On our tenth anniversary, Carl threw a grand party—flowers, chandeliers, champagne, the works. He called it a celebration of love. I called it something else—a feeling deep in my gut that something wasn’t right.
As guests mingled, my sister-in-law Anita glided over, all confidence and sparkle, flaunting the gold bracelet Carl had given her the month before. “I can’t wait to see what he got you,” she said with a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Later, Carl called for everyone’s attention. With a smile, he handed me a large, beautifully wrapped box. The room fell quiet, anticipation thick in the air. I opened it… and stopped cold. Inside was a mop.
No note. No joke. Just a mop.
Anita burst into laughter, clearly thrilled. “At least now you’ve got the right tool for the job!” she said through giggles.
“What is this?” I asked, barely managing to speak.
Carl shrugged. “Relax. The real gift comes later.”
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