I told Eric no—firm but calm. No eye-rolling, no raised voice. I simply said,
“Not this year. I want our anniversary to be just us.”
He agreed, kissed me, and I believed him.
But a week later…
Our third anniversary. Despite the past—first a lake‑house brunch, then a dinner “just the six of us” that became sixteen—I was clear from the start:
“I want something small. Romantic. No one else.”
He smiled, “You got it.”
On the day, I dressed up—new green dress, heels, fancy lotions. Eric even confirmed the reservation twice. I was glowing with anticipation.
At 7 p.m., heading to the restaurant, his phone was wedged to his ear—it was Judith. Eric said it was nothing important. But something felt off.
The restaurant was perfect—ivy, fairy lights, cozy charm. Everything felt right—until we stepped inside.
There, waiting under a “Happy Anniversary, Eric & Grace!” banner were Judith, Joe, Courtney, Jenna and her kids. Mini‑cupcakes, balloons, chaos. Their wine glasses half‑full.
My heart plummeted. I froze. All I’d dreamed of vanished.
Eric: “Just smile. We’ll celebrate with them now, then with us later.”
I didn’t. I turned and walked out in my heels, heels clicking like a verdict.
He followed in the cold parking lot: “It’s done! You can’t leave!” I stood firm: “You lied. After I told you no.”
Judith joined, calling me unreasonable, ungrateful, disrespectful. I said nothing—just called a cab.
Back home, he slid into bed silent. His mother texted: “You embarrassed Eric… trying not to be a drama queen.” I muted the chat.
By noon, I was talking to my friend Tasha—she offered me her boutique hotel suite with flowers and champagne. I packed one dress, perfume, the champagne I’d been saving, and left.
In the hotel: quiet, luxury, five‑course dinner, deep bathtub, classical music, a night’s proper sleep. No guilt, just peace.
I didn’t answer Eric’s messages until morning—a selfie, coffee, sun, and one line:
“Since you wanted a family dinner so badly… happy anniversary.”
He arrived later, remorseful. I asked: “Why lie?” He claimed fear of upsetting his mom and hoping I’d forgive.
I told him: “You didn’t think about me.” He offered therapy. I handed him a list. If he chose his mother over me again—this would end.
He started therapy. He began saying no to Judith. Six months later—we took a trip. No announcements. No compromise. Just us.