**Diary Entry: A Row Over the Bill**
I don’t even know how to react. Should I beg Emily, my wife, to stay? Or just say, “Go if you want”? I thought we loved each other, planning for a baby, building a future together. But last night at the restaurant turned everything upside down—over a stupid bill! Now I’m left wondering: was I wrong not to pay for her friend Charlotte? Or did Emily blow it all out of proportion? One thing’s certain—this argument’s made me question what’s really going on in our marriage.
We’ve been married three years, and I always believed we were solid. Sure, there’ve been petty squabbles—who takes out the rubbish, which film to watch, where to holiday. But we’ve always found common ground. Emily’s my love, my rock. She’s brilliant, clever, never a dull moment with her. We’d even started talking about kids, tossing around names, joking about pushing a pram through the park. And then, over one evening at a restaurant, she drops: “If this is how you treat me, maybe we shouldn’t be together at all!” How does that even happen?
It all unravelled last night when Emily, her mate Charlotte, and I went out for dinner. Charlotte’s been Emily’s friend since school. I’ve no real issue with her, though she does grate on me sometimes, acting like an expert on everything. Still, for Emily’s sake, I’ve always been civil. We ordered food, wine, chatted, laughed—everything was fine until the bill came. The total was decent but not shocking. Then Charlotte smiled and said, “James, you’ve got this, right?” I was floored. We never agreed I’d pay for everyone. I assumed we’d split it, like we usually do with friends. But Emily shot me a look like I should’ve pulled out my wallet straight away.
Trying to keep things light, I said, “Let’s split it evenly—fair’s fair.” Charlotte nodded, but Emily went quiet, her stare turning icy. We paid our shares and left. In the car, Emily erupted: “You couldn’t cover Charlotte? She’s my best friend! You humiliated me!” I tried explaining—it wasn’t about the money, we’re not made of it, and we’d agreed to save for the house and a baby. But she wasn’t having it. “If you’re going to be this tight,” she snapped, “I don’t know how this marriage will work.” Then the kicker: “Maybe I should just leave.” I was stunned. Leave? Over a restaurant bill?
At home, it escalated. Emily shouted that I disrespect her friends, that she’s ashamed of me, that she never expected such “cheapness.” I argued back: “Emily, we’re saving for a reason. Why should I pay for Charlotte, who ordered that fancy cocktail for £25?” She just scoffed: “It’s not about the money—it’s about your attitude!” What attitude? I’ve always treated her well—holidays, gifts, everything. Now suddenly I’m a miser for not footing her friend’s bill?
I slept on the sofa. In the morning, Emily said she’d “think about” whether to stay. I looked at her and couldn’t reconcile: this was the same Emily I’d dreamed of raising a family with, who’d laughed with me over rubbish telly, who’d mapped out our future. Was she really ready to throw it away over one evening? I started doubting myself. Maybe I *was* wrong—should’ve just paid and avoided the drama. But then I thought: why should I feel guilty? We never agreed I’d cover everyone, and I’m not her friends’ personal bank.
I rang my mate Daniel to vent. He listened and said, “James, this isn’t about the bill. Emily wanted you to show off in front of Charlotte—‘Look how generous my husband is.’ You let her down.” Maybe he’s right, but why didn’t she just say so? I’d have paid if I’d known it mattered this much. Now I’m torn: do I beg her to stay, or give her space? I love Emily—I don’t want to lose her. But I won’t twist myself into someone who bends to every expectation, either.
Today, I tried talking to her. Said, “Emily, let’s sort this. If I upset you, I’m sorry, but I didn’t understand what you wanted. Let’s be honest.” She just sighed, “James, it hurts that you didn’t think of me. Charlotte thinks we’ve got problems now.” Problems? Over a bill? I suggested we meet Charlotte together, clear the air if it’s that big a deal. But Emily’s silent, and that silence terrifies me.
I don’t know what to do. Beg? Let her walk away if she’s set on it? But how do you end everything over something so trivial? We’re supposed to love each other—we had plans. Or did I just convince myself of that? I’m staring at our wedding photo now, thinking: can this really fall apart over a restaurant? Maybe I should’ve just paid for Charlotte and moved on. Or maybe this is our chance to figure out what really matters. All I know is I don’t want to lose her. But I won’t lose myself either.
