The credit card statement still showed my name on those Maui resort deposits when my husband announced he was giving my spot to his mother. “She needs this more than you,” Wade said, as if my sixty-hour work weeks meant nothing. That’s when I decided if he wanted to vacation with mommy so badly, I’d make sure it was unforgettable.
While Wade packed his swim trunks, I made some adjustments. The beachfront suite? Now a single occupancy reservation for his mother. His new digs? A hostel-style room with shared bathrooms. The romantic dinners I’d booked? Canceled and replaced with a single reservation at the resort’s most expensive restaurant – for one.
Wade’s first night in paradise featured construction noise and a broken AC. Meanwhile, I was at a cozy mountain retreat, finally getting the rest I’d earned. His angry voicemails piled up as I sipped chardonnay by a fireplace.
When we finally faced each other again, something had shifted. The man who’d once dismissed my feelings was now the one begging to be heard. Our marriage isn’t perfect now, but it’s honest. And our rescheduled anniversary trip has one new rule: no third wheels allowed.
