The next morning, I woke up early. Mark was still snoring beside me. 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 “La Belle Époque” 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: “Meet me at La Belle Époque at 7 PM. Dress nicely. – Emma.”
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’t 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.
“What’s this about, Emma?” he asked, curiosity piqued.
“You’ll see,” I replied, signaling the waiter. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for us.”
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue. The waiter brought out the first course—lobster bisque. For both of us. Mark’s eyes widened, but he didn’t 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.
“Emma, I don’t understand,” he said cautiously. “We’ve just been here yesterday. What’s the occasion?”
“Our anniversary,” I said, my voice dripping with sweetness. “A night to remember, right? I don’t want to remember last night. I want to remember this one, and I made sure you’ll remember it too.”
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