My Husband Made Me Host His Birthday Party with My Arm Broken – So I Taught Him a Lesson He Will Never Forget

I broke my arm because my husband refused to shovel the snow.

Not metaphorically. Not as some symbolic gesture. I mean literally, physically, painfully.

The night before his birthday weekend, I stood at our front door, staring at the icy porch steps. A thin, glassy layer had already formed.

“Jason,” I said, “can you shovel and salt before bed? I don’t want to fall.”

He didn’t look up from his phone.
“I’ll do it later.”

“You said that an hour ago.”

He sighed like I was inconveniencing him. “You’re being dramatic. It’s just a few steps.”

I went to bed uneasy. The sound of the door never came. He never went outside.

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