I kept telling myself it wasn’t personal. The family game nights I wasn’t invited to, the Christmas parties I saw online, with my husband, Nick, next to his mom, Susan, while his cousins laughed. No room for me, no word, just, “You’re so busy, Kate.” As a marketing manager, I made time for any event I knew about, but to Susan, my job meant I wasn’t family. Nick never stood up for me, just said, “Don’t make waves, Kate.” One night, I hit my breaking point, and my elegant revenge set me free.
It began with a text from Nick: “See you at Mom’s tonight. Safe drive. Love you.” The “we”—him and Susan—hurt. I ignored it, buying daisies for Susan, who’d just beaten breast cancer. I was glad for her, even if she didn’t know me. I’d said a work call would delay me until 8 p.m. Susan had smiled, saying, “Come if you’re able, dear.” Her words felt hollow. I wore the gold dress Nick loved, styled my hair, and arrived hopeful.
The house was warm, with music and chatter. Inside, my heart sank. The table, set for 12, was full. Nick sat by Susan, her hand on his arm, both laughing. She looked up with a fake smile. “Oh, Kate, you’re here,” she said. “I told you I’d come,” I said. She gestured. “No seats, dear. Go rest. You work hard.” Nick stayed quiet, eating a taco. Pain burned, daisies in hand. No one offered a chair or cared.
I poured juice from the bar cart, sat alone in the lounge, and sipped, Susan’s voice ringing out. That night, I stopped seeking their welcome and planned my comeback. Mother’s Day was perfect. I booked a table for 10 at a stunning rooftop restaurant—candles, soft tunes, and dishes like shrimp and vintage wine. It was ideal for love or a subtle lesson. I invited those who mattered—my sister, Lily, friends, my aunt, and Mrs. Bell, who’d comforted me when Nick forgot our date night.
I told Nick and Susan dinner was at 8 p.m., but the reservation was 7 p.m. When they arrived, I was toasting: “To those who make me feel seen.” Glasses clinked, laughter rose. They stood awkwardly as the waiter said, “No seats left.” Nick mumbled, “My wife booked a table.” The waiter checked. “Kate’s table is full.” Susan’s smile twitched. “We’re family,” she said. I raised my glass. “Family’s on time, Susan.” No one budged. I enjoyed my mousse, chatting with Mrs. Bell, ignoring them.
At home, Nick paced, angry, while Susan sat stiffly on my sofa. “How could you?” she hissed. I hung my purse. “Divorce papers are on the table, Nick,” I said. “Sleep there.” Susan sputtered, but I said, “Leave, or I call the police.” My parents’ house was mine. Nick begged, “Be fair, Kate.” I scoffed. “Fair? You let her exclude me. You never spoke up.” I gave him the papers. “This is me choosing me.” Susan said, “You’ll regret this.” I smiled. “I regret waiting. I’ll find better.” I slept deeply, free. Lily brought muffins, saying I glowed. “I miss the Nick I dreamed of,” I said, “but now I’m home—in myself.”
