I’ve always prided myself on being the level-headed one in our marriage. Jake, bless his heart, could get swept up in things pretty easily, whether it was a new hobby, or some random YouTube video that promised to change his life in three easy steps.

But we were solid until Jake met Steve. Steve was the type of guy who thought being loudly opinionated made him right, the type that talks right over you when you try to correct him.

He was also a perpetually single guy (who could have guessed?), who graciously dispensed relationship advice to all his married colleagues, Jake included. Jake should’ve known better, but my darling husband was positively smitten with Steve’s confidence.

I didn’t think much of it until Jake started making some noxious comments.

“Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household,” he’d say. Or “Steve thinks it’s important for women to look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.”

I’d roll my eyes and reply with some sarcastic remark, but it was getting under my skin. Jake was changing. He’d arch his eyebrows if I ordered takeout instead of cooking, and sigh when I let the laundry pile up because, God forbid, I had my own full-time job.

And then it happened. One night, he came home with The List.

He sat me down at the kitchen table, unfolded a piece of paper, and slid it across to me.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice dripping with a condescending tone I hadn’t heard from him before. “You’re a great wife, Lisa. But there’s room for improvement.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Oh really?”

He nodded, oblivious to the danger zone he was entering. “Yeah. Steve helped me realize that our marriage could be even better if you, you know, stepped up a bit.”

I stared at the paper in front of me. It was a schedule… and he’d written “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife” at the top in bold.

This guy had actually sat down and mapped out my entire week based on what Steve — a single guy with zero relationship experience — thought I should do to “improve” myself as a wife.

I was supposed to wake up at 5 a.m. every day to make Jake a gourmet breakfast. Then I’d hit the gym for an hour to “stay in shape.”

After that? A delightful lineup of chores: cleaning, laundry, ironing. And that was all before I left for work. I was supposed to cook a meal from scratch every evening and make fancy snacks for Jake and his friends when they came over to hang out at our place.

The whole thing was sexist and insulting on so many levels I didn’t even know where to start. I ended up staring at him, wondering if my husband had lost his mind.

“This will be great for you, and us,” he continued, oblivious.

“Steve says it’s important to maintain structure, and I think you could benefit from —”

“I could benefit from what?” I interrupted, my voice dangerously calm. Jake blinked, caught off guard by the interruption, but he recovered quickly.

“Well, you know, from having some guidance and a schedule.”

I wanted to throw that paper in his face and ask him if he’d developed a death wish. Instead, I did something that surprised even me: I smiled.

“You’re right, Jake,” I said sweetly. “I’m so lucky that you made me this schedule. I’ll start tomorrow.”

The relief on his face was instant. I almost felt sorry for him as I got up and stuck the list on the fridge. Almost. He had no idea what was coming.

The next day, I couldn’t help but smirk as I studied the ridiculous schedule again. If Jake thought he could hand me a list of “improvements,” then he was about to find out just how much structure our life could really handle.

I pulled out my laptop, opened up a fresh document, and titled it, “Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever.” He wanted a perfect wife? Fine. But there was a cost to perfection.

I began by listing all the things he had suggested for me, starting with the gym membership he was so keen on. It was laughable, really.

“$1,200 for a personal trainer.” I typed, barely containing my giggle.

Next came the food. If Jake wanted to eat like a king, that wasn’t happening on our current grocery budget. Organic, non-GMO, free-range everything? That stuff didn’t come cheap.

“$700 per month for groceries,” I wrote. He’d probably need to chip in for a cooking class too. Those were pricey, but hey, perfection wasn’t free.

I leaned back in my chair, laughing to myself as I imagined Jake’s face when he saw this. But I wasn’t done. Oh no, the pièce de résistance was still to come.

See, there was no way I could juggle all these expectations while holding down my job. If Jake wanted me to dedicate myself full-time to his absurd routine, then he’d have to compensate for the loss of my income.

I pulled up a calculator, estimating the value of my salary. Then, I added it to the list, complete with a little note: “$75,000 per year to replace Lisa’s salary since she will now be your full-time personal assistant, maid, and chef.”

My stomach hurt from laughing at this point.

And just for good measure, I threw in a suggestion about him needing to expand the house. After all, if he was going to have his friends over regularly, they’d need a dedicated space that wouldn’t intrude on my newly organized, impossibly structured life.

“$50,000 to build a separate ‘man cave’ so Jake and his friends don’t disrupt Lisa’s schedule.”

By the time I was done, the list was a masterpiece. A financial and logistical nightmare, sure, but a masterpiece nonetheless. It wasn’t just a counterattack — it was a wake-up call.

I printed it out, set it neatly on the kitchen counter, and waited for Jake to come home. When he finally walked through the door that evening, he was in a good mood.

“Hey, babe,” he called out, dropping his keys on the counter. He spotted the paper almost immediately. “What’s this?”

I kept my face neutral, fighting the urge to laugh as I watched him pick it up. “Oh, it’s just a little list I put together for you,” I said sweetly, “to help you become the best husband ever.”

Jake chuckled, thinking I was playing along with his little game. But as he scanned the first few lines, the grin started to fade. I could see the wheels turning in his head, the slow realization that this wasn’t the lighthearted joke he thought it was.

“Wait… what is all this?” He squinted at the numbers, his eyes widening as he saw the total costs. “$1,200 for a personal trainer? $700 a month for groceries? What the hell, Lisa?”

I leaned against the kitchen island, crossing my arms.

“Well, you want me to wake up at 5 a.m., hit the gym, make gourmet breakfasts, clean the house, cook dinner, and host your friends. I figured we should budget for all of that, don’t you think?”

His face turned pale as he flipped through the pages. “$75,000 a year? You’re quitting your job?!”

I shrugged. “How else am I supposed to follow your plan? I can’t work and be the perfect wife, right?”

He stared at the paper, dumbfounded.

The numbers, the absurdity of his own demands, it all hit him at once. His smugness evaporated, replaced by a dawning realization that he had seriously, seriously messed up.

“I… I didn’t mean…” Jake stammered, looking at me with wide eyes. “Lisa, I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I just thought —”

Being a stay-at-home mom (SAHM) wasn’t a role I ever envisioned for myself. I used to thrive in the bustling world of marketing, surrounded by campaigns and coffee-fueled brainstorming sessions. But that all changed a little over a year ago when my husband, Jake, and I made a life-altering decision. Our daughter, Lily, who is three and autistic, needed more than what her daycare could offer. Her needs are complex, requiring constant attention and support, and it became clear that one of us needed to be with her full-time.

I won’t lie — saying goodbye to my career was one of the hardest things I’ve done. I miss the independence of earning my own money and the satisfaction that comes from a job well done. But here I am, filling my days with meal planning, cooking, and baking. I’ve found joy in these tasks, and experimenting in the kitchen has become my new canvas for creativity.

Our backyard has transformed into a small garden sanctuary under my care, and I handle the majority of the cleaning. Jake does his fair share too; he’s hands-on when it comes to chores and parenting whenever he’s home. We’ve always operated as a team, shunning traditional gender roles, or at least that’s what I thought until last week.

It was just another Thursday, and I was vacuuming Jake’s home office while he was at work. It’s a space filled with tech gadgets and piles of paperwork, typical for a software developer. His computer screen caught my eye — it was still on, glowing softly against the dim light of the room. He usually left it on by accident, but what I saw next was no accident.

His Twitter feed was open, and I froze when I saw the hashtag #tradwife attached to a tweet. Confusion washed over me as I read the post. It boasted about the joys of having a traditional wife who takes pride in her domestic roles. Attached was a photo of me, pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven, looking every bit the part of a 1950s housewife. My stomach churned as I scrolled through more posts. There I was again, gardening and reading to Lily, our faces thankfully hidden.

This was Jake’s account, and he had been crafting a whole narrative about our life that was a stark departure from the truth. He painted a picture of me as a woman who delighted in her role as a homemaker, happily trading her career for aprons and storybooks. The reality of our situation — that this arrangement was born out of necessity for our daughter’s well-being — was nowhere to be found.

I felt betrayed. Here was the man I’d loved and trusted for over a decade, sharing our life with strangers under a guise that felt alien to me. It wasn’t just the lies about our dynamics that stung — it was also the realization that he was using these snippets of our lives to bolster some online persona.

I turned the computer off, my hands shaking with a cocktail of anger and confusion. All day, I wrestled with my emotions, trying to understand why Jake would do this. Was he unhappy with our arrangement? Did he resent me for staying home? Or was it something else, something deeper about how he saw me now that I wasn’t bringing in a paycheck?

The rest of the day passed in a blur. His posts kept cycling through my thoughts, and eventually, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I decided to call him up to confront him about it all.

“Jake, we need to talk,” I finally said, my voice steadier than I felt.

He answered, concern obvious in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

I took a deep breath, the weight of my discovery anchoring my resolve. “I saw your Twitter today…”

His face fell, and he let out a long sigh, the kind that said he knew exactly what this conversation was about to be. He breathed in to respond, and I braced myself for what was to come.

“Calm down,” he told me, dismissing it all as “just silly posting.” That was the last straw. I told him I wanted a divorce, called him a creep, and hung up.

Jake came home immediately. We argued, but with Lily’s strict routine, I couldn’t let the conflict drag on. He pleaded with me to have a proper conversation after our daughter went to bed. Reluctantly, I agreed. That night, he showed me his phone, the Twitter account now deleted. But the damage was done.

A week passed, and my anger hadn’t subsided. This wasn’t a simple misunderstanding. This was a betrayal. Jake tried to explain, claiming it all started as a joke, that he got carried away with the attention it brought him. But excuses only went so far.

Fueled by a mix of hurt and the need for some form of justice, I decided to expose him. I took screenshots of his tweets and posted them on my Facebook page. I wanted our friends and family to see the truth. My post was pointed: “Your husband insults you in front of his friends behind your back. Familiar with that?”

The backlash was immediate. Our relatives were shocked, and the comments flooded in. Jake was bombarded with messages and calls. He left work early one more time to beg for my forgiveness. He knelt, tears in his eyes, pleading that it was just a “stupid game.”

But I couldn’t let it go. The trust that had bound the two of us together was severed. It wasn’t just about a few misguided posts; it was about the respect and understanding we were supposed to have for each other. I told him I needed space to think and to heal, and I moved out with Lily to another apartment.

For six months, Jake asked for forgiveness. He sent messages, left voicemails, tried to show in small ways that he was sorry. But sorry wasn’t enough. I told him that if he truly wanted to make things right, we needed to start over from scratch. As far as I was concerned, we were strangers now, and he had to date me like he once had, years ago, when we first met.

So, we began again, slowly. We went on dates, starting with coffee, and eventually moving to dinners. We talked a lot — about everything except the past. It was like piecing together a puzzle, finding out who we were now, separately and together. Jake was patient, perhaps understanding this was his last chance to salvage what had once been a loving partnership.

As I sit here now, reflecting on the past year, I realize how much I’ve changed as well. This betrayal forced me to reevaluate not only my marriage but also myself and my needs. I’ve learned that forgiveness isn’t just about accepting an apology; it’s about feeling secure and valued again. It’s a slow process, one that we’re both committed to, step by step.

How about another story?

I Accidentally Discovered My Husband’s Desire to Cheat on Me with Another Woman, So I Taught Him the Lesson of His Life

It had been nearly a year filled with peculiarities in my relationship, but nothing was as bizarre as my husband, Mark, sleeping with his phone in his pocket. At first, I brushed it off as him being overly protective of his new, expensive phone. However, it soon became clear that Mark was being secretive for a reason.

He would hide his phone under a blanket while typing, and the moment I entered the room, it would disappear into his pocket. It was obvious he was hiding something, and I was sure it wasn’t anything good. One night, while we were watching TV, his phone slipped from his pocket and landed near me. It buzzed with notifications, but I ignored it until the show was over.

When I picked up his phone to charge it, the screen lit up with notifications from a dating app. That confirmed it—Mark was on dating apps, chatting with other women, despite our two-year relationship and all I had done to support him financially since he was unemployed.

Furious but calm, I devised a plan instead of confronting him immediately. I contacted my friend Lisa, who was unaware of my husband. With her permission, I used her photos to create a fake profile on the same dating app. Sure enough, Mark swiped right on her profile, and we matched. He lied in our chats, claiming he was single and describing me as just a roommate.

Our flirtatious texts soon led to him arranging a meeting at a downtown hotel, which he didn’t know I would be paying for. As the day approached, I packed his belongings and placed them outside our apartment, knowing they wouldn’t last long in our busy city. I also changed the locks.

Mark thought he was heading to a romantic evening. Instead, at 1 AM, I sent him a picture of his belongings scattered on the sidewalk. When he called, panicking, I blocked him. That night, I enjoyed the first peaceful sleep in months, relieved to have removed the dead weight from my life.

Mark appeared desperate and disheveled outside my apartment days later, begging to be let in. His sadness quickly turned to anger when I refused. I had to call the police and file for a restraining order as he became threatening.

Afterward, I learned he moved away and found a job, perhaps finally motivated by the drastic turn of events. While part of me was pained to hear he might be improving himself after all he had put me through, I was mostly relieved to be free from the toxicity.

About a week ago, my father-in-law really showed my husband that despite being married and having a son, he still had a lot to learn.

My husband, John, and I were gearing up for the long-awaited trip to his parents with our energetic two-year-old son, Ethan. John had been particularly stressed with work and kept going on about how much he needed a break.

“Claire, I can’t wait to finally relax,” John said as we packed our bags. “I just need some peace and quiet, you know?”

I smiled, though I was preoccupied with packing Ethan’s toys.

“I know, John. We all need a break. But it’ll be fun for Ethan to see his grandparents and be spoilt with their love for a bit.”

Little did I know, my husband had rather selfish plans in mind.

At the airport, I was busy wrangling our toddler and managing the luggage while still trying to open a container of applesauce for Ethan. John mysteriously vanished.

“What the heck?” I muttered to myself, thinking that he probably went to the bathroom before we boarded.

Later, I spotted him again at the gate, looking unusually calm.

“Where have you been?” I asked, balancing Ethan on my hip.

“Just taking care of something,” he replied, a smirk playing on his lips. “And I needed to grab a pair of headphones.”

“Did you get me a pair?” I asked him.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d need one because you’d have to worry about Ethan.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Who was this man?

But that wasn’t all.

As we boarded, John handed me our boarding passes, with his looking different from ours.

“John, why do you have a business class ticket?” I asked, feeling crushed.

My husband shrugged nonchalantly.

“I can’t deal with you and the kid right now. I need some peace and quiet for once. We’re going to be dealing with a lot of family from this evening.”

I bit back my anger for the duration of the flight. I didn’t have any other option but the thought of John reclining with a glass of champagne while Ethan pulled on my hair and fussed throughout.

“Try patting him on the back,” the woman next to me suggested. “Maybe that will calm him down.”

I smiled at her, not wanting to growl because my son had driven my patience to almost nonexistent.

“Thank you,” I replied as Ethan reached out a sticky hand to swat the woman’s hair.

It was one of the longest flights of my life, and by the time we arrived, my frustration had morphed into cold fury.

Of course, John was oblivious to my mood as we headed to his parents’ place.

“It’s so wonderful to see you! How was the flight?” John’s mother, Amy, said, taking Ethan from my arms.

I forced a smile.

“It was fine, Mrs. Smith,” I said. “Ethan was a bit restless, but we managed.”

John’s father, Jacob, eyed us keenly.

“And you, John?” he asked. “How was your flight?”

John grinned, completely missing the tension that was filling up the room.

“Oh, it was fantastic! Business class is really something else. I see why everyone opts for it if they can.”

My father-in-law’s expression hardened slightly, but he remained silent.

The next day, we were all supposed to go out for a family dinner.

“It’s just tradition for us to go to the restaurant when family is over,” Amy said as she played with Ethan. “Dress warm, Claire, it’s been getting a nippy at night.”

Just as we were getting ready to leave, Mr. Smith called John into his study.

“John, your mother and I will take care of Claire and Ethan tonight. You, however, will stay here and prepare the house for the rest of the guests. Your brother will be here in the morning. The beds have to be made up,” Jacob said firmly.

My husband was taken aback.

“But it’s our family dinner, Dad,” John said. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“Tonight, you’ll understand what it feels like to be left behind,” Jacob continued.

John tried to argue, but Mr. Smith wouldn’t budge at all. We left for dinner, and John had no choice but to stay behind and sort the house out for the rest of his family.

When we returned, the house was spotless, and John was fuming but silent.

“Oh, but that’s not all,” Jacob said to me as I headed upstairs to put Ethan down later that night.

“What do you mean?” I asked nervously.

“You’ll see tomorrow,” he said, smiling, as he walked to his bedroom.

The next morning, as we sat down to breakfast, my father-in-law sat John down with a detailed list of chores that he needed to do.

“Cleaning the garage? Really, Dad? And fixing the fence? Mowing the lawn?” John complained. “Why are you doing this? Usually, you hire people for this.”

Mr. Smith’s gaze was unwavering.

“You need to learn the value of family and hard work. You don’t get to escape your responsibilities because you feel like it or because there’s an easy way out. You will spend the rest of the week making up for what you did to Claire and Ethan.”

John looked shocked, finally realizing that his business class escape came with consequences.

He spent the rest of the week maintaining the entire property. And each evening, his work was checked by his father, ensuring that it was done right.

“I am exhausted,” he said one evening as he flopped onto the bed. “And I really wanted to go strawberry picking with you, Ethan, and my mom today. But I had to paint the fence.”

I almost felt sorry for him. But not enough to take the bait. I knew that during his time cleaning and mending around the house, he had plenty of time to reflect on his actions.

The day before we were set to leave, my husband came to me, his eyes filled with remorse.

“I’m so sorry for everything,” he said quietly. “I understand now how hard it is and how much I took you for granted.”

“It’s not just about understanding, John. It’s about being there, every step of the way,” I said, folding our clothes.

He promised to be better, and I believed that he was sincere.

But it seemed that my father-in-law had one more card to play.

“Your business class ticket for the return flight has been canceled and exchanged for an economy seat. But Claire and Ethan will travel in business class. You can manage on your own this time, John,” he said.

My husband’s face dropped as he realized the implications of his father’s swap. He tried to protest, but Mr. Smith was adamant, stressing that John needed to understand the value of family and empathy through firsthand experience.

“I’m so sorry,” John said when we got to the airport. “I didn’t mean to hurt you like this. I just wanted a moment of peace. Work has been a lot.”

“It’s okay,” I replied, holding onto Ethan. “But things have to change when we get home. Okay, John?”

He nodded slowly and kissed my forehead before we had to separate and board the flight.

What would you have done?

If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |

Am I Wrong for Spending My Son’s University Fund on a Trip to Europe?

Imagine losing your everything, then defying the world to honor their memory. That’s where this story starts. My son, a dream tragically shattered, and a trip to Europe that took an unexpected turn — a turn that revealed the true depths of grief and love. Let me tell you about it.

My son, Lucas, has always been a brilliant kid — way smarter than me. I used to joke about getting a paternity test because he was so intelligent. Ever since he was little, Lucas had this spark, this insatiable curiosity that set him apart.

I set up an education fund for him, which he could use for anything as long as he pursued post-secondary education. That fund was my way of ensuring he had every opportunity to chase his dreams, whatever they might be.

Lucas was around 12 when Lisa and I divorced. It wasn’t an easy time for us, but we managed to keep things amicable for Lucas’ sake. Lisa remarried when Lucas was 14. Her new husband, Matt, seemed like a decent guy, and Lucas got along with him well enough.

I found love again too, and remarried Melissa when Lucas turned 16. She was great with Lucas, always supportive and kind, which made the transition smoother. Despite the changes in our family dynamics, Lucas and I stayed close. We had this running joke about his education fund.

I always told him, “You know, Lucas, if you decide not to go to university, I could use that money to travel to Europe and have the time of my life.”

He’d laugh and play along, never letting me get under his skin. “Don’t worry, Dad,” he’d say, “I’ll make sure you get to Europe someday, even if it’s with my degree money.”

Read the full story here.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. That smug look on his face when he told me he had “found someone else.” As if it were just that easy. As if our years together didn’t matter.

My ex had a special talent for making me feel small like everything that went wrong was my fault. Every inch of my apartment was a reminder of that pain. I was suffocating.

I needed out. Anywhere but here. So when Joanna called, it was like a lifeline.

“Come stay with me at the lake house,” she said.

I didn’t even hesitate. It was perfect.

***

So, the next day, I packed whatever I could shove into a suitcase and hit the road. The lake stretched out like a giant mirror. The trees swayed like they were in on some peaceful secret, and the air… It didn’t smell like heartbreak. It smelled like pine and fresh chances.

I stood on the porch, taking it all in.

“Liv!” Joanna came out, waving, and pulled me into one of her too-tight hugs.

“You look like you’ve seen better days.”

“Gee, thanks,” I chuckled, pretending to be offended.

She grinned. “Come on, inside. I made your favorite.”

I rolled my eyes. “You mean wine?”

She winked. “You know me too well.”

For the first time in forever, I felt like maybe things could be okay. We spent hours talking, mostly about nonsense—our shared hatred of running and how weird it is that people voluntarily wake up early to do it. It was like no time had passed since we last hung out.

And then came the footsteps.

I turned, and there he was. Seth. I hadn’t seen Joanna’s brother in years, but wow, time had been kind. He smiled, and it was one of those smiles that made you forget how words work.

“Hey,” Seth said, his voice relaxed, like he hadn’t just thrown my whole sense of peace out the window.

“Hi,” I managed.

Real smooth, Olivia.

“Joanna said you’d be staying.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

Joanna shot him a look. “She’s not here to be bothered, Seth.”

“Who said I was bothering?” Seth held his hands up in surrender, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

“I’m fine,” I blurted, feeling like a teenager again. “Really. Not bothered.”

“Alright, well, I’ll see you around.”

As he walked away, Joanna elbowed me. “He’s single, you know.”

I groaned. “Oh no, we are not doing this.”

She laughed, pouring me another glass of wine. “Just keep an open mind. That’s all I’m saying.”

I glanced toward the door where Seth had just disappeared. My heart did a weird little flip.

“I came here to escape, not to… complicate things.”

“Complications make life interesting,” Joanna sang.

I raised my glass. “Here’s to hoping you’re wrong.”

But deep down, I knew she wasn’t.

***

The first few days were relaxing. We used to sit outside in the evenings, the three of us just talking about life, laughing over silly memories, and I found myself enjoying the simplicity of it all.

Seth didn’t try too hard to be charming. He was just… himself. Laid-back, calm, always sprinkling in a “you know” whenever he spoke, which I found oddly comforting.

I noticed he was close to Joanna. They had this natural sibling bond, teasing each other about little things, but there was a lot of care between them.

One evening, after we’d finished dinner, Seth leaned back in his chair and looked over at me.

“Hey, what do you think about grabbing dinner tomorrow? Just you and me?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Dinner? Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, just figured we’ve been hanging out here, why not go out for a change?”

I glanced over at Joanna, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing, clearly amused by her brother’s sudden offer.

“Uh, yeah. Sure, why not?” I finally answered, feeling a bit out of my depth.

“Great,” Seth said, getting up like he’d just suggested we grab a coffee, not go on a date. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

As he walked away, I looked over at Joanna, who was grinning.

“What?” I asked, feeling my cheeks warm.

“Nothing,” she said, still smirking. “Just… Seth doesn’t ask people out on dates. This is new.”

I frowned. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

She laughed, shaking her head.

“Relax, Liv. He likes you. That’s a good thing.”

“Maybe,” I mumbled, but as I sat there, I couldn’t help wondering if I’d just agreed to something that might be way more complicated than I was ready for.

***

We were sitting in the restaurant, and at first, everything seemed perfect. The food was great, the ambiance was warm, and Seth was his usual laid-back self.

We laughed and talked about everything and nothing, and I started to feel a little more comfortable around him. But then, his phone buzzed.

He brushed it off at first, but it buzzed again. And again.

“Sorry, I’ll be right back,” he said, standing up and heading outside.

What’s so important that it can’t wait?

I tried to enjoy my meal, but my eyes kept drifting to the door. When he came back, he smiled like nothing had happened.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just some work stuff,” he said casually.

But then it happened again. Halfway through our dessert, his phone buzzed, and once again, he excused himself.

That time, I couldn’t sit still. I got up, quietly following him outside. I saw Seth standing with another woman, deep in conversation.

Who is she?

They noticed me. Seth looked startled.

“Oh, Olivia, this is Lauren.” He paused.

“My ex-wife.”

I didn’t know what to say. Lauren smiled, acting all friendly.

“Why don’t you both come to dinner tomorrow?” she said.

Before I could even think to refuse, Seth… agreed! Later, he tried to reassure me.

“It’s nothing. It’s been over for a long time. Dinner sounds good,” Seth said, his smile calm and reassuring.

I was taken aback!

Dinner with his ex? Really?

But I didn’t have a solid reason to say no. He seemed so casual about it like it was no big deal, and I didn’t want to come off as insecure or jealous.

***

Dinner with Seth and Lauren was uncomfortable from the start. Lauren wasted no time in making herself at home, sitting way too close to Seth for my liking.

“So, remember when we took that trip to the beach?” Lauren started, her voice dripping with nostalgia. “We were such a perfect couple back then. Everyone thought we’d last forever.”

She laughed, leaning closer to Seth. I shifted in my seat, trying to keep calm.

She was trying to get under my skin, and I didn’t want to let her succeed. Seth barely responded, giving her polite, short answers.

“Yeah, that was a long time ago,” he said, sounding almost bored.

But I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed my chair back and stood up.

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” I muttered, not waiting for a response.

What am I even doing here?

Outside, the cool night air helped a little. Everything felt so complicated, and I didn’t know how to handle it.

Suddenly, a small voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Are you here with my daddy?”

I turned and saw a little girl, her eyes sleepy as she rubbed them. My heart stopped.

Daddy?

It hit me like a ton of bricks. Seth had a daughter.

“Oh… um, yes, I’m here with your daddy.”

The little girl looked up at me, her innocence disarming.

“Let’s find him.”

“Of course, sweetie. Let’s go find him.”

When I brought her to Seth, he immediately scooped her up.

“Hey, pumpkin. Time for bed?”

He smiled at her in a way I hadn’t seen all evening.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to me, carrying her off to tuck her in.

He has a daughter? How did I not know this?

When Seth left, Lauren wasted no time in making her move. She stepped closer to me.

“You don’t belong here, you know.”

I blinked, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“Seth and I… we have history. And a family. He always comes back to us. This is just a phase. You should leave before you get hurt.”

I’m Hanna Stone, and I need to share what happened this past weekend. A few weeks ago, my husband, Jack, and I planned a family fishing trip to reconnect. Jack works so much that we hardly see him anymore, and our youngest is a 5-month-old breastfed baby. Considering how little time we get together, the goal of the trip was to spend quality time together as a family.

We set out on Friday morning to get our boat and head to our camp for the weekend. Everything was going fine until about 40 minutes into the drive. Jack got a call and started saying things like, “Yeah, I will be there soon” and “What did you bring?” When he got off the phone, I asked, “Who was that?”

“It was Heath,” he replied casually.

“Who’s Heath?”

Jack looked at me. “He’s a coworker of mine.”

I felt a knot in my stomach. “You invited him to our family trip without telling me?”

Jack shrugged like it was no big deal. “Yeah, I didn’t think it would matter. Heath wanted to see the boat and hang out.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Jack, this trip was supposed to be for us to reconnect as a family. I don’t want to spend the weekend nursing our baby and watching the kids around a stranger while you socialize with your buddy.”

Jack tried to reassure me. “It won’t be like that. I told Heath this trip was for the kids, and I’d be spending time with them. He’s just tagging along.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “No, Jack. I know how this will go. Did he bring beer?”

Jack looked away, confirming my suspicion. “Yeah, but it’s not like he’s going to get wasted. It’s just a few beers.”

I cut him off. “Turn the car around. Take us back home.”

Jack was stunned. “Why? We’re already on the way.”

I insisted. “I’m not going to spend the weekend feeling awkward and alone while you have fun with Heath. Take us back home now.”

Reluctantly, Jack turned the car around and drove us back. He was visibly upset, but I didn’t care. This trip was supposed to be about our family, not his coworker.

When we got home, Jack was still fuming. “I can’t believe you’re making such a big deal out of this, Hanna. It was just Heath.”

I glared at him. “Jack, we talked about this trip in detail. It was meant for our family to reconnect. How could you think inviting a coworker would be okay?”

Jack threw up his hands. “I see Heath every day at work. I just thought it would be nice to hang out outside of the office.”

I shook my head. “And you didn’t think about how awkward it would be for me? Nursing our baby in front of a stranger, watching over all the kids while you guys have fun? No, Jack. This was a family trip, not a social hour.”

Jack tried to defend himself. “Heath knows the trip is for the kids. He wouldn’t get in the way.”

I crossed my arms. “I don’t believe that for a second. You said he brought beer. I know exactly how this would go. You two would be hanging out while I did all the work.”

Jack sighed. “Fine, what do you want me to do?”

I took a deep breath. “I want you to go on this trip by yourself. I’m taking the kids somewhere else.”

Jack looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m going to rent an Airbnb by the lake for the weekend. The kids and I will have our own trip,” I said with a smile.

Jack was speechless but left the house to go on the trip with Heath. I packed up the kids, rented an Airbnb, and left a text for Jack letting him know about our plans.

With a clear plan in mind, I packed up the kids and rented an Airbnb by the lake for the weekend. Before we left, I sent Jack a text: “Taking the kids on our own trip for the weekend. We’ll be at the lake. No cell reception, so don’t worry if you can’t reach us.”

As I drove away, I felt angry but satisfied with my actions. Jack wanted a weekend with his buddy? Fine. The kids and I were going to have our own adventure.

The Airbnb was perfect. It was a cozy cabin right by the water. The kids were excited, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. We spent the weekend fishing, swimming, and even visiting a nearby amusement park. The kids had a blast, and I enjoyed every moment with them, free from the stress of dealing with an unexpected guest.

Because there was no cell service, I didn’t hear from Jack at all. It was a refreshing break that allowed me to fully focus on my children and our time together. We laughed, played, and made wonderful memories.

On Sunday morning, we packed up and headed home. I felt a sense of calm knowing I had made the right decision for myself and my kids. When we pulled into the driveway, I saw Jack waiting for us, looking furious.

Jack stormed up to the car as soon as we parked. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.

I calmly got out and started unbuckling the kids. “I told you, Jack. We went to the lake for the weekend. I sent you a text.”

Jack was fuming. “I came back home Friday evening to spend the rest of the weekend with you, but you were gone! I couldn’t contact you at all!”

I looked him in the eye. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had stuck to the original plan, Jack. You made this trip about you and Heath, not about our family.”

Jack ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I only stayed out with Heath until 5 P.M. on Friday. I came back to spend time with you and the kids. But you had already left! You couldn’t have waited?”

I shook my head. “Jack, I needed to make a point. This trip was supposed to be about us as a family. Instead, you decided to bring a stranger along, making it uncomfortable and awkward for me. I didn’t want to spend my weekend like that.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” my dad asked, his warm hand resting on my shoulder as I adjusted my veil in the mirror.

“I’ve been ready my whole life, Dad,” I said with a grin. My hands were steady, but my heart raced with excitement.

I wasn’t the kind of girl who dreamed of fairy tales, but I’d always wanted this day—a day full of love, laughter, and family. And now it was happening. Everything was perfect, down to the last detail, just like I’d planned.

I’d spent months picking out flowers, choosing the right colors, and making sure everyone knew their place. My mom used to say I was a bit of a control freak, but it made me feel safe, knowing things were in order.

“You look beautiful,” my dad added, a bit choked up.

“Don’t start crying yet,” I teased. “We still have to make it down the aisle.”

I couldn’t wait to walk down that aisle and see Jacob—my soon-to-be husband. He wasn’t like me. He never overthought things. Jacob was calm and funny, always ready to make me laugh when I got too serious. That’s what I loved most about him.

Jacob and I met four years ago at a mutual friend’s party. I had been sitting in the corner, avoiding small talk, and he walked up to me with a big smile.

“You look like you’re having a blast,” he said, holding a drink in each hand.

“I hate parties,” I admitted.

“Me too,” he laughed, even though he was clearly having a great time.

That was Jacob—easygoing, with a knack for making the best of every situation. We started talking, and it didn’t take long before I was laughing too. That night changed everything for me.

We were opposites in many ways, but we just fit. I liked order; he loved spontaneity. I had my life planned out; he preferred to go with the flow. But somehow, it worked.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” my best friend Kate had said during the bachelorette party. “You used to say you didn’t believe in all this wedding stuff.”

“I didn’t,” I replied, thinking of Jacob. “But then I met him.”

Jacob had his own set of friends—guys he’d known since grade school. They were a loud, rowdy bunch, always playing jokes on each other. Sometimes they drove me nuts, but Jacob loved them, and I knew they meant the world to him.

His best man, Derek, was always the ringleader, coming up with crazy pranks and schemes. The guys called themselves the “bachelor club,” like they were stuck in high school.

“They’ll grow up one day,” Jacob always said with a grin.

But even though they were immature at times, Jacob was different when he was with me. He wasn’t just a prankster—he was thoughtful and kind, always finding little ways to make me smile. He’d leave me notes, cook dinner when I was tired, and listen to my endless wedding planning without complaint.

“That’s what you’re supposed to do when you love someone,” he once told me, shrugging like it was the easiest thing in the world.

The day had finally arrived, and the sun was shining. It was perfect. As I stood there, ready to marry the love of my life, I took a deep breath. My father was by my side, my family and friends were all waiting outside, and Jacob… well, he was probably cracking jokes with his friends, trying to calm his nerves.

“You ready?” Dad asked again, sensing my excitement.

“I’ve never been more ready,” I replied.

With one last look in the mirror, I smiled. Everything was exactly how it was supposed to be. I wasn’t nervous, just eager to see Jacob standing at the end of that aisle, waiting for me.

And then we stepped outside.

The ceremony was going perfectly. The soft hum of music filled the air as Jacob and I stood facing each other, hands intertwined. He was smiling at me, and I could feel the warmth of his love radiating in that moment. My heart swelled with joy, and I could see tears welling up in his eyes. We were about to exchange our vows, the most important words of our lives.

But just as I opened my mouth to speak, something strange caught my eye. From the back of the venue, a group of people appeared. They were walking slowly, carrying something heavy. At first, I thought it was a joke—someone bringing in a last-minute wedding gift. But as they got closer, I saw what they were carrying. A coffin.

My stomach dropped. I blinked, hoping I was imagining things, but no—there it was. A real, wooden coffin, with a giant red bow on top.

“What the…?” I whispered to myself, barely able to process it. This couldn’t be happening.

The guests, who had been smiling and laughing just moments before, fell silent. The music seemed to fade into the background as all eyes turned to the approaching coffin. Confusion rippled through the crowd. My pulse raced. I looked over at Jacob, expecting him to react, but he just stood there, wide-eyed like everyone else.

“What is this?” I thought, panic building in my chest. “Is it a prank? Something gone horribly wrong?” I glanced around, looking for some kind of answer, but nobody seemed to know what was happening. My head was spinning, and I felt lightheaded, like I might faint.

The group of men carrying the coffin came closer. My heart pounded in my chest, and I could feel my knees trembling. I clutched Jacob’s hand tightly, but even he seemed too shocked to move.

They walked right up to the altar and set the coffin down at our feet. I could barely breathe.

Then, one of Jacob’s friends—Derek, the best man—stepped forward. Of course, it was him. If anyone was behind something as insane as this, it had to be Derek. He reached for the lid of the coffin, his hand moving slowly, as if he was deliberately building suspense.

“Derek, what the hell is going on?” I finally managed to say, my voice shaky.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he smiled—a big, goofy grin—and lifted the lid.

I gasped. Inside the coffin wasn’t what I feared. No grim surprise or morbid joke. Instead, lying there was a large framed portrait of Jacob, with a huge gift bow wrapped around it like he was some kind of present.

For a second, I was too stunned to react. My brain struggled to make sense of what I was seeing. Then, from behind the coffin, the rest of Jacob’s friends jumped out, shouting, “Surprise!!!”

I just stood there, frozen, trying to process it all. My mind went from panic to confusion to… realization. Slowly, it dawned on me: this was all a prank. A ridiculous, over-the-top prank pulled by Jacob’s friends. The coffin, the portrait—everything. They were symbolizing that Jacob was “dead” to them now that he was getting married.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, still in shock.

Derek burst out laughing, clearly pleased with himself. “He’s a married man now! He’s gone forever!” he shouted, pointing at Jacob’s picture. The rest of the guys were laughing, too, slapping each other on the back like they’d just pulled off the greatest prank of all time.

I turned to look at Jacob, who was now grinning sheepishly. “I had no idea,” he said quickly, holding up his hands like he was innocent in all of this. “I swear, I didn’t know they were planning this.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to strangle Derek for pulling something so outrageous in the middle of my wedding. But then… the absurdity of it all hit me. Jacob’s friends were always pulling stunts like this. It was their way of showing they cared. And, honestly, it was kind of funny.