On my birthday, my husband’s childhood friend, Rachel Quinn, posted pics of the shiny new robot my husband and son had built for her. I gave it a quick thumbs-up, no big deal.
But then my husband called. And, yeah, he was definitely annoyed.
“We got you one too, didn’t we? And Max even baked you a cake himself. What more do you want?”
The thing is, Rachel’s robot? Top-of-the-line, brand-new model. And the cake Max made for her? Way bigger than the one he made me.
They loved me, sure, but let’s be real, it was obvious who they were really fawning over.
Maybe it was time I started pulling back a little.
**Prelude ends**
When my husband and son finally walked in, the clock had just struck midnight.
The untouched cake sat on the table, and the card read: “Happy Birthday, Mom!”
“Why didn’t you eat the cake? Were you waiting for us to come home and celebrate?”
My husband forced a smile as he and Max lit the candles and started singing happy birthday.
But instead of feeling moved, I felt suffocated. I waved them off. “I’m not hungry. You two eat.”
My husband’s smile quickly faded.
“I know you’re upset about Rachel,” he said, tone defensive. “But can’t you understand? She has no family here. She had a rough day at work, so Max and I went to cheer her up. That’s all. Stop overthinking it.”
Max chimed in, “Yeah, Mom. Rachel’s all alone. Can’t you cut her some slack?”
Looking at them tag-teaming me, I felt my heart freeze over.
It was my birthday, but they’d both chosen to spend it comforting someone else.
Every time I got upset about how they put Rachel ahead of me, they’d toss out the same excuse. And every time, it made me feel like the bad guy, like I was being unreasonable.
And every time, I’d end up crying alone late at night. But the next day, a few kind words or a small gift would be enough to pull me back in. I’d forgive them, go back to being the mom and wife they took for granted.
This time? I was done with that.
“You’re right,” I said, my voice calm, almost cold. “You should go spend time with her. I’ll celebrate with my friends instead.”
I grabbed my purse and walked toward the door.
They both froze, clearly shocked by my response.
When my husband finally realized I was serious, he rushed over and grabbed my arm.
“You’re forty years old! Can you stop acting like a child? I’m buried in work, and Max is drowning in school. We still made time for you, but it’s never enough, is it? We’re exhausted!”
Exhausted?
I stared at them, unblinking. They weren’t too tired to build Rachel a top-of-the-line robot. They weren’t too tired to bake her a cake that could’ve fed an army.
But for me? They handed me some outdated model and a cake made from leftovers, and that was somehow too much effort?
“You’re overthinking it,” I said, voice icy. “I’m not upset. I just want to spend my birthday with my friends for a change. I haven’t done that in years.”
“Mom, enough with the drama!” Max snapped, slamming his hand down on the table. The cake toppled, and the candles nearly set the tablecloth on fire.
Max had been under a lot of pressure with school lately, and his temper was always on edge. Every time he lashed out, I’d try to calm him down, no matter how much it hurt.
But this time, I stayed silent.
Seeing me not react only made him more furious. He started pounding on the furniture, kicking over chairs.
“What do you want from us? Why can’t you just leave me and Dad alone? You’ve been emotionally manipulating us for years. Isn’t that enough? Do you want to drive us crazy before you’re satisfied?”
Watching him throw a tantrum, I felt nothing but a deep, hollow sadness.
All these years, I’d given everything to this family. And now, on my fortieth birthday, just because I wanted a little extra attention, I was the one being called a control freak.
What a failure I’d become.
I laughed bitterly, tears stinging my eyes, as my husband rushed to comfort Max. He turned to me, his voice cold, his words like a slap.
“Look at what you’ve done to him. Do you even deserve to be a mother? If you’re so unhappy, maybe we should just get a divorce.”
Every time we fought, he’d throw that line at me. And every time, I’d back down, too scared to lose it all.
But not this time.
“Fine,” I said, my voice low, final.
Their shocked faces were the last thing I saw before I walked out the door.
