It was supposed to be my dear husband and my third anniversary celebration. His mommy started calling, asking about “our plans” for the day, saying she wanted to host the anniversary at her house and invite family members. It was an instant no from me.
The last two anniversaries were celebrated with his family, so I made it clear that this time I wanted it to be just the two of us.
He agreed. When the day came, my husband picked me up at 3 p.m.
I got home, took a shower, made sure he had confirmed the restaurant reservation for the night, and we left at 7 p.m. His mom was talking to him on the phone in the car.
I asked why she’d been calling him all day, and he changed the subject.
We arrived at the restaurant; he walked in before me. I followed him, and after I walked through the door and saw his mom, dad, sister and cousin and her kids, I froze for a second. Then my heart dropped.
I felt so much rage as he tried to get me to keep walking.
His family saw me, and at that moment I just lost it. His family saw me walk out; he followed, begging me to come back in.
I snapped, telling him he ruined the night I’d waited for, turning it into a family dinner I never wanted. I took a taxi home.
Later his mom texted that I’d “ruined it” and should stop whining.
I didn’t reply. Instead, I booked the honeymoon suite at my friend’s hotel, packed a bag, and left. Flowers, champagne, peace.
Meanwhile, he blew up my phone.
In the morning I sent a hot tub selfie: “Since you wanted a family dinner so bad, spend the night with them. Happy anniversary.” Then I handed him a list of therapists.
