**Diary Entry: A Spat Over the Restaurant 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 child, building a future. But last night at the restaurant turned everything upside down. All because of a stupid bill! Now I’m left wondering: was I wrong for not paying for her friend Charlotte, or did Emily blow it out of proportion? One thing’s certain—this fight made me question what’s really going on in our marriage.
Emily and I have been married for three years, and I always thought we were solid. Sure, there are little arguments—who takes out the rubbish, what film to watch, where to holiday. But we’ve always found common ground. Emily’s my love, my rock. She’s brilliant, witty, never dull. We’ve even started talking about kids, joking about pushing a pram around the park. And then, over one evening out, she drops this: “If this is how you treat me, maybe we shouldn’t be together at all!” How did we get here?
It started when Emily, her friend Charlotte, and I went to a posh bistro in London. Charlotte’s been Emily’s mate since secondary school. She’s fine, though she sometimes grates on me with her know-it-all tone. Still, for Emily’s sake, I’ve always been polite. We ordered food, wine, laughed—everything was perfect until the bill came. The total was steep but expected. Then Charlotte smiled and said, “Oliver, you’re treating us, right?” I was caught off guard. We never agreed I’d pay for everyone—usually, we split things with friends. But Emily looked at me like I’d just broken some unspoken rule.
Trying to keep things light, I suggested, “Let’s split it—fair’s fair.” Charlotte nodded, but Emily went icy silent. We paid our shares and left. In the car, she exploded: “You couldn’t cover Charlotte? She’s my best friend! You humiliated me!” I tried explaining—we’re not made of money, we’re saving for the nursery, and Charlotte had ordered that £20 cocktail herself. But Emily cut me off: “If you’re going to be this stingy, maybe I should leave.” Leave? Over a restaurant bill?
At home, it got worse. Emily yelled that I disrespected her friends, that she was ashamed of me, that I was being “petty.” I argued back: “We agreed to save! Why should I pay for Charlotte’s fancy drinks?” She snapped, “It’s not about the money—it’s how you made me feel!” How? I’ve always treated her—holidays, gifts, everything. Now I’m tight-fisted for not footing her friend’s bill?
I slept on the sofa. By morning, Emily said she needed space to decide if she’d stay. Is this really the same Emily I dreamed of raising a child with? The one who laughed at my terrible jokes? Could one night unravel everything? I started doubting myself. Should I have just paid and avoided the drama? But why should I feel guilty? No one discussed it beforehand—I’m not her friends’ ATM.
I rang my mate James to vent. He said, “Ollie, it’s not about the bill. Emily wanted you to show off—‘Look how generous my husband is.’ You didn’t play along.” Maybe he’s right, but why couldn’t she just say that? I’d have paid if I’d known it mattered. Now I’m torn: beg her to stay or give her time? I love Emily, but I won’t twist myself into someone I’m not.
Today, I tried talking. “Em, if I upset you, I’m sorry—but I didn’t know what you wanted. Let’s be honest.” She just said, “It’s not about the money. Now Charlotte thinks we’re in trouble.” Trouble? Over a bill? I suggested we clear the air with Charlotte, but Emily’s silence is deafening.
What do I do? Plead? Let her walk away? Over something this trivial? We’ve got plans, dreams. Or did I imagine that? Staring at our wedding photo, I wonder: can it really end over dinner? Maybe I should’ve just paid. Or maybe this is a reckoning—what really matters to us. All I know is, I don’t want to lose her. But I won’t lose myself, either.
