I had spent a year planning our tenth anniversary trip to Santorini, from the cliffside hotel to dinner reservations. I packed a navy sundress for the first night, but just as I was ready, my husband Brian texted: “Change of plans. Mom needs me, so we’re going to the Bahamas instead. Anniversary trip is off.”
I was stunned. I called him, but he was already boarding. He apologized but insisted it was important for his mom. As I stood there, my heart sank. My mother texted, excited about her sleepover with the kids. Then, impulsively, I called the airline and hotel—my ticket and reservation were still valid. I texted my best friend’s brother, Liam, who agreed to join me for the trip.
Twenty-four hours later, we were in Santorini, sipping wine on a balcony overlooking the Aegean Sea. I posted a photo of us, captioned: “Didn’t let a change of plans ruin the adventure!” Brian started texting frantically, but I silenced my phone.
By the end of the trip, I’d nearly forgotten why I’d come. Liam had reminded me to enjoy life again, and the experience felt like the best revenge. When I returned, Brian was furious, but I calmly told him I was done being an afterthought in our marriage. I’d shaken things up to remind him of my worth.
Next anniversary? I’d be choosing the destination.
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