The Story:
I stood in the middle of the department store, staring blankly at a display of Italian leather wallets. It was our tenth anniversary, and I was paralyzed by indecision.
Shopping for men is hard.
Every time I asked my husband, Greg, what he wanted, he gave me the same humble, self-effacing answer: “Babe, please, don’t spend your money. I have a roof over my head and a wife who cooks amazing lasagna. They act like they don’t want anything.“
I almost believed him. I almost bought him a simple watch and called it a day. But then, while he was in the shower, his iPad lit up on the nightstand. It wasn’t a notification for a game or a news alert. It was a message from a contact saved as “State Farm Agent.”
The preview read: Can’t wait to see you tonight. The hotel room is booked. Tell her you’re working late.
My stomach dropped to the floor. I unlocked the iPad—he never changed his passcode—and scrolled back. Months of messages. Dinners I thought he was missing for work. Weekends he spent “fishing” with his brother.
I realized then that Greg wasn’t humble. He just didn’t want a gift from me because he was already spending our savings on someone else. But they always want one thing: another woman.
I wiped my tears, put the iPad down, and drove to the store. I didn’t buy the wallet. I bought a single, large gift box and a beautiful red ribbon.
That night, when Greg came into the kitchen adjusting his tie, looking handsome and guilty, I had dinner set on the table.
“Happy Anniversary, honey,” I said, smiling sweetly.
“Wow,” he said, eyeing the table. “You really went all out. I told you, you didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I know,” I said, sliding the box toward him. “But I know there’s one thing you’ve really been wanting lately. Go ahead. Open it.”
He looked confused, but he untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.
Inside, there was no watch. No wallet. Just a stack of printed screenshots of his texts with “State Farm Agent,” a printout of his bank statements highlighting the hotel charges, and a single key card.
“What is this?” he whispered, his face draining of color.
“It’s the key to the Motel 6 off the highway,” I said, taking a sip of my wine. “I moved all your clothes there this afternoon. And I texted your girlfriend from your phone to meet you there.”
I stood up and picked up his plate of untouched lasagna to throw it in the trash.
“You acted like you didn’t want anything,” I said over my shoulder. “But now you have exactly what you wanted. You’re free to go get her.”
