For our tenth anniversary, I trusted my husband to plan a special dinner, but he ordered takeout only for himself, forgetting me. I’m Kate, 37, and this is how his oversight pushed me to reclaim my happiness and start fresh.
I’ve always made our marriage memorable, crafting thoughtful birthdays, early Christmas surprises, and anniversary dinners at upscale spots. I tracked every family event, even my husband’s mom’s book club. For our tenth, I wanted him to plan. At breakfast, I asked, “What’s for our anniversary?” Tom, texting, said, “No plans?” I replied, “Your turn.” He smiled, “Dinner’s on me.” My heart soared, imagining a sweet gesture.
On the day, I worked from home, finishing early. By 4 p.m., I was getting ready—showering, styling my hair, and wearing a sapphire dress Tom once loved, with heels. By 6:30 p.m., I waited upstairs, excited. Tom was home but quiet. I stayed put, hoping for a surprise. By 7 p.m., I was restless. The doorbell rang—flowers? A chef? I heard Tom at the door, bags crinkling, then silence. Unable to wait, I went downstairs.
The living room was dim, smelling of pizza. Tom sat on the couch with a takeout box, watching a movie. “Where’s mine?” I asked. He jumped, laughing, “Forgot you were here! Order something. We’ll watch this.” He ignored my dress. “This is our anniversary?” I said. He shrugged, “We’ll go out soon.” A decade of my care—planning, loving—felt ignored. I grabbed my purse and left, his “Where you going?” unanswered.
I drove to a charming Greek diner I’d always wanted to visit. The hostess said, “Stunning dress!” Her kindness warmed me. At a small table, I ordered wine and souvlaki, savoring the vibe. A man at the bar smiled at me. Later, he said, “You look amazing.” I invited him to share my baklava. Nick, a writer, talked about books and food. We laughed easily. He paid, took my number, but never called—a perfect moment.
Next morning, I sat with coffee and divorce papers. Tom saw them, stunned. “Over pizza?” I said, “Over ten years of being invisible.” He called it one error, but I said, “It’s all you missed.” I signed, unmoved by his later pleas. I didn’t leave for the pizza or Nick. I left to be valued, embracing a future where I’m seen and whole.
