When I noticed my wife drawing strange tally marks on her hand, I shrugged it off as a quirky habit. But as those marks multiplied and her answers remained cryptic, I realized something much darker was lurking beneath the surface of our seemingly happy marriage.
“Married life is great, right?” I would say to my friends when they asked. And for the most part, it was. We’d only been married for a few months, and I was still getting used to being a husband. My wife, Sarah, was always so organized, so thoughtful. She had a way of making everything seem effortless.
But then, something changed. I started noticing a strange habit of hers. One day, she pulled a pen out of her purse and made a small tally mark on the back of her hand. I didn’t think much of it at first.
“Did you just mark your hand?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She smiled and shrugged. “Just a reminder.”
“A reminder for what?” I laughed, thinking it was a joke. But she didn’t answer. She just changed the subject.
Over the next few weeks, she did it more and more. Some days, there’d be only one or two marks. Other days, five or more. Then there’d be days with nothing at all. It seemed random, but it bothered me. What was she keeping track of?
The more I noticed, the more I started to worry. It was like she was keeping a secret from me, and that secret was slowly eating away at our happiness.
One night, I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Sarah, what’s with the tally marks?” I asked as we were getting ready for bed. “You do it all the time now.”
She glanced at the marks on her hand, then looked at me with that same mysterious smile. “It helps me remember things, that’s all.”
“Remember what?” I pressed.
“It’s just… things,” she said, brushing me off like it was nothing. “Don’t worry about it.”
But I did worry. A lot. I started paying closer attention. She’d mark her hand after dinner. After we argued. After we watched a movie. There was no pattern I could see.
One evening, I counted the marks on her hand: seven. That night, I watched as she transferred them into a small notebook by her bedside table. She didn’t know I was watching.
I decided to check her notebook the next morning. I waited until she was in the shower, then flipped through the pages. Each page had rows and rows of tally marks. I counted them—68 in total.
I sat on the bed, staring at the notebook in my hands. What did this number mean? What was she counting?
I tried asking her again a few days later.
“Sarah, please tell me what those marks are for. It’s driving me crazy.”
She sighed, clearly annoyed. “I told you. It’s just something I do. It helps me remember.”
“That doesn’t make any sense!” I snapped. “What are you remembering? Are you keeping track of something? Someone?”
“Just drop it, okay?” she said, her voice sharp. She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Please, just let it go.”
But I couldn’t let it go. The marks started to feel like a wall between us. Every time I saw her make a new one, it was like she was putting up another brick, shutting me out.
I became obsessed with the number 68. What was so important about it? I noticed I was being more careful around her, almost like I was afraid to give her a reason to add another mark. But then the marks would still appear, no matter what I did.
One night, after another tense conversation, I watched her add four new marks to her hand. I needed to know what was happening. I needed to figure this out before it drove me mad. But I had no idea how to get the truth out of her. And that scared me more than anything.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that our entire marriage was on the line, and I was helpless to stop whatever was happening between us. I left for several days to see if it changed anything. Well, the tally count has increased to 78 by the time I returned.
The obsession with Sarah’s tally marks was eating me alive. I needed a break from it, but everywhere I looked, I saw her hand with those little black lines, like they were taunting me. So, when Sarah suggested we visit her mother, I thought it would be a good distraction.
Her mother, Diane, and her fifth husband, Jake, lived in a cozy house in the suburbs. It was a typical Saturday afternoon visit: tea, cookies, and small talk. Sarah and her mom were in the kitchen, chatting and laughing. I excused myself to use the bathroom.
As I passed by the guest bedroom, something caught my eye. There, on the nightstand, was a notebook. It looked just like the one Sarah kept by her bed. I hesitated, but curiosity got the better of me. I stepped inside, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching.
I opened the notebook, my hands trembling. Inside, there were pages filled with tally marks, just like Sarah’s. But there was more. Next to the marks were labels: “interrupting,” “raising voice,” “forgetting to call.” Each tally had a label, like it was keeping track of mistakes.
“What the hell is this?” I muttered under my breath.
I felt a chill run down my spine. Was this some kind of family tradition? Was Sarah’s mom counting her own mistakes? Were they both holding themselves to these impossible standards?
I closed the notebook and returned to the living room, trying to act normal, but my mind was spinning. Sarah noticed my unease.
“You okay?” she asked, concern in her eyes.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. “Just thinking about work.”
We stayed for another hour, but I was barely present. My thoughts kept drifting back to that.
On the drive home, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Sarah, I need to ask you something,” I said, gripping the steering wheel.
She looked at me, puzzled. “What’s up?”
“I saw your mom’s notebook today. It looked a lot like yours. Is this something you both do? Are you counting your mistakes? You don’t have to be perfect, you know. You don’t need to keep track of every little thing.”
There was a moment of silence, then she let out a bitter laugh.
“You think I’m counting my mistakes?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, relieved she was finally opening up. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. It’s okay to mess up sometimes.”
She shook her head, staring out the window. “I’m not counting my mistakes, Jack. I’m counting yours.”
The words hit me like a punch in the gut. “What?”
“Every time you break one of your vows, I make a mark,” she said quietly. “When you interrupt me, when you don’t listen, when you say you’ll do something and don’t. I’ve been keeping track since our wedding.”
On our wedding day, I promised Sarah the world in my vows. I vowed never to lie, to always listen without interrupting, and to be there every time she needed me, no matter what. It was a long list of grand, heartfelt promises that sounded perfect in the moment, but looking back, they were almost impossible to keep.
I felt the blood drain from my face. “You’re counting my mistakes? Why?”
“Because I want to know when I’ve had enough,” she said, her voice breaking. “When you reach 1,000 marks, I’m leaving.”
I pulled the car over, my heart pounding. “You’re going to leave me? For breaking some stupid promises?”
“They’re not stupid promises,” she snapped. “They’re our wedding vows, Jack. You made them to me, and you’ve broken every single one.”
I stared at her, stunned. How had we gotten here? How had I missed this? I’d thought she was being hard on herself, but I was the one who’d been careless, dismissive. I wanted to be angry, but I couldn’t. I was too shocked, too hurt.
When we got home, I couldn’t sleep. I called Diane, desperate for answers.
“Sarah told me what she’s doing,” I said. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
Diane sighed. “I did the same thing with my past husbands. I thought it would help, but it just drove us apart. It ruined my marriages.”
“Then why let her—”
“I tried to tell her,” she interrupted gently. “But she needs to see it for herself. I count good days now, Jack. Good things my husband does. It changed everything.”
I hung up, feeling more lost than ever. I could only hope that my mother-in-law’s words fell on fertile ground.
That evening, Sarah came home with tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around me. “I didn’t realize how much this was hurting us.”
I held her close, feeling a mix of relief and hope. “Let’s forget the tally marks,” I said softly. “Let’s start fresh.”
The next day, I bought a new notebook—one for us to fill with good memories and happy moments. We made our first entry that night, writing about a quiet dinner we shared, laughing and talking like we hadn’t in months.
As we moved forward, the notebook became a symbol of our promise to focus on the positives and grow together. The tally marks were gone, replaced by stories of joy, love, and gratitude. We were finally on the same page, and it felt like the beginning of something beautiful.
I Sent My Boyfriend Roses to His Workplace as a Sweet Surprise, but He Threw Them in My Face – I Taught Him a Good Lesson Later
It’s not every day that a man receives a bouquet from his girlfriend. So when I sent roses to my boyfriend’s workplace as a surprise, I thought he would be flustered and happy. The man who greeted me that evening was the exact opposite. The roses ended up in the trash can.
A woman holding roses | Source: FreePik
My boyfriend, Mike, is a mechanic. We’ve been together for about three years, and recently, it felt like the romance was slipping away. I felt like we were stuck in a boring routine, with barely any spark left in our relationship.
A mechanic fixing a car | Source: Pexels
We still loved each other, no doubt. But we were never really present when we were together. Often, we’d end the day in bed, on our phones, with nothing more than a “good night.”
A couple not minding each other | Source: Pexels
I wanted to remind Mike of how much we still love each other, so, one day, I decided to surprise him with a bouquet of roses at work.
I imagined his face lighting up when he saw the card that read, “Just because. Love, your GF.” It was a sweet reminder that I was thinking about him. I sent the flowers to the shop while he was at work, hoping to brighten his day.
A bouquet of roses | Source: Pexels
I waited the whole day for a message from him, thanking me or letting me know he received it. However, nothing came.
That evening, I was so excited to see him. I was practically bouncing with anticipation when he walked through the door. But instead of the smile I expected, he looked furious. Without a word, he threw the roses in my face and then tossed them in the trash.
Roses in a trash can | Source: AmoMama
“Are you kidding me?” he yelled. “Do you know how many jokes I got from the guys today? They teased me non-stop because of those stupid flowers. You embarrassed me!”
A man yelling at a woman | Source: Pexels
My heart shattered into a million pieces. I only wanted to do something nice for him, and here he was, throwing it back in my face – literally. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
I was hurt and sad, but mostly, I was angry. I was determined to teach Mike a lesson. That night, I stayed up crying and thinking of a plan. By the morning, I knew exactly what I was going to do.
A woman in tears | Source: Pexels
The next day, Mike walked into the shop, expecting another round of teasing from his coworkers. Instead, he found something completely different.
Each of his colleagues and even his boss were holding a single tulip, a homemade cookie, and a thoughtful note. The notes read, “Thank you for being a great colleague/boss for the man I love.”
Tulips and cookies | Source: Pexels
As Mike stood in shock, his coworkers began to smile and greet him. “No one’s ever done anything like this for us,” his buddy Joe said, munching on the cookie. “Your girlfriend’s something special, man.”
“So this is what it feels like to receive flowers. No wonder girls love it,” another coworker said. “If my wife gave me flowers, I’d probably frame them,” a third added.
A mechanic smiling at work | Source: FreePik
His boss, Mr. Thompson, patted him on the back. “You’ve got a keeper, Mike. If she loves you this much, I might need to consider you more seriously for the next promotion. A man who can inspire this kind of trust and affection is someone we can trust with more responsibility.”
A boss showing approval | Source: Pexels
Mike’s face turned red, but this time it wasn’t from anger. He looked around the room, seeing his coworkers not as tormentors, but as people genuinely touched by my gesture. He realized he had let his pride and embarrassment get the better of him, and he had taken it out on the person who loved him the most.
A man thinking | Source: Pexels
As the day went on, the atmosphere in the shop changed. Instead of the usual teasing and ribbing, there was a sense of camaraderie and appreciation. Mike realized that his coworkers weren’t teasing him out of malice, but because they were jealous that he had someone who cared so much about him.
After work, Mike went straight to the jewelry store. He bought a ring, specifically the one he knew I would love. He also stopped by the florist to get a huge bouquet of roses, even bigger than the one I had sent him. He had a lot of making up to do.
A person holding rings | Source: Unsplash
That evening, when I got home from work, I found the bouquet waiting for me with a note: “I’m so sorry. I love you more than words can say. Please meet me at our favorite restaurant tonight. Love, Mike.”
My heart raced as I read the note. I brought out my new dress and put on makeup. I wanted to feel beautiful tonight, knowing that we were finally in a good place.
Bouquet of red roses | Source: Pexels
I quickly got ready and headed to the restaurant, my mind swirling with emotions. When I walked in, there he was, looking nervous but determined. He stood up as I approached and took my hands in his.
“I’m so sorry for how I reacted,” he said, his voice sincere and filled with regret. “You were trying to do something beautiful, and I was horrible to you. I promise I’ll never take you for granted again.” I immediately hugged him with watery eyes.
A woman hugging a man | Source: Pexels
Then, right there in the middle of the restaurant, he got down on one knee and pulled out the ring. “Will you marry me?” he asked. Tears streamed down my face, but this time they were tears of joy. “Yes,” I whispered, nodding my head. “Yes, of course, I will.”
A man proposing | Source: Pexels
The entire restaurant erupted in applause, and for the first time in a long while, I felt that spark again. The romance was back, stronger than ever.
We spent the rest of the evening talking about our relationship and how we could keep the romance alive. We made a pact to surprise each other more often and to always communicate openly about our feelings.
A couple celebrating | Source: Pexels
The next day, Mike’s boss called him into the office. Mr. Thompson had heard about the proposal and was genuinely happy for us. He told Mike that he had been considering him for a promotion and that seeing how loved and supported he was by me had sealed the deal.
“Anyone who can inspire this kind of loyalty and love deserves to be in a leadership position,” Mr. Thompson said. “Congratulations, Mike. You’re getting the promotion.”
Two men shaking hands | Source: FreePik
Mike was over the moon. He came home that evening with a big smile on his face and swept me into his arms. “We did it,” he said. “We’re going to start this new chapter together, and I couldn’t be happier.”
A couple hugging | Source: Pexels
Our relationship has been stronger ever since. We still surprise each other with little gestures of love, and we make sure to communicate openly about everything. That one dramatic incident ended up being a turning point for us, reminding us of the importance of love, respect, and appreciation.
A happy couple having a meal | Source: Pexels
So, if you’re ever feeling like the romance is slipping away, don’t be afraid to do something bold and unexpected. Sometimes, it takes a little drama to reignite the spark and remind each other of how much you care. And who knows, you might just end up with a ring on your finger and a promotion at work.
Mike was not the only person who was taught a valuable lesson by someone close to him. A stepmom to a daughter also learned a thing or two about respect the hard way.
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