Eight hundred dollars and up. That’s what Tom’s "guys’ night" bill totaled, and he thought his wife, Lora, would cover it.
Ten years. That’s how long I’ve been carrying trays at one of the nicest restaurants in town. You see all kinds of people here—couples on first dates beaming, families marking birthdays with grubby kids, and sometimes business lunches that seem more like a quiz than a meal. But nothing got me ready for what I saw that night...
There was this couple, Tom and Lora, who came often. Cute as could be, always sharing the bill with a grin. They’d visit weekly, pick the same yummy chocolate cake for dessert, and peek at each other like young kids.
Recently, though, things changed. The grins faded, replaced by a quiet tension that lingered between them. For months, Lora was always left with the bill at the night’s end.
Tom, meanwhile, seemed to be on a buying binge. Every time he came, he’d order the fanciest meats and bottles of wine you could think of.
And who always paid? Lora, looking more tired and pale, would quietly swipe her card.
That wet night, things hit a new level of silly. Tom marched in with eight noisy, lively friends, declaring like a boss that it was his gift.
They ordered enough burgers and steaks to feed a bunch, and while they had a blast, a tight feeling grew in my chest when I didn’t see Lora come with them.
Just as I was about to check if she was arriving, she showed up, looking like she’d run a race. Her eyes were swollen, and her steps shook a bit as she neared the group.
Tom hardly glanced when she sat, too busy telling me to top off their drinks.
As the night went on, I cleared empty plates, my ears listening to their table. That’s when I heard a bit of their talk that shocked me.
"I won’t pay this time," Lora told Tom, her voice wobbly like I’d never heard. "Tom, I mean it."
He just giggled. "Sure, honey. Don’t fret your sweet head. I’ll fix it all."
Easy for him to say, I thought, angry inside.
But when the bill came, a big amount over eight hundred dollars, Tom pushed it right into Lora’s hands.
The way her face went white, tears building in her eyes as Tom kept handing that bill to her, felt like a mean trick.
Lora ran to the bathroom, saying she’d be back. I rushed after her, and just as I got to the door, a quiet yell came from inside.
"Now I make 25% more than him and have to pay for all his friends?! This is CRAZY!" Lora cried into the phone. "How can he make me pay every time? It’s so wrong!"
This wasn’t just about cash; it was about power. And I wouldn’t let him push her around.
Her crying call stayed in my head. Taking a deep breath to settle my nerves, I went to Lora as she came out, drying her eyes with a wrinkled napkin.
"Lora," I said, "are you okay? Can I do anything?"
Her eyes teared up again. "Tom keeps saying I pay for everything," she sobbed. "I can’t keep doing this!"
That was the proof of what I’d guessed. My heart felt for her. This wasn’t fair.
But before I could say more, an idea popped in my mind—a chancy one, but maybe the only way to help her.
My brain spun. Here I was, a waitress barely making enough to get by in this pricey town, about to gamble my job to help a customer.
But seeing the scared look in Lora’s eyes, how Tom treated her like a money machine, I knew what I had to do.
"Listen," I whispered, "here’s what we’ll do.... (continue reading in the 1st comment)
