My wife’s prank at our anniversary dinner pushed me over the edge. I abandoned her at the restaurant where we were celebrating and took the kids. Then, her mother’s shocking suggestion made me question everything about our ten-year marriage.
I adjusted my tie as we walked into Le Petit Chateau, the fanciest restaurant in town. The soft glow of chandeliers reflected off crystal glasses and polished silverware, and for a moment, it felt like stepping into the kind of night you remember forever. Fiona’s auburn hair caught the light as she brushed past me, and I was reminded—painfully—of why I’d fallen for her all those years ago.
“Table for two, under Aidan,” I told the hostess.
She smiled and led us to a secluded corner, tucked away from the bustle. Crisp white tablecloths, flickering candles, a string quartet playing softly in the background—it was perfect. I pulled out Fiona’s chair, waiting for her familiar smile.
Instead, she was already reaching for her phone.
“Everything okay?” I asked as we sat down.
She glanced up, startled, like she’d forgotten I was there. “Oh—yeah. Just checking something quick.”
I nodded, forcing myself not to sigh. This was supposed to be our night. Ten years of marriage. Two kids. A decade of building a life together. Yet she seemed miles away.
The waiter appeared with menus. “May I recommend our anniversary special? Champagne to start?”
“That sounds perfect,” I said, turning to Fiona. “What do you think, honey?”
She barely looked up. “Hm? Oh—sure. Whatever you want.”
I ordered the champagne, the knot in my chest tightening. When the waiter left, I reached across the table and gently touched her hand.
“Hey… can we maybe put the phones away tonight? Just us?”
She finally met my eyes, guilt flickering across her face. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just this new video series I found—”
I already knew where this was going. “Another prank channel?”
Her face lit up. “They’re hilarious, Aidan! You should see this one—”
I tuned out as she excitedly described the latest viral stunt. My thoughts drifted back over the past few weeks, and my jaw clenched.
It had started harmlessly—laughing together over silly videos. Then Fiona decided to recreate them.
The time she jumped out from behind the shower curtain, leaving me shaking and breathless.
The fake spider in Nora’s lunchbox that made our daughter cry so hard the school called us.
The “broken glass” prank that left Callum afraid to step barefoot into the kitchen for days.
Every time I objected, Fiona waved it off.
“It’s just a joke.”
“Lighten up.”
“You’re so serious all the time.”
But I’d seen it—the fear in our kids’ eyes, the way they flinched when she called their names too brightly. I’d felt it myself: the constant tension, never knowing when the next “joke” would come.
The waiter returned with champagne, snapping me back to the present. Fiona was still talking, her hands animated, her laughter too loud for the intimate setting.
Then she stood abruptly. “I need the restroom. Be right back.”
I watched her weave between tables, unease settling in my gut. Something wasn’t right.
Moments later, a sharp gasp cut through the restaurant.
“I can’t breathe!” Fiona cried.
I turned to see her clutching her throat, stumbling, then collapsing to her knees between tables. Panic exploded around us. Chairs scraped back. Someone shouted for an ambulance. A woman near me covered her mouth in horror.
I couldn’t move. My heart slammed against my ribs as I stood frozen, watching my wife gasp and choke.
Then—she laughed.
“Just kidding!” Fiona said, springing to her feet. “It’s a prank!”
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Every eye in the restaurant turned toward us. The manager rushed over, his face pale with anger.
“That was extremely inappropriate, ma’am,” he said stiffly. “You’re causing a disturbance. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
I stood up slowly, my hands shaking—not with embarrassment, but rage.
“I’m leaving,” I said, my voice tight. “Without my wife.”
Fiona blinked, her grin faltering. “Aidan, come on. It was funny!”
“You can get an Uber,” I said flatly. “And you can handle the bill.”
I didn’t wait for her reply. I grabbed my coat and walked out, my ears ringing. I drove home in silence, my jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.
As soon as I stepped inside, I went to the kids’ rooms.
“Pack a bag,” I told them gently. “We’re staying with Uncle Declan for a bit.”
They didn’t argue. That hurt more than anything.
An hour later, my brother opened his door, took one look at my face, and pulled us inside.
“Guest room’s ready,” he said quietly. “We’ll talk when you’re ready.”
That night, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Messages. Missed calls. I ignored them all.
By morning, there were thirty-seven missed calls and a flood of texts.
You’re overreacting.
It was just a joke!
You embarrassed me.
You owe me an apology.
My hands shook as I read them. I was about to turn my phone off when another call came through—from Fiona’s mother.
I hesitated, then answered.
“Aidan,” she said softly, “please don’t make any permanent decisions yet.”
“I can’t keep living like this,” I replied. “The kids are scared. I’m exhausted. Last night crossed every line.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then her voice dropped.
“I know. And I’m not defending her. But Fiona hasn’t been herself since her father died.”
I froze.
“She hides it,” her mother continued. “She turns everything into a joke because she doesn’t know how to sit with the pain. Making people laugh is how she survives.”
I thought of Fiona’s forced smiles. The constant need for attention. The way she couldn’t stop—even when it hurt us.
“She loves you,” her mother said gently. “And those children. She’s lost her footing, not her heart. Please… talk to her before you walk away.”
I looked over at Nora and Callum sleeping on the guest bed, their faces peaceful for the first time in days. My anger was still there—but beneath it, something cracked.
What if this wasn’t cruelty… but grief, spiraling out of control?
I didn’t know the answer.
But I knew this: before I made a choice that would shatter our family forever, I owed it to all of us to listen.
I took a deep breath, scrolled to Fiona’s name, and pressed call.
