I wanted to cry. I wanted to shout. But more than anything, I wanted to understand what I had missed about this man.
I paid the bill, gripping my card a little too hard, my stomach in knots.
Back home, I finally confronted him. “Henry, what was that about? Why would you put me on the spot like that?”
“Oh, come on, Nora,” he said, barely looking up from his phone.
“You’re making this way bigger than it is. We share finances. What difference does it make?”
“The difference,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady, “is that it’s about respect.
It’s about valuing me, especially on a night that’s supposed to be special.”
He just shrugged, his voice laced with impatience. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. I forgot my wallet.
You could’ve laughed it off. It wasn’t supposed to be an attack on your precious ego.”
I stared at him, feeling like I was seeing him for the first time. This was the man I’d chosen to marry, who I thought I knew.
A man who, on my birthday, had no problem letting me foot the bill, not out of need, but out of choice.
And now, here I was, trying to make sense of it all, wondering if this was the person I wanted to spend my life with.
“I thought I knew you, Henry,” I whispered, feeling the weight of my own words. “I thought…you’d be someone I could rely on. Not someone who’d embarrass me in front of my parents.”
Henry rolled his eyes, sighing.
“I told you, Nora, you’re overreacting.”
That night, I lay awake, feeling the weight of decisions I wasn’t ready to face. Sometimes, it’s the smallest actions that reveal the biggest truths.
So here I am, wondering what to do next. Should I ignore this and move on, hoping it’s a one-time slip?
Or is this the sign I needed, to see that maybe the man I married isn’t the man I thought he was?
