I handed over nearly four thousand dollars of my own hard-earned money so my husband could have the birthday trip of his dreams with his friends. He swore he’d reimburse me right away. He didn’t. That turned out to be a huge mistake — one that required an even bigger lesson. All it took was a single phone call to transform his luxury getaway into an absolute nightmare.
My name is Olivia. I’m 36, a mother of two, and the kind of woman who can soothe a screaming baby with one arm while answering work emails with the other.
Mark, my husband, likes to tell people I’m “the backbone of the family.” It sounds flattering, except most days it feels less like I’m the backbone and more like the entire skeleton — holding everything upright while he drifts through life soaking up praise.
We’ve been married for over ten years, and I know him inside and out.
He’s charming and funny, the sort of man who can tell a story at a party and have everyone laughing by the end. But there’s another side to him too — a deep need for admiration, to be seen as the hero in every story he tells.
It’s not outright narcissism. Just… draining.
Mark is a good dad. Usually. But lately, I’ve been surviving on autopilot with our six-month-old daughter. Endless feedings, middle-of-the-night diaper changes, and the kind of exhaustion where you forget what day it is.
Meanwhile, Mark sleeps through the night like nothing could wake him and grumbles if his morning coffee isn’t strong enough.
So when he started fixating on his upcoming 40th birthday months in advance, I really should’ve noticed the warning signs.
“Liv, forty is a big deal,” he kept saying. “I need to celebrate it the right way.”
By “the right way,” he meant a four-day, high-end vacation with his closest friends. No kids. No wives. Just sun, alcohol, and whatever men call self-discovery when they’re left unsupervised.
I wasn’t thrilled. I had spit-up in my hair and dark circles under my eyes deep enough to store snacks. A vacation sounded wonderful — for me. I was juggling everything.
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