11/29/2025
I love my wife more than life itself… but that night, she betrayed me like a Netflix plot twist. So we went out to this “nice little place” she picked, which already meant I was paying. I was trying to be romantic, so whatever. She ordered everything her soul desired: steak, lobster, mac and cheese just to taste it, and a dessert that looked like a sculpture. I watched the total rise in real time like it was the stock market. Then the bill came - heavy, thick, and intimidating, the kind that comes with its own shadow. My wife glanced at it and said, “Oh, babe… I forgot my wallet.” Normally, that’s fine, but she said it with zero hesitation, like she’d been practicing in the mirror. I went, “Alright, no big deal.” Then she stood up with full confidence, hair flip, and graceful like she was in a movie, saying, “I’m just going to the car to get my chapstick.” Chapstick. CHAP. STICK. She left. I was sipping my water like a widow at a funeral. Five minutes went by. Ten. Twenty. I texted her, “Where you at?” No answer. I called her; voicemail. I checked her location… and she was at home. She left me at the restaurant like a forgotten DoorDash order. The waitress came back smiling like everything was normal: “Ready for the check?” Ma’am… I’d been ready to cry. I flipped that bill open and nearly transcended. I paid it, all of it, out of love, out of pain, and out of fear that the restaurant might put my picture on the wall. When I got home, she was on the couch, comfy, blanket on, eating chips. She said, “Did you grab my leftovers?” I just stood there, defeated. A married man. A broken man. A man who paid for a meal he didn’t even finish.
