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

“I’ll handle it.”

He squinted at me for a second, then smirked. “Knew you would.”

When he went out later to “grab drinks with the guys” for his birthday weekend, I sat at our kitchen table with my laptop, my cast propped on a pillow.

First call: a cleaning service.

“I need a full deep clean,” I said. “Kitchen, bathrooms, floors, everything.

As soon as possible.”

They had a slot the next day. I booked it.

Second call: catering.

I talked to a woman named Maria. “I need appetizers, mains, sides, dessert, and a birthday cake for about 20 people.”

We picked sliders, pasta, salad, veggies, dessert trays, a big cake with “Happy Birthday, Jason” on it.

She told me the total: about $600.

It came out of my personal savings.

The account he didn’t know existed.

It hurt.

But not as much as Jason’s indifference.

Then I made my third call.

My lawyer.

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