While eating dinner, I was scrolling through Reddit and stumbled upon a trending post in a relationship advice forum: [Help! It's our second year of marriage, and my wife is demanding we spend Christmas at her parents' house this year. I don't want to go, but I can't flat-out refuse. How do I make her drop the idea?] The top comment read: [That's easy, man. Pick a fight with her over something stupid, then give her the silent treatment. Ignore her completely. Once the holidays are over, break the ice, apologize, and it’s all water under the bridge. Trust me, once you initiate the cold war, not only do you get out of the dreaded in-law visit, but you also get a few weeks of sweet, bachelor-like freedom. It’s glorious!] The original poster expressed some doubt: [Does that actually work? What if she gets so mad she asks for a divorce?] The top commenter replied, practically dripping with smugness: [You're overthinking it! I've been married for ten years, and I do this every single year. My wife still takes it like a champ. Hang on, let me show you how it’s done. My wife just brought up the whole 'going home for Christmas' thing a couple of days ago. I'm going to go pick a fight right now!] I was thoroughly disgusted by these two toxic, arrogant jerks and was just about to type out a scathing reply. When suddenly, my husband, sitting right across the table from me, violently slammed his bowl down. 1. Ryan’s sudden outburst startled me and terrified our three-year-old daughter, Lily, who was quietly eating her dinner. I frowned at him. "What is your problem? Why are you slamming dishes?" "What is my problem?!" Ryan suddenly raised his voice, glaring at me. "You're asking me what my problem is?!" He pointed a harsh finger at the plate of shrimp scampi on the table, then poked me hard in the forehead. "How many times have I told you I don't eat garlic?! Are you completely brain-dead? What the hell did you put in the scampi?!" I looked at him like he had lost his mind. Was he sick? I used shallots. What did that have to do with garlic? Without thinking, I slapped his hand away and shoved the plate of scampi right in front of his face. "Can you open your damn eyes and look? Where in this dish do you see garlic???" "No garlic?!" Ryan reached in and pulled out a small, translucent slice of shallot. "Then tell me, what the hell is this?!" "That's a shallot! You've eaten it a million times before! Why are you picking a fight over nothing..." Suddenly, the Reddit post I had just read flashed into my mind. My voice abruptly cut off. Married for ten years... If I remembered correctly, today was exactly my ten-year anniversary with Ryan. It couldn't be... that much of a coincidence, right? Seeing me go quiet, Ryan acted even more self-righteous. "Have I or have I not told you that shallots and garlic are in the same family?! They both reek! I am a person who hates garlic, and just looking at a shallot makes me lose my appetite! Do you ever actually care about my preferences?! "And did you forget what day it is? It's our ten-year anniversary, and you just threw together two pathetic dishes to humor me? God, you're so lazy it's a miracle you're still breathing!" The more he spoke, the more fired up he got. With a loud crash, he dumped the entire plate of shrimp scampi straight into the trash can. I don't know if it was my imagination, but I swear I saw a flicker of provocation in his eyes. No matter how good my temper was, I couldn't hold back anymore. I slammed my hands on the table and stood up. "Ryan, are you out of your mind?! I've made this exact scampi recipe dozens of times! You never made a peep before, and now you're bitching about it?! "You're just looking for a reason to start a fight!" 2. Perhaps because I hit the nail on the head, a flash of guilt crossed Ryan's face. Then, he stiffened his neck and yelled back. "I'm not picking a fight! Before, I just held it in because I didn't want to ruin our relationship! But everyone has a breaking point! You putting shallots in the food over and over again is just you trying to disgust me! You don't want me to enjoy a single meal in peace!" I stared at Ryan's twisted, defensive face, my chest aching with fury. Three-year-old Lily looked at me, then at Ryan. Sensing the hostile atmosphere, her little lips trembled, and she burst into loud wails. Hearing her cry, I lost all desire to argue with Ryan. I swallowed my rage, turned around, and picked up my daughter, gently patting her back. "Shh, baby, don't cry. Mommy's right here." But Ryan didn't care. He kept rambling and complaining, even directing his anger at Lily. "Cry, cry, cry! All she knows how to do is cry! She's like a bad omen, crying away all the good luck in this house!" Lily, who had just started to calm down, wailed even louder at his harsh words. I could no longer suppress the inferno of my anger. I grabbed the edge of the tablecloth and violently yanked it, sending the rest of the dinner crashing to the floor. "Ryan, if you want to act like a lunatic, go do it outside! Don't you dare take it out on my child! "If you hate my cooking so much, then don't eat! Get the hell out of my house right now!" Perhaps he didn't expect me—usually so mild-mannered—to react so fiercely. Ryan froze for a few seconds before his face turned red with humiliation and rage. "Fine! You've got guts! I'm done eating! And don't even think about me going to your parents' house for Christmas this year!" The moment that last sentence left his mouth, I was almost certain. The top commenter on that Reddit post was Ryan. I looked at him with a cold sneer. "Ryan, that was your real goal all along, wasn't it?" Caught off guard, a trace of panic flashed across his face. He muttered "Psycho," before fleeing down the hall and slamming the bedroom door shut. That deafening slam made my heart tremble. My daughter cried even harder in my arms. I held her tightly, whispering soothing words, but my own tears uncontrollably spilled down my cheeks. Half an hour later, Lily finally cried herself to sleep. I gently laid her on her bed and leaned exhaustedly against the headboard. From the room next door, I heard the distinct, upbeat chime of his PlayStation booting up. Driven by a morbid curiosity, I pulled out my phone and reopened that Reddit thread. 3. The top commenter, whose username was R_Mitch88, had posted several updates just ten minutes ago. [Alright man, mission accomplished. How are you doing?] The OP replied instantly: [Whoa, that was fast! Bro, what excuse did you use? Teach me! I've been thinking for an hour and I still don't know how to start a fake fight...] R_Mitch88: [Bro, you're clearly too much of a nice guy. Starting a fight is easy! Just grab onto any random excuse and go off!] [After reading your post, I remembered today is actually our 10-year anniversary. I usually don't care about these pointless holidays, but to pick a fight, I purposely nitpicked the dinner she cooked. I threw a fit, smashed some dishes, dumped the food in the trash, and ripped into her.] [Now she's successfully enraged. I used the excuse to lock myself in the guest room, and I'm about to hop into a Warzone lobby with the boys. Happy holidays to me!] [Knowing how women work, she's definitely in her room crying her eyes out right now, just waiting for me to apologize. But that's exactly what we want! I'll just give her the cold shoulder until Christmas is over. Hehehe. Use this trick, bro. I swear by it. Successfully dodged another miserable Christmas with her family. I'm thrilled!] The OP replied with a thumbs-up emoji. But as I read it, my heart turned entirely to ice. R_Mitch88. Ryan Mitchell. My husband. The man I had shared a bed with for ten years! My brain buzzed, and memories of the past ten years suddenly flooded my mind. 4. The first year we were married, still in our honeymoon phase, I brought up wanting to take him to my parents' house for Christmas. Without a second thought, he smiled and agreed. He even said all the right things: "It's your first Christmas away from home since we got married. Your parents will miss you, so it's only right we go back to celebrate with them. Let's get some sleep, and we'll pack our bags and head out tomorrow." But the next morning, right before we were supposed to leave, he discovered I had accidentally washed his white dress shirt with my red sweater, turning his shirt pink. He suddenly flew into a terrifying rage, calling me as stupid as a pig, screaming that I didn't even know basic laundry logic, and ruined his favorite shirt. It was the first time he had ever yelled at me like that. I was so hurt I locked myself in the bedroom and cried. I thought he would come comfort me quickly, but to my shock, he gave me the silent treatment. He didn't speak a single word to me. Let alone going to my parents' house for Christmas. I was too angry to apologize, and I was afraid of going home alone and having to explain things to my parents, so I didn't go back either. I spent that holiday consumed by anxiety and misery. I even contemplated divorce. But right after New Year's, when my thoughts of divorce were at their peak and I was ready to confront him, Ryan acted like nothing had happened. He came over, hugged me, and took my hand to slap his own face. "Baby, I was so wrong. I woke up that morning and saw my principal chewing me out in the faculty group chat. I was in a terrible mood, and I couldn't help but snap at you over something so small. "You don't know this, but the second I yelled at you, I regretted it. I've been consumed by guilt. I haven't slept in days, terrified you were still mad at me." I asked him why, if he was so guilty, he didn't just apologize. His eyes grew red and teary. "I... I was too scared. I was afraid you wouldn't forgive me, that you'd say something that would break my heart. Baby, you know I'd die without you! But after holding it in for so long, I was in so much pain. Today I finally found the courage to apologize. I was wrong, I was so wrong! "Hit me! I promise I will never bring my work stress home again. Please forgive me, okay?" Moved by his speech, not only did I forgive him easily, but I also felt guilty for not noticing his work stress sooner. The second year, having learned my lesson, I brought up the holiday plans two months in advance. He laughed and brushed it off. As Christmas approached, I brought it up again. This time, he claimed the school had assigned him to write a massive research paper over the break. He said he was spinning like a top, completely overwhelmed, and instead of helping him, I was nagging him with this trivial bullshit. He accused me of being inconsiderate and lazy. We entered another cold war. The third year, I got "smart." I brought it up even earlier, and much more gently. Again, he promised we could go. But the night before we were supposed to leave, we got into a massive fight because I bought him a leather jacket. He accused me of wasting money, saying leather jackets were for thugs and that as a respected high school teacher, he couldn't be seen wearing something like that. It ended with him slamming the door and leaving. Fourth year, fifth year... Every single year played out like a script. The triggers were endlessly creative: My cooking was too salty, my phone wasn't on silent while scrolling TikTok, I talked on the phone with my mom for too long, I switched our daughter's formula brand... But the destination was always the same: A long, agonizing cold war. Sometimes two weeks, sometimes a month or two. And the pathetic, brainwashed idiot that I was would always forgive him without hesitation the moment he finally lowered his head and apologized. Ten years. A full ten years. Now that I thought about it, I hadn't taken him to my parents' house for Christmas in ten entire years! My parents had gone from eager anticipation to quiet resignation. I always thought it was just the exhaustion of marriage making us lose our patience for communication. I thought the trivial annoyances of life were eroding our warmth. I even ridiculously reflected on myself, wondering if I was truly doing something wrong to make him so angry. But it turned out, it was all a meticulously crafted performance. I had been played for a fool by the exact same cheap trick for ten consecutive years! But I couldn't figure it out. Why was he so fiercely resistant to visiting my family? It was as if... there was something there that terrified him. With that thought, I created a burner account and replied to his comment: [Bro, I don't get it. It's just going to the in-laws for Christmas. Is it really worth fighting tooth and nail over? You've been married ten years and you purposely do this every single year? That's insane! What, does your father-in-law's house have some dark secret that you absolutely can't be around?] 5. Shortly after I sent the message, I heard the sound of the PlayStation in the next room pause. Immediately after, I received his reply. [Who the hell are you? Asking so many questions, is it any of your business? Do I need to explain myself to you? Heh, there’s no deep, dark reason. I just don't want to go, so I don't go!] Ryan replied quickly, and his tone was aggressive. I stared at the text, the knot of suspicion in my chest growing larger. No, this was too weird. Knowing Ryan, he loved to put on a show for an audience. Especially when browsing the internet, he loved to brag and show off. But right now, his slightly rushed reply and defensive tone screamed of a guilty conscience. I refused to give up and pushed further: [Ah, don't get mad, man! I'm just genuinely super curious! Seeing how experienced you are, you must be a master at the game. Care to give a rookie some pointers? The fact that your wife has put up with you for ten years means you have her completely under your thumb. It's enviable!] Swallowing my disgust, I hit send. Flattered by the praise, Ryan got swept up in his own ego again: [Damn right! Let me tell you, when dealing with women, you have to be firm. If you show weakness, they'll walk all over you!] I gritted my teeth and kept feeding his ego: [You're so right, bro! But I still don't get it. Going to the in-laws is just a holiday visit, why treat it like you're going to war? Let me guess... is your father-in-law's house in some rundown trailer park? Is the house falling apart, dirt roads, smells like farm animals, and you just find it gross?] [Stop talking out of your ass!] Ryan replied instantly. [What kind of person do you think I am? To tell you the truth, my in-laws are loaded! They're way richer than my family! They live in a massive estate by the lake, have three or four cars, and the cheapest one is a Mercedes E-Class!] My heart skipped a beat. What he said was a fact. My parents had built a business from scratch years ago, which my older brother, Liam, had now taken over. While we weren't billionaires, my family was definitely wealthy. My parents always had the idea of returning to their roots, so once they made their money, they built a massive custom estate in the affluent suburb they grew up in. Now that they were semi-retired, they spent their days enjoying life at the estate. Ryan, on the other hand, lost his father young. His mother was a struggling, uneducated woman who worked grueling manual labor jobs just to put him through the State College. After graduating, he took up the respectable, stable job of a high school chemistry teacher. Logically, given my family's background, it wouldn't have been hard for me to find a partner of equal status. But back then, Ryan pursued me relentlessly. He was articulate, well-mannered, and incredibly handsome. Being a bit shallow, I couldn't resist the temptation and agreed to date him. My parents always respected my choices, and they had a deep respect for the teaching profession, so they didn't object. We got married smoothly. I don't know if I was overthinking it, but the way Ryan replied made me feel like he harbored a deep, greedy covetousness toward my family's wealth. I shook my head and replied: [That's even weirder then. If they're loaded, going there is basically a luxury vacation, right? Great food, drinks, getting waited on—why wouldn't you want to go?] [You don't know shit! Do you think I like hiding every year? I don't want to go because there is something I absolutely cannot let my wife find out. Otherwise, why would I go to all this trouble? Whatever, talking to you is a waste of time. I'm dropping into Warzone. Stop replying, you're messing up my focus.]
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