We reached our destination after a short drive.
I helped him out of the car and guided him up the walkway. My heart was pounding, but my hands stayed steady.
The door opened. There was a murmur inside. Not loud, but unmistakably people.
Sam tensed. “Wait. Where are we?”
I helped him out of the car and guided him up the walkway.
I untied the blindfold.
Sam blinked.
He was standing in his sister’s living room.
His parents, my parents, some extended family, and close friends were all seated, waiting.
Sam scanned the room. “Okay. Very funny. What is this supposed to be?”
He was standing in his sister’s living room.
I stepped forward, hands folded in front of me.
“I asked everyone here because I’m worried about you, Sam.”
Sam frowned. “Worried about me? Why?”
I exhaled slowly and led him to the chair positioned in the center of the room, facing the TV. He sat, and I took my place by the TV.
I turned to face everyone.
I led him to the chair positioned in the center of the room.
“Thank you all for coming tonight to support Sam. This might be disturbing for some of you, but please remember this evening is not about us — it’s about helping Sam.”
“What are you talking about?” Sam cried out.
I turned on the TV and started casting to it.
Gasps filled the room.
I turned on the TV.
Now, it may seem like I’d come up with this plan in the blink of an eye, but it had taken careful planning.
My first instinct had been to humiliate Sam the same way he’d humiliated me, but once my initial anger passed, I realized that would be pointless and petty.
I needed to teach Sam a lesson, and his Instagram post was the perfect tool for doing just that!
I realized that would be pointless and petty.
The Instagram post appeared first.
Then I clicked through photos of the apartment showing the plates that looked like petri dish experiments, the trash overflowing in the can, and, most horrifying of all, the bathroom.
“This is what I came home to after being discharged from the hospital.”
I gestured to the screen. “I was confused at first about why the apartment was in such a state, but when Sam created that Instagram post, I finally understood.”
I clicked through photos of the apartment.
I swept the room with my gaze. “I don’t think Sam has the basic life skills to take care of himself.”
Sam let out a sharp laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. Look at this.”
I scrolled back to the Instagram post and read the caption aloud. “‘My slobby wife hasn’t cleaned the apartment in a month. Does anyone know when this is going to stop?’ Do you all see the problem?”
“I don’t think Sam has the basic life skills to take care of himself.”
Sam crossed his arms. “Yeah… the problem is that you’re trying to blame me for your mess.”
I shook my head and spoke to the room.
“While I was recovering from giving birth to triplets, Sam did nothing to maintain our home. The only possible explanation for this is that he lacks the skills to do basic domestic chores.”
“I know how to clean!” Sam said, annoyed now. “I’m not an idiot.”
I shook my head and spoke to the room.
