I don’t even know how to react to this. 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 some stupid bill! Now I’m sitting here wondering: was I wrong not to pay for her friend Lily? Or did Emily blow it all out of proportion? One thing’s for sure—this fight’s made me question what’s really going on in our marriage.
We’ve been married 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 go on holiday. But we’ve always worked it out. Emily’s my love, my rock. She’s brilliant, sharp, never a dull moment with her. We’d even started talking about kids, joking about baby names and pushing prams around the park. And then, after one night at the restaurant, she drops this: “If you’re going to treat me like this, maybe we shouldn’t be together at all!” How does that even make sense?
It all started when we went out for dinner last night—me, Emily, and her best mate Lily. They’ve been friends since secondary school. I don’t mind Lily, though she does my head in sometimes, acting like she’s an expert on everything. But for Emily’s sake, I’ve always been polite. We ordered food, wine, had a laugh—everything was great until the bill came. I glanced at the total—steep, but nothing crazy. Then Lily, grinning, says, “Tom, you’re treating us, yeah?” I was gobsmacked. We never agreed I’d pay for everyone. I assumed we’d split it, like we usually do with friends. But Emily gave me this look like I should’ve whipped out my wallet straight away.
Trying to keep things light, I said, “Let’s just split it—fair’s fair.” Lily nodded, but Emily went quiet, her expression turning icy. We paid our shares, drove home, and in the car, she let loose: “You couldn’t just cover Lily? She’s my best friend! You embarrassed me!” I tried explaining—we’re not made of money, we’re saving for a house and a baby, why should I foot the bill for someone who ordered a fifteen-quid cocktail? But she wasn’t having it. “If you’re so stingy,” she said, “I don’t know how this is going to work.” Then she hit me with: “Maybe I should just leave.” I was floored. Leave? Over a restaurant bill?
At home, the row kept going. Emily yelled that I disrespected her friends, that she was ashamed of me, called me “petty.” I shot back, “Em, we agreed we’re saving—why should I pay for Lily when she’s splashing out on fancy drinks?” She just scoffed, “It’s not about the money, it’s about how you made me feel.” What feeling? I’m the one booking holidays, buying her gifts, planning our future. Now suddenly I’m tight-fisted because I didn’t treat her mate?
I slept on the sofa, and this morning Emily said she needs to “think” about staying. I stared at her, wondering—is this the same Emily I dreamed of having kids with, laughed at rubbish telly with? Is she really ready to throw it all away over one night? I started doubting myself. Maybe I should’ve just paid and avoided the drama. But then I thought—why should I feel guilty? We never agreed I’d pay, and I’m not a cash machine for her friends.
I rang my mate to vent. He listened and said, “Tom, this isn’t about the bill. Emily wanted you to show off for her—‘Look how generous my husband is.’ You didn’t play along.” Maybe he’s right, but why didn’t she just say that? I’d have paid if I knew it mattered so much. Now I’m stuck—beg her to stay or give her space? I love Emily, don’t want to lose her. But I won’t twist myself into someone else just to meet her expectations.
Today I tried talking to her. “Em, let’s sort this. If I upset you, I’m sorry—but I didn’t know what you wanted. Just talk to me.” She looked at me and said, “Tom, it hurts that you didn’t think of me. Now Lily thinks we’re in trouble.” What trouble? Over a bill? I suggested meeting Lily to clear the air if it mattered that much. But Emily’s still quiet, and that silence is killing me.
I don’t know what to do. Beg? Let her walk away if she wants? But how can we throw it all away over something this small? We love each other, we’ve got plans. Or is that just me? Maybe to her, I’m already not enough. I keep staring at our wedding photo—can it really end over a restaurant? Maybe I should’ve just paid. Or maybe this is a chance to figure out what really matters to us. All I know is I don’t want to lose her. But I won’t lose myself either.
