My Boyfriend Demanded That I Give Him My Card to Pay Our Restaurant Bill

My Boyfriend Demanded That I Give Him My Card to Pay Our Restaurant Bill

When Lisa earns her much-deserved promotion, she wants to go out and celebrate with her boyfriend, Troy. At the restaurant, Lisa learns that Troy just wants to put on a façade and be the ‘man’—disrespecting her and her hard-earned role. But when he gives his number to a waitress, things take a turn, causing Lisa to embarrass Troy and walk out of their relationship.

It was meant to be a night of pure celebration. After six months at my new job, I had finally earned a significant promotion and was eager to share the joy with Troy, my boyfriend.

A happy smiling woman | Source: Unsplash

A happy smiling woman | Source: Unsplash

He suggested the new upscale restaurant in town, famous for its ambiance and gourmet menu.

“Let’s just get dressed and go out, Lisa,” he said. “We don’t do this very often, so let’s make the most of it.”

I had to agree; we rarely did this—we rarely decided to go out and indulge in anything.

The interior of a restaurant | Source: Unsplash

The interior of a restaurant | Source: Unsplash

“Fine,” I agreed. “A night out is exactly what we need.”

And I believed that we needed it. Mainly because, as much as I wanted to believe that Troy and I were supposed to last forever, I had begun to see some cracks in our relationship. Something just felt different.

I was happy in my job, but Troy wasn’t happy in his.

A couple holding hands | Source: Unsplash

A couple holding hands | Source: Unsplash

“I do so much, but nobody bothers to recognize me,” he said grimly one evening when he came over for salsa night.

Troy sat on the couch and dug his chips into the salsa and guacamole, complaining about work the entire evening.

Salsa and chips | Source: Pexels

Salsa and chips | Source: Pexels

It was because of his moods regarding work that I didn’t tell him anything good about my job.

“Maybe you just need to give it more time,” I said, handing him a frozen margarita. “You just started there a few months ago.”

“Lisa, please,” he said. “You wouldn’t understand. Let me be.”

A frozen margarita on a table | Source: Pexels

A frozen margarita on a table | Source: Pexels

But when I had gotten news of this new promotion, there was no way that I was going to keep it to myself. I wanted to celebrate and be celebrated, and I hoped that Troy would want to do just that.

To my surprise, he seemed really excited about it, and he told me that he was proud of me.

“Really, babe,” he said when he came over to my apartment to pick me up. “This is a big deal, and I’m proud of you.”

A smiling man | Source: Unsplash

A smiling man | Source: Unsplash

The evening started beautifully. Troy showed up with a bouquet of flowers, and he sat down and waited while I got ready. Usually, he wasn’t pleased if I was still getting ready when he arrived, but this evening was different.

“Come on,” I said. “I’m ready!”

A person holding a bouquet of flowers | Source: Unsplash

A person holding a bouquet of flowers | Source: Unsplash

Troy put his phone away and stood up, leading the way out of my apartment to where his car was waiting for us.

We drove in silence, but for once, the silence wasn’t tense—it was peaceful, and I felt that maybe Troy was changing. That he was becoming someone who wanted to be here and be present with me.

A man driving | Source: Unsplash

A man driving | Source: Unsplash

The soft lighting and the stunning view of the city skyline from our table set a romantic backdrop for our evening. We toasted to my success, with Troy raising his glass of champagne high.

“To the most amazing woman I know,” Troy cheered, clinking his glass against mine. “And to many more successes to come.”

Two glasses of champagne | Source: Unsplash

Two glasses of champagne | Source: Unsplash

“To us and to the future!” I echoed, suddenly caught up in the moment.

We went through the menu and ordered our meals while Troy spoke about the shared dreams that we had—from the Bali holiday that we had been speaking about for a long time, to wanting to move in together soon.

“I just think it’s time,” Troy said. “And now that you have your promotion, it will be much easier for us.”

A person looking at a menu | Source: Unsplash

A person looking at a menu | Source: Unsplash

Everything went along well, until the waitress brought our food over. Troy kept glancing at her, hoping to catch her eye—he winked at her twice.

I didn’t want to make a scene about it—Troy did this whenever he had something to drink. He behaved as though being a flirt was second nature.

A meal on a table | Source: Pexels

A meal on a table | Source: Pexels

But then, as we neared the end of our meal, I noticed a change in Troy. His usual easy smile tightened when the check was brought to our table. He smiled at the waitress as she stepped aside.

“You should let me pay with your card,” he said, a strain of insistence in his voice.

A smiling waitress | Source: Pexels

A smiling waitress | Source: Pexels

I was surprised. On the one hand, I didn’t mind paying for the dinner because it was my promotion and I was making a lot more money than I had before. But at the same time, I had also hoped that Troy would want to spoil me for the night.

“Why can’t you use your own card?” I asked, surprised by the frown on his face.

Troy’s irritation was barely concealed.

A close-up of a frowning man | Source: Unsplash

A close-up of a frowning man | Source: Unsplash

“Clearly because you’re the one who got promoted, and I don’t have enough money for these fancy dinners, Lisa! You know that, and yet you act like you don’t.”

I was confused by his logic.

“I’ll just pay with my card,” I said, putting my handbag on the table. “It’s not a big deal.”

A black handbag on a table | Source: Unsplash

A black handbag on a table | Source: Unsplash

My boyfriend’s face hardened as he took a sip of his whiskey—he had switched from champagne halfway through the meal.

“It’s embarrassing, Lisa,” he said. “It’s like you’re actually trying to humiliate me by not letting me be the man who pays.”

I didn’t know how to react to Troy’s words. It didn’t make sense to me. And I couldn’t understand what the waitress had to do with who was paying for our meal.

A close-up of a slightly frowning woman | Source: Unsplash

A close-up of a slightly frowning woman | Source: Unsplash

I would have retaliated and stood up for myself, but I could feel my energy being drained by Troy.

I felt cornered. And because I wanted to avoid making a scene, I reluctantly handed over my card.

Troy smirked and picked up my card, signaling for the waitress with an exaggerated flourish, presenting my card as if he were performing a grand gesture.

“I’ll be right back with the card machine,” the waitress said.

A person holding a card machine | Source: Unsplash

A person holding a card machine | Source: Unsplash

Feeling uneasy, I excused myself to the restroom. I just needed a moment to be myself. Troy did this all the time. But I thought that the evening was going well and that he was changing.

Of course, I was wrong.

Before thinking it through, I pulled my phone out and logged onto my banking app. With a few swipes and clicks, I had blocked my card.

Let’s see him pay now, I thought to myself.

A woman holding a phone | Source: Unsplash

A woman holding a phone | Source: Unsplash

On my way back, I paused near the bar, my attention caught by Troy’s laughter from across the room.

He was flirting openly with the waitress, scribbling something onto a napkin—presumably his phone number.

He handed it to her with a wink. I was stunned. I was hurt. A rush of indignation surged through me.

I returned to the table as the waitress spoke.

“I’m sorry, but there seems to be a problem,” she said. “Your card was declined.”

Troy’s confident façade crumbled as he stammered, turning away.

A man facing away from the camera | Source: Unsplash

A man facing away from the camera | Source: Unsplash

“What?” he asked. “Surely that can’t be right.”

Feigning concern, I suggested that Troy call the bank.

He sat back in his chair and pulled out his phone, dialing the bank and putting the call on speaker.

The representative asked for the card number, which Troy read off my card, followed by a request for the account password.

Finally, Troy hesitated. He was at a loss.

A man holding a phone | Source: Unsplash

A man holding a phone | Source: Unsplash

“Okay, Sir,” the person said through the phone. “If you can verify the last three transactions, it would help.”

The waitress hopped from one foot to the other.

“I can answer that,” I said. “A lavender-scented candle, some skincare products, and a new book. And Sir, the name on the card is Lisa Simmons.”

The waitress’s expression cleared with understanding, and Troy was left floundering for a response.

A person holding gift bags | Source: Unsplash

A person holding gift bags | Source: Unsplash

I then pulled out another card and paid the bill myself.

“Lucky I have two cards,” I told Troy and the waitress. “But babe, since you enjoyed the service, I think you can get the tip.”

Troy, red-faced, scrambled through his wallet, pulling out only expired coupons and a few small bills.

I stood up, waiting for Troy to say something—anything, but he sat there tight-lipped.

“Hey, I didn’t take his number,” the waitress said, a smirk playing on her lips. “I just threw the napkin away.”

A woman laughing | Source: Unsplash

A woman laughing | Source: Unsplash

“I’ll find my own way home,” I told Troy as I walked out into the night.

As I walked outside, I didn’t know if I had made a mistake. But at the end of the day, no relationship should make a person second guess themselves or make them feel like celebrating themselves is wrong.

Which is something that Troy did all the time.

I think I’m finally done with him.

A woman walking away | Source: Unsplash

A woman walking away | Source: Unsplash

What would you do?

I Invited My New Friend to My House — The Moment She Saw My Husband, She Nearly Lunged at Him

When Rachel invites her new friend Mary over for dinner, the night takes an unexpected turn. The moment Mary sees Rachel’s husband, she flies into a rage and makes a shocking accusation. Stunned and caught between her friend and her husband, Rachel’s perfect life begins to unravel.

On paper, Dan and I are that annoyingly perfect suburban family – you know the type. I’ve got the marketing manager gig, Dan’s killing it as a software developer, and we live with our gorgeous four-year-old, Ethan, in one of those houses with the manicured lawns and the neighborhood BBQs.

But lately, I’d been feeling like something was missing, even though I couldn’t put my finger on what. So I did what any self-respecting millennial does when faced with an existential crisis: I joined a fitness class.

And that’s where I met Mary.

Mary was different. In a good way. She was our instructor, all toned muscles and infectious energy. Single mom to a sweet little girl named Cindy. From day one, we just clicked.

“Come on, Rachel!” she’d yell during burpees, grinning like a maniac. “You’ve got this! Channel that boardroom boss energy!”

I’d be lying if I said her enthusiasm wasn’t a little terrifying at first. But soon enough, I found myself looking forward to our sessions, and not just for the endorphin high.

After class one day, as I was chugging water and trying not to collapse, Mary plopped down next to me.

“So,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Lunch tomorrow? There’s this new place downtown that does amazing salads. And before you say no, remember, we earned it!”

And just like that, we fell into a rhythm. Workouts, lunches, shopping trips where we’d try on ridiculous outfits and laugh until our sides hurt. It felt like being in college again, having a best friend to share everything with.

“God, I needed this,” I told her one day over sushi. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, but sometimes…”

Mary nodded, popping a California roll into her mouth. “Sometimes you need to remember you’re more than just ‘mom’ or ‘wife,’ right? I get it. Being Cindy’s mom is the best thing that ever happened to me, but it’s nice to be just Mary sometimes, too.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Weeks flew by, and suddenly Mary wasn’t just my trainer or my friend, she was family. Which is why, on that fateful Tuesday, I decided it was time for her to meet my actual family.

“Dinner at our place this weekend?” I asked as we cooled down after a particularly brutal HIIT session. “You can bring Cindy. Ethan would love a playmate.”

Mary’s face lit up. “Seriously? That sounds amazing! I’ll bring dessert. I hope your hubby likes apple pie!”

I spent all of Saturday in a cleaning frenzy, much to Dan’s amusement.

“Babe, it’s just dinner with a friend,” he said, watching me scrub the kitchen counter for the third time. “Not a visit from the Queen.”

I rolled my eyes. “I want everything to be perfect.”

Dan held up his hands in surrender, but I caught the smile on his face. He was happy for me, I knew. I’d been talking about Mary non-stop for weeks.

By six o’clock, the house smelled amazing (if I do say so myself), and I was putting the finishing touches on the table when the doorbell rang.

“I’ve got it!” I called out, smoothing my dress as I headed for the door. With a deep breath and a bright smile, I swung it open.

There stood Mary, looking gorgeous in a flowy summer dress, Cindy peeking out shyly from behind her legs. In Mary’s hands were a bottle of wine and what I assumed was the promised apple pie.

“Hey, you made it!” I said, ushering them in. “Come on in, let me take that.”

And that’s when everything went straight to hell.

I heard Dan’s footsteps behind me, probably coming to say hello. But the moment Mary’s eyes landed on him, it was like someone had flipped a switch.

The warm, friendly expression I’d grown so used to vanished, replaced by something I’d never seen before: pure, unadulterated shock, quickly followed by a rage so intense it made me take a step back.

The wine bottle slipped from Mary’s fingers, shattering on the floor. The sound seemed to snap her out of her trance, and suddenly she was moving, pushing past me with a fury that left me speechless.

“YOU!?” she screamed, jabbing a finger at Dan. “I’M CALLING THE POLICE!”

I stood there, mouth hanging open, trying to make sense of what was happening. Dan looked just as confused, his face pale as he held up his hands.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, “but I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

Wrong thing to say. Mary’s eyes flashed dangerously, and for a second, I thought she might actually hit him.

“DON’T LIE!” she yelled, her voice cracking.

“This man,” she gestured wildly at Dan, “is Cindy’s father! He left us when I was pregnant, just disappeared! How dare you lie!”

The words hit me like a physical blow. I felt dizzy, like the floor was tilting beneath my feet. This couldn’t be happening. This was some kind of sick joke, right?

“Mary,” I managed to choke out, “what are you talking about? There has to be some mistake.”

But Mary wasn’t listening. She was digging frantically in her purse, muttering under her breath.

Finally, she pulled out her phone, swiping through it with shaking hands before shoving it in my face.

“Look!” she demanded. “Look at this photo and tell me that isn’t him!”

I stared at the screen, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it. The photo showed a younger Mary, beaming at the camera, her arm around a man who looked… God, who looked exactly like Dan.

Same eyes, same smile, even the same little scar on his chin from a childhood bike accident.

“That’s… that can’t be…” I whispered, looking between the phone and my husband. Dan’s face had gone from confused to alarmed.

“Rachel, honey, I swear I don’t know what’s going on,” he said, reaching for me. But I flinched away, my mind reeling.

Mary let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Of course, he’s denying it. That’s what he does, isn’t it? Run away and pretend it never happened?”

I felt like I was drowning, desperately trying to make sense of what was happening.

How could my Dan have abandoned a pregnant woman? But then… why would Mary lie about something like this?

“We need proof,” I heard myself saying, surprised at how steady my voice sounded. “A DNA test. That’s the only way to know for sure.”

Mary nodded fiercely, while Dan just looked shell-shocked. “Fine,” he said quietly. “If that’s what it takes to prove I’m telling the truth.”

The next few days were a blur.

I moved through life on autopilot. Dan tried to talk to me, to explain, but what was there to say? Either he was telling the truth and this was all some cosmic misunderstanding, or my entire marriage was built on a lie.

When the results finally came, I insisted we all be there. Dan, Mary, and me, sitting around our kitchen table like some twisted parody of a family meeting. My hands shook as I opened the envelope.

I don’t remember the exact words. Just that feeling of the world dropping out from under me as I read the results. Positive match. 99.9% probability.

Dan was Cindy’s father.

The silence that followed was deafening. I looked up to see Dan, white as a sheet, shaking his head.

“This is impossible,” he whispered. “I don’t… I don’t understand. I’ve never seen her before, I swear!”

Mary’s laugh was bitter. “Still lying, even now? God, you really are a piece of work.”

But something in Dan’s voice made me pause. The confusion, the genuine shock… it didn’t seem like an act. Could he really not remember?

As Mary gathered her things to leave, promising we’d talk more once everyone had time to process the news, I found myself standing in my living room, feeling like a stranger in my own life.

Dan hovered nearby, clearly wanting to comfort me but unsure if he should.

“Rachel,” he said softly. “I know this is… God, I don’t even know what this is. But I love you. You and Ethan, you’re my world.”

“Please, just… tell me what you need,” he said. “Tell me how to fix this.”

But I didn’t have an answer. What would you do if you found out the man you love had been hiding a secret this big? Could you ever trust him again? Or would you walk away from everything you’ve built?

Related Posts

Be the first to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.


*