My husband planned a surprise birthday party for me. He spilled the beans to me 3 days before and I thought it was adorable. But then he told me I needed to prepare food and set up the house on my own.
I was upset. On the day of the party, I found out he didn’t invite most of my friends or family. The final straw came when he asked me to “act surprised” because he had a video planned for his social media page.
I stood there in our living room, half-covered in balloons I had blown up myself, wearing a dress I wasn’t even sure I liked, while my husband adjusted his phone tripod for “the big moment.” I forced a smile and clapped like a seal when a few of his coworkers shouted “surprise!” from behind the sofa. That was it. No childhood friend.
No sister. Not even my best friend who lived fifteen minutes away. Just six people, four of whom I barely knew.
And they were more interested in the finger food than in me. I pulled him aside while everyone was pouring themselves soda from the 2-liter bottles I bought that morning and whispered, “You didn’t invite my family?”
He looked annoyed. “Babe, I kept it small so it wouldn’t be too much for you.
I thought you didn’t like big crowds.”
I blinked. “That’s not what I said. I said I didn’t want to be overwhelmed organizing a big party, which I still ended up doing.”
He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal.
“You’re making this about you. Let’s not ruin the vibe.”
That’s when I realized something that should’ve hit me sooner. It wasn’t my birthday party.
It was his content. He kept asking people to say things on camera. He filmed the cake I bought myself like it was a five-tier wedding masterpiece.
He did a “reaction shot” of me unwrapping the perfume he bought, even though he knew I was allergic to strong scents. When I reminded him gently, he muttered, “You could at least pretend to like it.”
I wasn’t angry anymore. I was sad.
I excused myself to the bathroom, where I sat on the edge of the tub and stared at the tiled wall. Ten minutes. Then fifteen.
No one noticed I was gone. When I came back out, one of his friends asked if there was any more chicken salad. The other was scrolling through his phone.
My husband was editing clips on his laptop, grinning at his own handiwork. I looked around at the decorations I put up, the snacks I cooked, the playlist I created… and I felt invisible. I stood in the corner for a while, sipping flat soda.
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