That somehow made it worse.
He would give me an apologetic smile and say, “It’s only dinner. It’s easier this way.”
I used to believe he meant easier for both of us.
I finally understood what he meant while sitting at our kitchen table.
Late one night, I was reviewing our finances when I noticed the transfer.
Eight hundred and fifty dollars had been moved from our anniversary account to pay the credit card.
I checked the date.
It had happened the morning after the previous family dinner.
Working with numbers had taught me to pay attention. I knew every bill and every amount I had saved.
For three years, I had been setting money aside for our tenth anniversary. During a difficult period in our marriage, Chris had promised we would finally take a trip meant only for us.
I had held tightly to that promise. I skipped lunches, worked extra hours, and continued wearing an old coat.
One month earlier, I had secretly purchased refundable plane tickets.
Chris had no idea.
I was still planning to surprise him with the hotel.
Then he entered the kitchen and saw the account displayed on my laptop.
He stopped walking.
“Why did you take money from our anniversary fund?” I asked.
His eyes shifted toward the screen.
“I know what the balance was, Chris. I’m asking why our anniversary fund paid for it.”
He pulled out a chair but remained standing.
“I’ll put it back after my bonus.”
“You spent it on your family’s dinner.
“We ate too.”
“I ordered soup and garlic bread.”
Chris rubbed the back of his neck.
“Of course it did. Serena ordered lobster, her husband chose the most expensive steak, and their kids added desserts. Then you handed me the bill.”
“You paid it.”
“Because you let everyone assume I would.”
He folded his arms. “They’re family.”
“So am I, Chris, but you keep choosing them over me.”
His expression tightened.
I shut the laptop.
“You took money I saved for us without asking me.”
“I said I’d replace it.”
“With your next bonus?”
“And what happens after the next dinner?”
He looked down the hallway.
That silence answered me.
“Your father’s birthday is the last family dinner I’ll finance,” I said.
Chris released a weary breath.
“We’ll talk when you’ve calmed down.”
“Come to bed.”
“I mean it.”
He walked away regardless.
