My husband unexpectedly surprised me with a romantic dinner, but there was a terrible reason behind it

The betrayal a woman was served was too bitter a pill to swallow. She shared her story, full of twists, on Reddit, leaving many in disbelief of how cruel some individuals can be.

She starts her story by explaining that her husband, Simon, has been a man of few words. Possessing a rather cold demeanor, he never really did much to show his affection for his wife, and that is the reason she was totally surprised when she walked home one day and saw a perfectly set dinner table with delicious food and wine.

He stood there, waiting for her with a smile on his face, but what she didn’t know was that his smile held layers she had never seen before.“Why all the fuss?” she asked, letting the surprise and delight wash over her, still a part of her lingering on the edge of suspicion.

Can’t I do something nice for my wife without a reason?” he said jokingly, but it was obvious something troubled him.

The two had their meal and Simon was quiet as always, but deep down she knew there was more to this evening that seemed too good to be true. “That was one of the best meals I’ve ever had, Simon, thank you so much for doing this,” she said. However, realizing he was nervous, she caused her curiosity to peak. “Don’t mention it,” he added nervously.

As they were finishing their glasses of wine, she playfully suggested that he seemed to be buttering her up for something and asked if anything was going on. To her surprise, he hesitated before replying, gazing at the floor and avoiding her eyes.

It was then that a knot tightened in her stomach, a sinking feeling signaling that something was terribly wrong. “Seriously, what’s going on? You’re acting weird,” she insisted, her laughter giving way to worry.

“I… I’ve made a mistake,” Simon uttered quietly. “A mistake?” she asked.

What he had to say next crushed her world. With a shaking voice, Simon admitted he was seeing someone, and that someone was now pregnant with twins. He, however, insisted he didn’t plan any of it to take place.

As she struggled to gasp for air, he gave her yet another blow. The other woman was someone she knew.
“And I can’t hide who she is,” he continued cryptically, his voice a tremor of regret and fear. Then he whipped his phone out before making a call and said, “Come in.”

The door cracked open after a couple of minutes. It was her sister. Her husband and her sister!? She couldn’t believe her eyes. The two people she trusted the most stabbed her in the back.

“YOU???” she gasped after gathering her senses. “How could you both do this to me?”

Her husband and her sister both claimed they didn’t mean any of that to happen, yet there they were, expecting two children together.

The woman felt helpless. Her life turned upside down as she struggled to process her husband’s and sister’s betrayal.

Part of her hoped it was all just a bad dream. Her trust, once given freely, was ruined.

However, no matter how hard it was, she knew her worth. This wasn’t something she was willing to define who she was. She gathered all her strength and decided to move on, leaving those who hurt her behind.

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Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son\’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I\’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high school janitor taught me to keep my emotions locked down tight. But when that first Harley rumbled into the cemetery parking lot, followed by another, then another, until the whole place vibrated with thunder—that\’s when I finally broke. My fourteen-year-old boy, Mikey, had hanged himself in our garage. The note he left mentioned four classmates by name. \”I can\’t take it anymore, Dad,\” he\’d written. \”They won\’t stop. Every day they say I should kill myself. Now they\’ll be happy.\” The police called it \”unfortunate but not criminal.\” The school principal offered \”thoughts and prayers\” then suggested we have the funeral during school hours to \”avoid potential incidents.\” I\’d never felt so powerless. Couldn\’t protect my boy while he was alive. Couldn\’t get justice after he was gone. Then Sam showed up at our door. Six-foot-three, leather vest, gray beard down to his chest. I recognized him—he pumped gas at the station where Mikey and I would stop for slushies after his therapy appointments. \”Heard about your boy,\” he said, standing awkward on our porch. \”My nephew did the same thing three years back. Different school, same reason.\” I didn\’t know what to say, so I just nodded. \”Thing is,\” Sam continued, looking past me like the words hurt to say, \”nobody stood up for my nephew. Not at the end, not after. Nobody made those kids face what they did.\” He handed me a folded paper with a phone number. \”You call if you want us there. No trouble, just… presence.\” I didn\’t call. Not at first. But the night before the funeral, I found Mikey\’s journal. Pages of torment. Screenshots of text messages telling my gentle, struggling son to \”do everyone a favor and end it.\” My hands shook as I dialed the number. \”How many people you expecting at this funeral?\” Sam asked after I explained. \”Maybe thirty. Family, some teachers. None of his classmates.\” \”The ones who bullied him—they coming?\” \”Principal said they\’re planning to, with their parents. To \’show support.\’\” The words tasted like acid. Sam was quiet for a moment. \”We\’ll be there at nine. You won\’t have to worry about a thing.\” I didn\’t understand what he meant until I saw them the next morning—a sea of leather vests, weathered faces, and solemn eyes. The Hell\’s Angels patches visible as they formed two lines leading to the small chapel, creating a corridor of protection. The funeral director approached me, panic in his eyes. \”Sir, there are… numerous motorcycle enthusiasts arriving. Should I call the police?\” \”They\’re invited guests,\” I said. When the four boys arrived with their parents, confused expressions turned to fear as they saw the bikers. Sam stepped forward and…. Check out the first comment to read the full story

Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high…