I Rushed Out of My Husband’s Birthday Celebration after What He Did

The restaurant buzzed with the clink of glasses and the hum of conversation, a warm glow cast by the chandeliers overhead. It was Tom’s 40th birthday, a milestone we’d been planning for weeks. I’d spent days organizing this dinner, reserving a private room at his favorite Italian place, inviting his closest friends, and even ordering a custom cake with his name in elegant script. Everything was perfect—or so I thought.

Tom and I had been married for 12 years. We’d weathered our share of storms: the early years of scraping by, the loss of his mother, my miscarriage three years ago. Through it all, we’d clung to each other, our love a steady anchor. Or at least, that’s what I believed until that night.

The evening started beautifully. Our friends arrived, their laughter filling the room as they swapped stories about Tom’s college days and his infamous karaoke performances. I sat beside him, my hand resting on his, feeling proud of the life we’d built. He looked handsome in his navy blazer, his smile wide as he toasted to “another trip around the sun.” I leaned in, whispering, “Happy birthday, love,” and he kissed my cheek, his eyes crinkling with warmth.

The appetizers arrived—bruschetta and calamari, Tom’s favorites. The conversation flowed as easily as the wine. I glanced around, savoring the moment. This was what I’d wanted: a night where Tom felt celebrated, surrounded by people who loved him. I’d even planned a surprise for later—a slideshow of photos from his life, set to his favorite song. I couldn’t wait to see his face when it played.

But then, things shifted. It was subtle at first. Tom’s phone buzzed on the table, and he glanced at it, his smile faltering for a split second. I didn’t think much of it—work emails, probably. He was a project manager, always juggling deadlines. But the buzzing continued, and each time, he’d pick up the phone, type quickly, and set it down, his expression tightening.

“Everything okay?” I asked, keeping my tone light.

“Yeah, just work,” he said, not meeting my eyes. He took a long sip of his wine.

I brushed it off. Work stress was nothing new. But as the main course arrived—veal parmesan for him, gnocchi for me—I noticed he was barely eating. His fork hovered over his plate, and he kept glancing at his phone, now face-down beside him. Our friend Mark was in the middle of a story about their fishing trip last summer when Tom’s phone lit up again. This time, he grabbed it and stood abruptly.

“Be right back,” he muttered, heading toward the restaurant’s entrance.

I frowned, a knot forming in my stomach. Across the table, our friend Sarah raised an eyebrow. “He okay?” she mouthed. I shrugged, forcing a smile. But the knot tightened. Tom