with no leads or clues to Suzie’s whereabouts. The twins’ first birthday was bittersweet. I’d poured everything into raising them, but the ache for Suzie never left.
That evening, as the girls played in the living room, there was a knock at the door.
A home entrance interior | Source: Pexels
I thought I was dreaming at first. Suzie stood there, clutching a small gift bag, her eyes brimming with tears. She looked healthier, her cheeks were fuller, and her posture was more confident. But the sadness was still there, hovering behind her smile.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I didn’t think. I pulled her into my arms, holding her as tightly as I dared. She sobbed into my shoulder, and for the first time in a year, I felt whole.
A man hugging a woman | Source: Midjourney
Over the following weeks, Suzie told me how the postpartum depression, my mom’s cruel words, and her feelings of inadequacy had overwhelmed her.
She’d left to protect the twins and to escape the spiral of self-loathing and despair. Therapy had helped her rebuild, one painstaking step at a time.
“I didn’t want to leave,” she said one night, sitting on the nursery floor as the girls slept. “But I didn’t know how to stay.”
A woman sitting on a nursery floor | Source: Midjourney
I took her hand. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
And we did. It wasn’t easy — healing never is. But love, resilience, and the shared joy of watching Callie and Jessica grow were enough to rebuild what we’d almost lost.
Here’s another story: Thirteen years ago, I adopted my late husband’s secret twin daughters after his fatal car crash revealed his double life. I gave them everything, but at sixteen, they locked me out of my home. One week later, I discovered the shocking reason for their actions. Click here to keep reading.
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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