The other day, I decided to surprise my husband, Paul, by dropping off his favorite fast food at his new office. He had switched jobs a few months ago, and this was the first time I’d seen his workplace. I thought it would be a sweet gesture, but little did I know, I was walking into a nightmare.
—
When I arrived, the receptionist greeted me warmly. “Good afternoon! You’re Mr. L’s nanny, right? Are his kids okay?” she asked, smiling brightly.
I froze, nearly dropping the food in my hands. “Excuse me?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“His nanny,” she repeated, looking a bit confused at my reaction. “He talks about you all the time! He says you’re great with the kids, and he just can’t fire you because he feels sorry for you.”
My stomach churned. My husband—the man I had shared my life with for years—had been telling his coworkers I was just the nanny. Why? So he could pretend he was single?
I forced a tight smile, handed over the food, and left, my mind racing. I couldn’t believe his audacity. If he wanted to act like I didn’t exist, I was going to make sure everyone knew exactly who I was.
—
The next day, I put my plan into action. I dressed in my best outfit, the one that screamed confidence, and made sure I looked flawless. Then, with a folder in hand that looked official, I walked into Paul’s office building, head held high.
This time, the receptionist greeted me with a polite but puzzled expression. “You’re back again? Is there an emergency with the kids?”
“Oh no,” I said, smiling sweetly. “I’m here to meet my husband.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Husband?”
“Yes,” I said, loud enough for the people nearby to hear. “Paul L—he’s my husband. I believe he’s been telling everyone I’m the nanny. Isn’t that funny?”
The receptionist looked mortified, stammering an apology. I waved it off and headed upstairs to his office. As I walked in, heads turned. I went straight to Paul’s desk, ignoring the whispers.
“Paul,” I said, loud enough for his coworkers to hear. “Hi, honey! I wanted to drop this off for you.” I handed him the folder, which was empty, just for show. “Oh, and by the way, I met your lovely receptionist yesterday. She thought I was the nanny! Isn’t that hilarious?”
Paul’s face turned ghostly pale. He stammered, “I-I can explain—”
“Don’t bother,” I interrupted, my voice cold but calm. “You see, I was just so surprised to learn that my husband has been pretending to be single. What an interesting thing for a *married man* to do.”
The room went silent. His coworkers exchanged glances, clearly piecing things together. I turned on my heel and left, feeling every eye in the office on me.
—
That evening, Paul came home, furious. “What were you thinking, humiliating me like that?” he demanded.
I stared at him, my anger finally bubbling to the surface. “Humiliating you? What about what you’ve been doing to me? Pretending I’m just the nanny? Acting like our marriage doesn’t exist? You’re lucky I didn’t go further.”
Paul tried to defend himself, but there was no justification. I told him I needed space and kicked him out of the house for a while. During that time, I sought legal advice, ensuring I had all my bases covered if things escalated further.
—
Paul eventually apologized, groveling and begging for forgiveness. While I haven’t decided whether I’ll take him back, one thing is certain: I won’t be anyone’s secret, especially not in my own marriage. If Paul thought he could get away with disrespecting me, he learned the hard way that I’m not someone to be underestimated.
