my (m34) wife (f32) and i had gotten into a bit of an argument the night before her birthday. i had planned for a big surprise party to celebrate 32, inviting all of her family, my family, and our friends. i figured it would’ve been nice, we never celebrate her birthday so a big surprise would be a sweet gesture, unfortunately i was wrong. one thing about my wife is she hates her birthday, as long as she has lived she refuses to acknowledge the day. she’s never told me exactly why, i’m assuming it has something to do with childhood trauma (which she goes to therapy for twice a week). i’m very respectful of my wife, we’ve been married 12 years and never once did i force a birthday, i planned for some celebration this year in hopes to make better memories so we could move on from this birthday hatred.
last night when i had gotten home from work, she was sitting at the kitchen table, her arms crossed while her face seemed to be stuck in a permanent scowl. i couldn’t even ask her what was wrong before she began to berate me for trying to surprise her with a party. her mother had called the house an hour prior asking what time the party would be (even though i had fucking told her a million times it was 5pm). my wife was furious, her face bright red as she screamed and screamed and screamed. we argued for the better half of the night, yet after sometime i couldn’t take it anymore.
snap.
she didn’t come up to bed that night, i figured she wouldn’t have, i was just surprised that she didn’t make me sleep on the couch. i woke up around 8 and headed down to the kitchen, i didn’t expect her to have coffee and breakfast ready like she usually would, and i was right. she still sat there at the kitchen table, arms crossed and all, staring at the wall. “good morning honey.” i said as i walked past her, kissing her cheek as i did. she didn’t say a word.
i sighed and began running the coffee maker, the silent treatment was the usual after a fight like last night. despite all that, i decided to make her breakfast, it was her birthday after all. i whistled as i cooked her favorite, sipping my coffee, tapping my foot. every now and then i would glance at her, and every time she would still be sitting the same way, arms crossed, staring dead at the wall. she hates my whistling, i was hoping that would break the silent treatment yet it did not. i sat the food and a cup of coffee in front of her before sitting down opposite of her with my own plate and cup. i began to chow down, she didn’t move a muscle when i set the plate down so i wasn’t gonna wait for her. i was about half way finished when i looked up to see if she had eaten any, she had not. “i get you’re angry at me, but the least you could do is eat the food i cooked you.” i grumbled, waiting for a reply was futile, she still sat there with her arms crossed and that dead stare.
at this point, my anger was increasing by the second. i made her favorite breakfast even though it’s one of my least favorites why wouldn’t she fucking eat my food! “eat goddammit!” i shouted, nothing. “fucking say something to me!” nothing. i slammed my fist onto the table in a fit of rage, causing her head to roll off onto the ground. it plopped, making a wet slapping noise as the blood that was pooled to the base of her neck splattered upon impact. “great, now look at the mess you’ve made.” i spoke as i rose from the table. i walked over to my wife, picking up her head by her long, beautiful black hair. she was still stunning even with all of the color drained from her face and only the whites of her eyes showing.