When my husband got promoted, I expected a bit of excitement. What I didn’t expect was a full-blown ego trip that would turn our home into his personal kingdom. So, I reminded him that he didn’t marry a servant—he married a woman with a backbone.
Three weeks ago, he was promoted to assistant warehouse manager. Since then, he’s been acting like he runs the entire company—demanding silence at home on his days off, even telling our four-year-old to “walk quieter.” Meanwhile, I work over 50 hours a week managing a behavioral health facility, handling crisis after crisis. But to him, only his work matters.
He now expects hot lunches on command, refuses to eat anything he doesn’t like, and wakes me at all hours for back rubs, drinks, or snacks. The tipping point came when, after my 12-hour shift, I was lying in bed and he told me—without even looking up—to go make him ice cream. With chocolate drizzle. And cashews.
When I refused, he said, “But I worked all day.”
I snapped. “So did I. For longer. Get it yourself.”
That was my breaking point—and also the beginning of my plan.
That Sunday, I cooked his favorite meal and invited his family and a few friends over. He came home to the smell of slow-roasted ribs and a fancy set table, puffed up with pride. He thought it was a celebration in his honor—and it was. Just not the kind he expected.
After dessert, I raised my glass and toasted his promotion. Then, I turned to his mom and added, “Thank you for raising a man who’s taught me how hardworking men expect to be treated. Silence after work, meals on command, even waking me up at night for ice cream.”
Dead silence.
I finished by saying, “If this version of you is who you’ve become, I don’t think we’re going to make it.”
His facade cracked. Without a word, he got up and walked out.
Later that night, after everyone had left and our daughter was tucked in, he came home. Gone was the arrogance. He looked wrecked.
He said, “I talked to my dad. He didn’t hold back. And I listened.”
He admitted he let the title inflate his ego, and that he forgot who had always supported him, even when there was no title to brag about.
“I treated you like less because I felt like more,” he said. “And that’s not okay. I’m sorry. I want to do better. I will do better.”
I didn’t rush to forgive him, but I saw something genuine: humility.
The next morning, I woke to the smell of burnt eggs. He was in the kitchen, in pajama pants, trying to cook breakfast while our daughter watched from the counter. He handed me the plate like it was a peace offering and said, “This is all I know how to make right now. But I’ll learn. I promise.”
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