“Remember that time you told us you were going to run away and become an astronaut? You were eight, I guess.”
I rolled my eyes, laughing. “I must’ve thought I could pull it off, huh?”
Henry chuckled, nudging me.
“And here I thought you were a sensible child.”
“Not even close,” Dad chimed in, grinning. “She spent the next week wearing a cardboard ‘space helmet’ she’d made.”
Henry laughed along but seemed…distracted. I brushed it off, assuming he was just tired, though a tiny voice at the back of my mind wondered if maybe he was regretting the expense of such a night.
But then again, it was my birthday. And we could afford it, right? The wine glasses kept getting refilled, and everyone was laughing and reminiscing.
My dad leaned over, his hand on Henry’s shoulder, “This is really something, Henry. Treating us to a night like this. Thank you.”
Henry gave him a polite nod, lifting his glass, “To Nora — the best decision I ever made.” His words had a warmth that made me smile, though there was something about the look in his eyes that made me feel…curious.
By dessert, we were all in high spirits, marveling over the delicate chocolate mousse and the crème brûlée. My mother dabbed her mouth with her napkin, looking around the table with a content smile. “This has been a beautiful evening,” she said, her eyes shining.
Just then, the waiter arrived with the bill. I watched as Henry looked up at him and then, with a calm smile, turned to me. What he did next made my parents’ and my jaws drop.
“Hey, darling,” he said, his tone almost light, as if he was saying something playful. “It’s your birthday, so I thought you’d want to pay. I didn’t bring my wallet with me.”
For a moment, I thought he was joking.
I laughed a little, waiting for him to chuckle too. But he didn’t. He kept his gaze steady on me, his lips curled in that soft, unwavering smile.
I let out a nervous laugh, whispering, “Henry…this is a joke, right?”
He shrugged, still smiling. “Come on, Nora. You’re always saying you’re ‘independent.’ I thought you’d want the chance to show it.”
“Wait…what?” I asked, feeling my heart skip a beat.
Henry leaned back, tracing his finger across his empty plate as if this were all perfectly natural. “Yeah, I thought you wouldn’t mind. You’re always saying you enjoy treating yourself on your birthday, right?”
I felt my cheeks burn.
My parents went silent, looking between Henry and me, and I could feel the embarrassment rising in my chest. My dad’s face turned dark, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Henry. “Henry, you invited us to dinner.
For Nora’s birthday. You’re simply going to sit here and let her pay?”
Henry’s smile faltered, just a bit. “Oh, come on, Mr.
Dawson. It’s just a birthday meal. We both know Nora’s more than capable.
She’s got that fancy pediatrician salary.”
I was speechless. I wanted to disappear right then and there. Here I was, with my parents, on my birthday, being told I had to cover the $1,100 bill because my husband — my dear husband — had conveniently “forgotten” his wallet.
I shot him a glare, my voice a low whisper. “Henry, this is… embarrassing. You’ve got to be kidding.”
But he just shrugged, sipping the last of his champagne with that casual indifference.
“Look, if it’s such a big deal, I’ll pay you back at home.”
My dad didn’t let it slide. “Unbelievable. Not even a gift?
This was it?”
Henry laughed it off. “Dad, come on! It’s all in good fun.” But the room didn’t feel fun.
It felt cold. 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?
