I thought I was being a good wife, throwing a festive dinner for my husband Todd’s 35th birthday. But just as the guests were about to arrive, he told me he was ditching the party to watch the game at a bar. What happened next? Let’s just say, I got the last laugh.
You’d think six years of marriage would teach someone a little gratitude, but not Todd. Every year, I’d pour my heart and soul into his birthday, only for him to take it all for granted.
This year, though, his entitlement hit a whole new level.
A man standing in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
Six years. That’s how long Todd and I have been married.
Don’t get me wrong, our relationship isn’t all bad. Todd can be charming when he wants to be, and we’ve had some wonderful times together. But there’s one thing about him that drives me absolutely up the wall.
His entitlement.
Take last Thanksgiving, for example. Todd had this brilliant idea to host a dinner for both of our families. He announced it at breakfast one day, grinning like he’d solved world hunger.
Breakfast on a table | Source: Pexels
“Claire,” he said, “I think we should host Thanksgiving this year.”
“Okay,” I replied. “That sounds nice. How are we dividing up the responsibilities?”
He waved me off like I’d just asked him to do a headstand.
“Oh, you’re so much better at that stuff,” he said. “I’ll handle… I don’t know, drinks or something. Just make it memorable, alright?”
I should’ve known better, but I went along with it.
For two weeks, I planned and prepped while Todd played fantasy football and occasionally asked me, “You need me to pick up anything?”
A man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney
On the big day, I roasted the turkey, whipped up sides, and even made two pies.
And Todd? He carried the cooler of beer into the living room. That’s it.
After dinner, as everyone raved about the food and decor, Todd decided it was time to take credit for everything.
“Glad you all love it,” he said. “I wanted it to be special this year.”
I thought I’d misheard him.
“Oh, really?” I asked. “What part did you want special? The green bean casserole or the centerpiece?”
A woman standing in her living room | Source: Midjourney
He ignored me, of course.
And that’s Todd in a nutshell. He wants the credit without lifting a finger.
Then there was last year on his birthday.
I spent weeks creating a customized photo album, filling it with pictures from our travels and special moments together. I couldn’t wait to see his reaction when he unwrapped it.
But when he was done flipping through the pages, he just said, “Oh. So, where’s the real gift?”
It wasn’t just his words that hurt. It was the sheer audacity.
A woman looking at her husband | Source: Midjourney
I’d married a man who once wrote me poetry, and now he couldn’t appreciate a heartfelt gesture. That moment shattered something in me.
It made me realize he wasn’t the man I’d fallen for anymore.
And then came his 35th birthday. The final straw.
We were having dinner when Todd casually told me his plans.
“Claire, I want a big, proper birthday dinner this year,” he said. “Invite the family, my buddies, everyone.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You mean you want me to plan it?”
A woman in her house | Source: Midjourney
“Well, yeah,” he said. “You’re good at this stuff. Just make it decent, alright? I don’t want to be embarrassed in front of everyone.”
“Decent?” I repeated.
“Yeah, just don’t go overboard or anything. Keep it classy.”
You see the entitlement here? See the way he thinks he deserves a birthday party while knowing how he’d hurt me with his words last time?
Honestly, I didn’t want to agree, but I decided to give him another chance. After all, it was his birthday, and I wanted to make it special even if he didn’t deserve it.
A close-up shot of a woman’s eyes | Source: Midjourney
For the next two weeks, I threw myself into planning Todd’s “big, proper birthday dinner.” If he wanted classy, I’d give him classy.
I drafted an impressive menu that had spinach-stuffed chicken, rosemary potatoes, a charcuterie board with cheeses I couldn’t pronounce, and a three-layer chocolate cake that would be the pièce de résistance.
Every day after work, I’d come home, tie my hair up, and get to work cleaning, organizing, and prepping. I even borrowed extra chairs and a folding table from our neighbor, Janice, just to make sure everyone would have a seat.
Todd’s contribution? Absolutely nothing.
A woman cleaning the house | Source: Pexels
“I’m swamped at work,” he said one night, kicking off his shoes and plopping onto the couch. “But you’ve got this, babe. You’re good at these things.”
Good at these things? I was so tired I could’ve cried.
But instead of snapping, I smiled and said, “Yeah, I’ve got this.”
The day of the party finally arrived.
I woke up early, determined to make everything perfect.
A woman standing in the hallway | Source: Midjourney
The house was spotless. The table was set with matching linens and little name cards I’d handwritten. The appetizers were chilling, the main courses simmering, and the cake was decorated with edible gold flakes.
Yes, I went that far.
Todd strolled into the kitchen around noon, scrolling through his phone as usual. He barely glanced at the spread I’d laid out.
“Looks good,” he muttered as he opened the fridge to grab a soda.
“Looks good?” I repeated, half-joking but half-hoping he’d notice the effort I’d put in.
A woman standing in her house | Source: Midjourney
“Yeah,” he said, shutting the fridge door. Then, like it was no big deal, he added, “But hey, uh, don’t bother finishing all this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m heading to the bar with the guys to watch the game instead. Cancel everything. Tell everyone something came up.”
“You’re ditching your own birthday dinner?” I asked. “Todd, I’ve been planning this for weeks!”
“It’s not a big deal, Claire,” he shrugged it off. “Just call everyone and tell them we’re busy or something. They’ll understand.”
A man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney
“They’ll understand?” My voice rose. “Todd, people are already on their way! You told me to make this decent and now you’re leaving?”
“I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of the guys,” he said, ending the conversation.
Then, he grabbed his jacket and walked out of the door.
“You can’t do this, Todd!” I shouted, but he’d already left.
I was so heartbroken. I’d poured my heart, soul, and savings into this dinner, and he just walked out like it was nothing.
A woman looking outside the window | Source: Midjourney
Cancel everything? After all the work I’d done?
But more than anything, I felt humiliated.
How could he treat me like this? How could he brush off all my efforts as if they didn’t matter?
I stared at the table while the candles flickered mockingly.
Is this what you’re worth, Claire? I asked myself. Is this how you’ll let Todd treat you? No. You can’t do this.
At that point, I decided I wouldn’t cancel the dinner. I won’t allow him to make me feel bad again.
A woman standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
If Todd wanted to act like a spoiled brat, I’d let him, but not without showing him what “embarrassing” really looked like. He had no idea who he was messing with.
I grabbed my phone and sent a group text to all the guests:
Party’s still on! Change of plans. Meet us at the bar on the main street near our place. Bring your appetite!
Then, I got to work.
I packed all the food and loaded it into the car. Then, I drove straight to the bar Todd had mentioned.
A woman driving | Source: Pexels
When I arrived, the place was already buzzing with noise. I looked around and spotted Todd sitting at a table with his buddies, his back to the door. He was completely oblivious to my presence.
“Uh, ma’am? Can I help you?” the bartender asked with wide eyes after noticing the trays of food I was carrying.
I flashed him my sweetest smile. “Oh, I’m just here to share a meal with some people who’ll actually appreciate it.”
A woman standing in a bar | Source: Midjourney
I picked a table near the bar, in full view of Todd’s group, and began unpacking dish after dish. The aroma of the food quickly caught everyone’s attention. Patrons nearby craned their necks to see what was going on.
“What’s this about?” one man asked, gesturing toward the feast I was setting up.
I raised my voice just enough to carry across the room. “Oh, this was supposed to be my husband’s birthday dinner. But he decided to ditch me and come here, so I thought, why let all this food go to waste?”
A woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
The room erupted in murmurs and laughter, and a few people even clapped. That’s when Todd finally turned around and spotted me.
He immediately stormed over while his buddies murmured amongst themselves.
“Claire! What the hell are you doing?” he hissed, his eyes darting nervously between me and the growing crowd.
I didn’t even look at him.
Instead, I addressed the nearest group of patrons. “You like ham? Help yourselves! There’s cake coming too.”
A close-up shot of food in a plate | Source: Pexels
Just as Todd sputtered out another protest, the front door swung open, and in walked his parents, my parents, his sister, and our cousins.
They looked at us, then at the food, and then at all the people munching on what was supposed to be a formal dinner.
Todd’s mom, bless her bluntness, walked right up to him. “What’s going on, Todd? Claire said to meet here for your birthday dinner, but why is she serving food in a bar?”
An older woman | Source: Midjourney
Todd looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor.
“Uh, it’s complicated, Mom,” he muttered.
“Oh, I’d love to explain!” I intervened. “Todd decided that watching the game with his friends was more important than the dinner he demanded I plan. So, I brought the dinner to him!”
His dad shook his head. “How disrespectful,” he muttered.
Meanwhile, my mom grabbed a plate and said, “Well, the food smells amazing. Let’s eat!”
A woman in a bar | Source: Midjourney
Soon, both our families joined the other patrons and dug into the feast I’d worked so hard on.
And Todd’s friends? They were still laughing at his expense and told him they’ll never forget this day.
By the time I brought out the cake, the bar felt like a full-blown party. On top of the cake, in bold frosting letters, I had written:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SELFISH HUSBAND!
The bar erupted in laughter when I read it aloud, but Todd wasn’t too happy about that.
A man laughing | Source: Pexels
“Was this really necessary, Claire?” he muttered under his breath.
I tilted my head, smiling sweetly. “Absolutely.”
Once everyone was done, I started packing up the empty trays. That’s when the bartender stopped me.
“Ma’am, you’re a legend,” he said. “Drinks on the house if you ever come back. Without him, of course!”
I chuckled. “Thank you! I’ll definitely drop by sometime.”
The families didn’t stick around long after the food was gone. My dad gave me a proud nod as he left, while Todd’s mom told him he could’ve done better.
An older woman speaking to her son | Source: Midjourney
As we drove back home, Todd kept muttering about being “humiliated.” Once we were back, he protested even more.
“Claire, you humiliated me in front of everyone!” he said, throwing his hands in the air.
“No, Todd,” I shot back. “You humiliated yourself. And for the record, don’t expect another homemade meal anytime soon.”
He knew he couldn’t argue with me at that point. He just turned around and stormed off to the bedroom.
A doorknob | Source: Pexels
It’s been two weeks since that night, and I kid you not, Todd has changed. Well, mostly.
His unrealistic demands have dialed down, and he’s been unusually polite, almost as if he’s afraid I’ll pull another stunt like that. He hasn’t apologized outright for ditching me, but his sheepish behavior says enough.
I guess now he knows I’m not the kind of wife who’ll roll over and take his nonsense anymore. If nothing else, that’s a win in my book.
A woman standing by a window | Source: Pexels
What would you have done if you were in my shoes?
If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might like: My entitled husband booked first class for himself and his mom, leaving me in economy with the kids. But I wasn’t going to just sit back. I made sure his “luxury” experience had a little turbulence, turning his flight into a lesson he won’t forget.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
I Couldn’t Understand Why My Mother-in-Law Hated Me until I Found Her Letters in My House’s Attic – Story of the Day
During a visit to her mother-in-law, Macy endures relentless mocking of her cooking, appearance, and how she treats her husband. When she finally stands up for herself, she becomes the villain. However, an unexpected find in her father’s house reveals reasons behind it all, changing her perspective.
On an empty road on a sunny holiday evening, a car cruised along. Inside, behind the wheel, was Chandler, a cheerful man with a perpetual smile on his face.
He was steering with one hand while carefully scrolling through his playlist with the other.
Concentrated on two tasks, his gaze constantly shifted between the road and the player. The bright sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on his face.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Next to him sat his wife, Macy. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and her eyes stared straight ahead, avoiding Chandler.
Her face was a picture of irritation, her lips pressed into a thin line. The tension in the car was palpable, almost as if a cloud of unease hung over them.
After what seemed like ages, Chandler finally settled on a song. “Take Me Home, Country Roads” by John Denver filled the car.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Chandler’s smile widened, and he nodded his head in time with the music.
“Almost Heaven…” he began to sing, glancing at Macy, hoping she would join in. His voice was warm and inviting, filled with the hope that the music might lighten her mood.
But Macy remained silent, her eyes fixed firmly on the passing scenery outside. Her irritation only seemed to deepen.
Seeing her reaction, Chandler, undeterred, turned up the volume a little, the familiar tune growing louder.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Macy’s face tightened, and she turned away even more, pressing herself against the car door as if trying to escape the sound.
“Turn it down…” she muttered, her voice barely audible over the music.
Chandler wasn’t ready to give up. He took a deep breath and sang even louder, “Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong…”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
He looked at Macy with a wide grin, trying to draw her into the song, hoping his enthusiasm would be contagious.
Macy’s patience snapped. With a swift, angry motion, she reached out and turned off the player. The car fell into a sudden, heavy silence. The tension thickened, filling the space between them like a dense fog.
“What’s wrong? Did I do something?”
Chandler asked, his voice filled with concern and a hint of confusion. He kept his eyes on the road but occasionally glanced at Macy, hoping for some explanation.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“It’s not you… I’m just not in the mood for songs… you know why…” Macy’s voice was tight with suppressed emotion.
“Because of my mom, right? It’s just for the weekend, dear…” Chandler’s voice was gentle, trying to soothe her.
“She hates me… She always finds something wrong… Either I cook wrong, clean wrong, talk wrong, look wrong… I can’t even breathe without hearing that something’s wrong with me.” Macy’s words tumbled out in a rush, her frustration clear.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“I know, dear, I have no idea why she’s picking on you like that. But it’s only for this weekend, I promise I’ll talk to her to be kinder.” Chandler reached out to touch her hand, but she pulled away, still too upset to be comforted.
“No need, the last thing I need is for her to know I’m complaining about her. Let her do what she wants, I just wonder why she does it.”
Macy’s voice wavered, and she let out a heavy sigh, staring down at her lap.
“We can’t change the direction of the wind…” Chandler said softly, glancing at her with a hopeful smile.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Macy sighed sadly, feeling the weight of the weekend ahead pressing down on her.
“But we can adjust the sails,” Chandler added with a smile, hoping to bring a little lightness to the conversation.
A small smile tugged at the corners of Macy’s mouth. She reached over and pressed the player, starting the song again. “Country road! Take me hoooome,” they sang together.
Chandler sang loudly and diligently, while Macy joined in with less enthusiasm but already starting to feel a bit lighter. The warmth of the music and the moment shared began to melt away the tension, if only just a little.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Arriving at Chandler’s mother Linda’s house, they immediately noticed that her lawn was unkempt, and the yard was a bit dirty. Weeds were poking through the cracks in the walkway, and the bushes were overgrown.
“I’ve offered her so many times to order lawn mowing for her,” Macy said, shaking her head.
“You know her, she doesn’t like it when someone helps her,” Chandler replied, his voice calm and understanding.
“Yes, yes, everything herself… That’s our Linda,” Macy added sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t mock her, she’s still my mom,” Chandler said, a gentle reminder in his tone.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“I know, it’s just that she’s all alone here…” Macy trailed off, her voice softening.
“You mean well, but trust me. Over time, everything will change,” Chandler reassured her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Just then, the door opened, and Linda came out, wiping her hands on her apron. “Chandler, what took you so long? The food is getting cold, come in quickly,” she called out, her tone brisk but warm.
“Hi Mom, we’re coming,” Chandler replied with a smile, waving at her.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Hello, Linda,” Macy greeted calmly, trying to keep her voice neutral.
Linda looked at Macy, sized her up, and in a half-tone said, “And you came? Welcome…”
Chandler understandingly looked at Macy, giving her a supportive nod, and walked inside with her, ready to face whatever came next.
The table was set with Linda’s finest china, and the savory aroma of stew filled the air. Linda invited Chandler and Macy to sit, her voice carrying a note of forced cheerfulness.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
The dining room was cozy, with family photos on the walls and an old grandfather clock ticking softly in the corner.
“Please, sit down,” Linda said, gesturing to their places.
Macy and Chandler took their seats. Chandler noticed the tension between Linda and Macy almost immediately. They exchanged guarded glances, and Macy’s shoulders were tense. He decided to break the ice.
“Mom, the stew is delicious, just like in childhood!” Chandler exclaimed, his eyes bright with enthusiasm as he took a bite.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Linda’s face softened slightly. “I know how much you love it, eat up, son. You probably don’t get fed like this at home.”
Macy felt the sting of Linda’s words. She forced herself to stay calm, remembering Chandler’s advice to endure. She took a deep breath and tried to smile.
“Mom, you don’t have to say that. Macy cooks wonderfully,” Chandler said, trying to defend his wife without escalating the situation.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Linda glanced at Chandler’s shirt and noticed a small stain. She reached over and wiped it with her hand, her movements sharp and precise. “And she also takes great care of your clothes…” she added sarcastically.
Macy’s grip on her fork tightened. She felt anger bubbling up inside her but took another deep breath. This wasn’t the time to explode.
“I’m not very hungry,” Macy said, standing up. “I’ll go wash the dishes.”
Linda watched her leave with a disapproving look, her eyes following Macy’s every move.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Macy walked into the kitchen, where the sound of running water soon filled the silence. She began scrubbing the plates with more force than necessary, trying to release her frustration.
In the dining room, Chandler turned to his mother. “Mom, you’re always hurting her. She’s my wife; you can’t talk to her like that.”
“And I’m your mother!” Linda snapped back. “I’m just telling the truth. She can’t even eat normally because of her nerves…”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
In the kitchen, Macy heard every word. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she could feel the anger rising like a tidal wave. This was the last straw. She turned off the water, left the dishes half-washed, and marched back into the dining room.
“Great, so we’re telling the truth now?” Macy said, her voice shaking with anger. “Fine, I’ll try too!”
“Dear, please don’t…” Chandler pleaded, sensing the explosion that was about to happen.
“It’s very necessary!” Macy retorted, her eyes flashing with determination. She turned to Linda, her voice steady and cold.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Linda, how about a hostess who has her lawn in a terrible state? It’s already looking like a swamp. How many times have I offered to help, but you’re too proud!”
Linda’s face flushed with anger. “It’s none of your business what my lawn looks like!”
“Why not? It’s your business how I cook! You don’t miss a single flaw of mine. So here’s yours. You’re a bitter, lonely woman who finds it easier to ruin her own son’s life to lift her mood! You don’t deserve him!”
“Enough! Stop it, both of you!” Chandler shouted, unable to take the hostility any longer. He stood up, placing himself between the two women.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Linda finally couldn’t hold back. Tears welled up in her eyes and began to flow down her cheeks. Chandler turned to Macy, his expression a mix of frustration and sorrow.
“Why did you do that!? It doesn’t help the situation.”
“Me? What was I supposed to do, endure it further? To make things easier for you? I’m fed up with all this!” Macy shouted back, her voice breaking with emotion. She grabbed her coat, her movements quick and jerky.
“Where are you going?” Chandler asked, his voice tinged with desperation.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Away from here,” Macy replied, her voice cold and resolute. She left the house and slammed the door behind her, the sound echoing in the now-silent dining room.
Chandler stood there, torn between his wife and his mother, unsure of how to mend the rift that had just widened even further.
Linda sank into her chair, tears still streaming down her face, while the smell of the now-cold stew lingered in the air, a bitter reminder of the evening’s disastrous turn.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Macy took a taxi to a house that once belonged to her father. Now, it stood abandoned, filled with old things and memories.
She walked through the front door, pushing it open with a slight effort, and entered the dusty, quiet house.
Macy made her way to her old room, pushing open the door with a soft creak. The room looked just as she remembered it, frozen in time.
She ran her fingers over the faded wallpaper and the old bedspread.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Then she walked to her father’s room. It felt like stepping into a museum of her childhood.
On the nightstand was a photo in a frame. Macy picked it up and stared at her father’s face. She missed him so much; she longed for her parents in moments like this. She sighed deeply, holding the photo close.
Her phone rang, breaking the silence. She took it out of her pocket and saw Chandler’s name on the screen. With a heavy heart, she answered and brought the phone to her ear.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Where are you?” Chandler asked, his voice filled with worry.
“At my father’s…” Macy replied softly.
“In that old house? Please come back, I was wrong…” Chandler’s voice was pleading.
“I’ll come back… Give me some time.” Macy’s voice was steady but sad.
“Okay…” Chandler sighed. They hung up, leaving Macy alone with her thoughts.
After hanging up, Macy decided to go up to the attic. The attic was filled with boxes, covered in a thick layer of dust. She started rummaging through them, looking for some connection to her father.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She found his favorite hat, his old toolset, and his baseball glove. He had always dreamed of having a son, but Macy played with him too, and that’s how she came to love baseball.
At the bottom of a box, she found a strange package. Opening it, she saw a bunch of letters, their edges yellowed with age. Macy was intrigued. Who could have written to her reclusive father?
She began to read a few letters and was shocked. Her father hadn’t written a single reply. All these letters were to him from Linda, Chandler’s mother.
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Macy couldn’t believe it. She read the names and addresses over and over, but everything matched.
Linda had written dozens of letters to her father. Macy opened the last one and everything clicked into place. Linda and her father had been together in their youth.
It didn’t lead to marriage or children, just a youthful love. In the letters, Linda wrote that she still loved him and asked why he left her when everything was so good.
Macy sat back, stunned. Linda knew that Macy was the daughter of the man who rejected her.
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A man who once broke her heart and stayed in her memory forever. Linda was a lonely woman who couldn’t forget the pain Macy’s father had caused her.
Macy’s words during their argument had cut deep because they came from the daughter of the man who had hurt Linda so much. Now, Macy regretted what she had said. Everything made sense now.
Macy returned to Linda’s house and quietly entered. In the living room, Chandler and Linda were already waiting for her.
“Dear, please forgive me…” Chandler began, his voice filled with emotion.
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“Yes, Macy. I was wrong… I want to…” Linda started to say.
“No need…” Macy gently interrupted, walking towards Linda. She wrapped her arms around Linda in a warm hug. “Forgive me, and my father,” she whispered.
Linda was surprised but softened in Macy’s embrace, letting go of the past pain. At that moment, no more words were needed.
Both women understood each other perfectly. The conflict was resolved, marking the beginning of a friendly relationship.
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