For My Birthday, My Husband Gave Me a Scale – A Year Later, I Gave Him the Ultimate Revenge Gift

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For My Birthday, My Husband Gave Me a Scale – A Year Later, I Gave Him the Ultimate Revenge Gift


For my 35th birthday, my husband gave me a wrapped box with a smug smile. The gift inside crushed my self-esteem but sparked my determination. Twelve months later, I presented him with my own surprise that had him pleading for my forgiveness.


The home filled with noise and joy. Light-colored balloons drifted near the top of the room, while a birthday message stretched across the wall. Food and dessert covered every surface.


My children darted about, laughing with faces covered in cake frosting. The room contained many friends and relatives celebrating together.


"Everyone be quiet!" my husband, Greg, shouted while raising his phone. He smiled as he began recording. "She's going to open her present now!"


I gave a nervous smile with my heart racing. Greg rarely planned surprises, so this seemed important.


He passed me a gift in sparkly wrapping. "Open it, babe," he said with an encouraging look.


"What did you get me?" I asked, holding the package carefully. It had some weight but wasn't heavy.


"You'll see when you open it!" Greg replied, still recording.


I tore the paper off to find a black box. Opening it, my smile stiffened as I saw a digital bathroom scale inside.


"Oh," I said with a forced laugh. "A scale?"


"Yes!" Greg said with loud laughter. "No more excuses about being big-boned, babe. Just numbers!"


The room grew silent except for a few awkward laughs. My face turned red. I looked at our guests, who all avoided my eyes. I had gained weight during my pregnancy with our third child and couldn't lose it while nursing and running our home.


"Thank you," I said, fighting back tears. "How... thoughtful."


Greg clapped happily. "I knew you'd like it!" he said, missing my hurt feelings.


After everyone left, I lay in bed watching the ceiling. Tears fell silently while my husband slept beside me, unaware.


I remembered his laughter and everyone's stares. The embarrassment felt overwhelming.


Then anger replaced my sadness.


"This story isn't over," I whispered, drying my tears. "I'll prove something to him. He'll be sorry."


The next day, I put on my old shoes. "Just a simple walk," I told myself. "One mile. I can do that."


Fresh air met me outside. My body hurt from lack of exercise, and each step hurt my feet. Walking along the path, I caught my reflection in a shop window. I felt discouraged.


"This won't help," I thought, slowing down. "How can one walk matter?"


Then I recalled Greg's cruel laughter and words. I clenched my fists. "One walk is a beginning," I told myself firmly. "I must continue."


I returned home damp and tired, but a small feeling of achievement warmed me inside. I repeated the walk the following day. Then I walked again the next day.


I started replacing my sweet morning coffee with green tea. Initially, it tasted awful, but I continued drinking it. I ate apple pieces instead of potato chips. This change was difficult. My children's treats tempted me from the cabinet, and I often wanted to give up.


Once, while looking at the chocolate bar Greg had left out, I said quietly, "No. I want to become different now." I chose a small portion of almonds instead.


After two months, I walked two miles daily. I moved faster, and I could breathe more easily. My weight had decreased by seven pounds. The amount seemed small, but I felt proud.


I attempted yoga next. An online video offered "easy stretches for beginners," but I sweated heavily and complained about the instructor's relaxed voice after just 10 minutes. Nevertheless, I continued practicing and laughed when I fell during certain poses.


"Mom, you look silly!" my youngest child said with laughter.


"Yes, I know," I answered with a smile. "I feel silly too."


My body strengthened as time passed. I noticed my clothes fit more comfortably. A friend spotted me while shopping and commented on my appearance.


"You look fantastic!" she exclaimed with surprise. "How did you do it?"


"I simply focus on self-care now," I answered with pride.


When my youngest child began daycare, I advanced to my next goal. I enrolled in a fitness center and hired a personal trainer. The first training session exhausted me. I felt uncomfortable among the fit women who lifted weights effortlessly. However, my trainer Emma supported me.


"Everyone begins as a novice," she said. "Your presence here matters most."


My transformation became obvious after six months. I had lost 30 pounds, but my improved feelings mattered more than the number. I could play actively with my children without breathing problems. My arms had changed from soft to firm and strong.


While shopping for new outfits one day, I viewed myself in a mirror. For the first time in years, I smiled at my image. 

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