On their tenth wedding anniversary, Emma\u2019s husband Mark took her to the fanciest restaurant in town, only to humiliate her with a cheap salad. Little did he know, the next night she would make him\u2014and the entire restaurant\u2014pay for his cruelty.The soft glow of the chandelier bathed the restaurant in a warm, golden light. The atmosphere was sophisticated, with plush velvet chairs and elegant table settings. It was our tenth wedding anniversary, and my husband, Mark, had promised to make it unforgettable. I had imagined an evening of indulgence, with delectable courses and sparkling wine. As we were seated, I noticed the knowing smiles exchanged between the waitstaff. They seemed familiar with Mark.\n
He had booked a table at \u201cLa Belle \u00c9poque,\u201d the most expensive restaurant in town. It was the kind of place reserved for momentous occasions, and tonight was supposed to be one. Mark handed me the menu with a nonchalant smile. \u201cOrder whatever you like, dear,\u201d he said, though his eyes betrayed a different message. I glanced at the menu, filled with exquisite dishes and exorbitant prices, my mouth watering at the descriptions. \u201cI think I\u2019ll have the lobster bisque to start, and then the filet mignon,\u201d I said, excitement bubbling within me.Mark\u2019s smile tightened. \u201cActually, how about you start with a house salad? Keep it light. You\u2019re trying to lose weight, right? Maybe then you\u2019ll wear that red dress I love next time we come here.\u201d His words were like a slap. I looked around, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment. Was this his idea of a joke?\n
But the steely glint in his eyes told me he was serious. \u201cMark, it\u2019s our anniversary,\u201d I protested softly. \u201cI thought\u2014\u201d \u201cYou thought wrong,\u201d he interrupted, waving over the waiter. \u201cMy wife will have the house salad, and I\u2019ll take the Chateaubriand, medium rare. And a bottle of your best red.\u201d The waiter hesitated, looking at me sympathetically. \u201cVery well, sir.\u201d I swallowed my anger, the salad before me a pitiful mound of greens. Mark savored every bite of his lavish meal, making a show of how tender the steak was, how rich the sauce. The wine flowed freely\u2014at least for him. I sipped my water, each moment of the meal stretching into an eternity.Mark\u2019s controlling actions during dinner were a bitter pill to swallow. He enjoyed his steak, commenting on every delicious bite, while I picked at my salad. I tried to keep my cool, but my anger simmered beneath the surface. He ordered a decadent chocolate souffl\u00e9 for dessert and, without even looking at me, said, \u201cShe\u2019s done.\u201d I felt humiliated. Here I was, on our anniversary, being treated like an afterthought. As he savored his dessert, I decided I wouldn\u2019t let this slide. I would make sure he remembered this anniversary for all the wrong reasons. I smiled to myself, a plan forming in my mind. The next morning, I woke up early. Mark was still snoring beside me.\n
I quietly got out of bed, my mind racing with ideas. After he left for work, I got to work myself. I called in a few favors from friends and made several arrangements. It was time to turn the tables. I spent the day preparing. First, I contacted \u201cLa Belle \u00c9poque\u201d and spoke to the manager. I explained my plan and reserved the same table for the next evening.The manager, sympathetic to my situation, agreed to help. Then, I called a friend who worked at a boutique and borrowed the stunning red dress that Mark always mentioned. I also reached out to a lawyer friend who had helped me set up a personal bank account. She confirmed the details of our finances and the emergency fund Mark had hidden. Knowing I had access to the money gave me the confidence to move forward. With everything set, I wrote a note for Mark: \u201cMeet me at La Belle \u00c9poque at 7 PM. Dress nicely. \u2013 Emma.\u201d By the time Mark came home, everything was ready. The house was quiet, and the note was waiting for him on the kitchen counter. He smirked when he found it, probably thinking he was in for another evening of indulgence at my expense. Little did he know what I had planned. I felt a mix of nerves and excitement as I prepared for the evening. I knew this was bold, but it was necessary. I wanted to reclaim my dignity and show Mark that I wouldn\u2019t be treated like a doormat. This was going to be an anniversary neither of us would forget, but for very different reasons.Mark arrived at the restaurant, looking smug. I was already seated, wearing the red dress he loved. As he sat down, I gave him a sweet, enigmatic smile. \u201cWhat\u2019s this about, Emma?\u201d he asked, curiosity piqued.\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll see,\u201d I replied, signaling the waiter. \u201cI\u2019ve taken the liberty of ordering for us.\u201d His eyes narrowed, but he didn\u2019t argue. The waiter brought out the first course\u2014lobster bisque. For both of us. Mark\u2019s eyes widened, but he didn\u2019t say a word. Next came the filet mignon, perfectly cooked. The best wine in the house was poured, and I watched him grow increasingly bewildered. \u201cEmma, I don\u2019t understand,\u201d he said cautiously. \u201cWe\u2019ve just been here yesterday. What\u2019s the occasion?\u201d \u201cOur anniversary,\u201d I said, my voice dripping with sweetness. \u201cA night to remember, right? I don\u2019t want to remember last night. I want to remember this one, and I made sure you\u2019ll remember it too.\u201dMark\u2019s confusion turned to suspicion. He looked around the restaurant, trying to piece it together. I watched him closely, savoring his unease. The main course was served, and I enjoyed every bite. Mark, however, barely touched his food, too busy trying to figure out what was happening. I stood up and clinked my glass, gaining the attention of the entire restaurant. \u201cExcuse me, everyone. I have a special announcement to make.\u201d Mark looked horrified.\n
\u201cEmma, what are you doing?\u201d \u201cI just wanted to share something with all of you,\u201d I said, my voice steady and strong. \u201cLast night, my husband brought me here for our anniversary but insisted I order a cheap salad while he indulged himself. Tonight, I wanted to show him what true indulgence feels like.\u201d There were murmurs around the room. Mark\u2019s face turned beet red. \u201cEmma, sit down,\u201d he hissed. I ignored him. \u201cBut that\u2019s not all. Mark, you\u2019ve always prided yourself on being the generous one, the one in control. Tonight, I\u2019ve paid for our meal, and I\u2019ve charged it to the emergency fund you\u2019ve been hiding from me for years.\u201dHis jaw dropped. \u201cWhat? How did you\u2014\u201d \u201cOh, Mark, you should know by now that I\u2019m smarter than you think. And that\u2019s not all! Here\u2019s something all of you, ladies and gentlemen, will love to hear: my husband is sharing his fund with you and is paying for all your meals today!\u201d The color drained from Mark\u2019s face. \u201cEmma, this isn\u2019t funny.\u201d \u201cNo, it\u2019s not,\u201d I said, standing tall. \u201cBut it\u2019s fair.\u201d I turned to leave, feeling the weight of the past decade lift off my shoulders. As I walked out, the diners applauded, and Mark sat there, stunned and humiliated. This was the anniversary he wouldn\u2019t forget. And neither would I.\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My Husband Took Me to a Fancy Restaurant for Our Anniversary but Only Let Me Order a Cheap Salad \u2013 This Special Day He Won\u2019t Forget On their tenth wedding anniversary, Emma\u2019s husband Mark took her to the fanciest restaurant in town, only to humiliate her with a cheap salad. Little did he know, the\n","protected":false},"author":10,"featured_media":84988,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_seopress_robots_primary_cat":"none","_seopress_titles_title":"","_seopress_titles_desc":"","_seopress_robots_index":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[855],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-84983","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-story"},"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/08\/168.jpg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/84983","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/10"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=84983"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/84983\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/84988"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=84983"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=84983"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=84983"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}