For My Birthday, My Husband Gave Me a Scale – A Year Later, I Got the Perfect Payback

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

My hubby gave me a gorgeously wrapped present and a smug smile on my 35th birthday. It contained a gift that ignited a fire within me and broke my confidence. When I gave him a surprise of my own a year later, he begged for forgiveness.

There was a lot of chatter and laughter in the home. A “Happy Birthday” banner spanned the living room, and balloons in gentle pastel colors drifted close to the ceiling. On each table were plates of cake pieces and nibbles.

My children’s faces were covered with frosting as they rushed around laughing. With glasses clinking in joy, friends and relatives crowded the room.

“All right, all right! Everyone, please be quiet. Greg, my husband, raised his phone and called out. He smiled and began to record. “The birthday girl is about to open her gift!”

With my heart racing, I gave a frightened smile. This had to be something spectacular because Greg was not often one for surprises.

He gave me a glittering paper-wrapped box. He nodded and added, “Go on, babe,” encouragingly.

“What is it?” Carefully clutching the box, I asked. There was some weight to it, but not much.

“Open it and find out!” Greg continued to record.

A sleek black box was revealed as I tore at the paper. My smile froze as I opened it and peered inside. I was staring up at a digital bathroom scale.

“Wow,” I murmured while suppressing a giggle. “A weighing scale?”

“Yes!” Greg roared with laughter. “Baby, stop making ‘big-boned’ excuses. Only numbers!”

With the exception of a few apprehensive giggles, the room fell silent. My cheeks were burning. I looked around at the visitors, but none of them made eye contact. While nursing and taking care of the house, I did gain a lot of weight during the pregnancy of our third child and had no time to drop it.

“Thanks,” I murmured, clearing my throat of the lump. “This is… thoughtful.”

Greg gave a hand clap. He continued, “I knew you’d love it!” without acknowledging my uneasiness.

After the visitors had gone that evening, I laid in bed and gazed up at the ceiling. My husband was sleeping next to me, unaware of the silent tears streaming down my cheeks.

I remembered how everyone had stared at me and how he had laughed. The humiliation was intolerable.

Anger was the next emotion to surface.

I exclaimed out loud, “This isn’t how it ends,” as I wiped away my tears. “I’ll demonstrate to him. He will regret doing this.

I put my old sneakers on the next morning. My self-talk was, “Just a walk,” “A mile. You’re capable of handling that.

When I went outside, the air was clear. With each stride, my feet rebelled and my muscles hurt from inactivity. I noticed my reflection in a store window as I walked slowly down the sidewalk. My heart fell.

I thought, “This is pointless,” and slowed down. “What difference can one walk make?”

But then I recalled those nasty comments and Greg’s laugh. I balled my hands into fists. “One walk is a start,” I firmly reminded myself. “Just keep going.”

I was tired and sweating when I got home, but a small feeling of pride cheered me up. I repeated it the following day. and the following day.

I started drinking green tea instead of my sweet morning coffee. It tasted like heated grass at first, but I persisted. I snacked on apple slices rather than chips. It wasn’t simple. I was tempted to give up, but the kids’ goodies beckoned from the pantry.

I said, “No,” one evening as I gazed at the chocolate bar Greg had placed on the counter. I no longer want to be this person.” Instead, I reached for a handful of almonds.

I was walking two kilometers every day after two months. My breathing stopped coming in harsh gasps, and I accelerated my pace. I had dropped seven pounds, according to my scale. It was something, but not much.

I chose to give yoga a try. Ten minutes into a YouTube video that promised “gentle stretches for beginners,” I was drenched in perspiration and swore at the instructor’s composed tone. Nevertheless, I persisted, giggling at myself when I fell during tree pose.

With a giggle, my youngest said, “Mom, you look funny!” and pointed to me.

With a smile, I answered, “Thanks, sweetheart,” “I feel funny, too.”

My physique became stronger as the weeks went by. My clothes fit better, I noticed. I was stopped at the grocery store by an acquaintance I hadn’t seen in months.

“Wow, you look amazing!” Her eyes widened as she spoke. “What’s your secret?”

I said, “Just taking care of myself,” with a gleam of pride.

I was prepared for the following phase by the time my youngest child began attending daycare. I signed up for a personal trainer and joined a gym. It was a harsh first session. Among the svelte, toned women effortlessly lifting weights, I felt uncomfortable. However, I was encouraged by my trainer, Emma, a nice woman.

Her words, “Everyone starts somewhere,” “You’re here, and that’s what matters.”

After six months, there was no denying my change. The scale indicated that I had shed thirty pounds, but my feelings were the true triumph. I wouldn’t be out of breath while chasing my children around. Previously weak and squishy, my arms were now toned and powerful.

I was shopping for new clothes one afternoon when I noticed myself in the mirror. I grinned at my reflection for the first time in years. “You did this,” I said in a low voice. “You’re incredible.”

People started praising me. “You have such a glow about you!” remarked a barista at my favorite café. I became really confident.

I made the decision to pursue it further at that point. I signed up for a course to become a certified fitness trainer. I was resolute despite the challenges of balancing parenthood, exercise, and classes. I wanted to give other women the same sense of empowerment that I had.

I celebrated with my children on the day I passed my last exam. “Mom’s a trainer now!” As I pulled them into an embrace, I declared.

My oldest remarked, “You’re the strongest mom ever,” and she grinned up at me.

“No,” I replied with a smile. “I’m just the happiest.”

I reflected on the beginning as I hung my award on the wall. Even though the scale Greg had given me was still in the bathroom, it had lost its ability to control me. It wasn’t a gauge of my value; it was merely a tool.

I had grown stronger, but my trip was far from complete.

At first, Greg didn’t notice me. He arrived home late for months, hardly looking at me as he took his customary place on the couch. However, something changed after I started wearing clothes that accentuated my toned body and shed about forty pounds.

He looked up from his phone one evening as I was serving supper. He said, “You’re really looking great these days, babe,” with a cunning smile on his face.

“Thanks,” I said abruptly, avoiding eye contact.

He was full of compliments throughout the next two weeks. He said, “I always knew you had it in you,” as he watched me make a smoothie one morning. “Guess my little push worked, huh?”

His remarks were momentarily muffled by the hum of the blender as I froze. A “push”? His inconsiderate, degrading scale was not a push. It was an affront to suffering and humiliation. While I sipped my drink and maintained a neutral expression, I was simmering inside.

Greg soon started asking me to supper. “Let’s reconnect,” he proposed. He boasted to his pals about my metamorphosis, claiming, “She couldn’t have done it without me.” His remarks made me sick to my stomach.

I understood that control was the reason for his immediate attentiveness. I was his prize, his achievement, in his eyes. However, I wasn’t a trophy for anyone. No more.

Greg’s birthday was coming up, and I knew exactly what I was going to get him. The package he gave me a year ago was the same size as the one I purchased. The same glittering wrapping paper was even utilized by me.

Only a few friends and family members attended his birthday celebration, which was a tiny get-together at home. I grinned pleasantly and placed the wrapped gift on the table. “This is your present, Greg. I’m hoping you enjoy it.

As he ripped into the wrapping paper, his expression brightened. His smile disappeared when he opened the lid and saw the clean pile of divorce papers.

His hands shaking, he muttered, “What…what is this?”

Calmly, “Figures, babe,” I said. “No more ‘married excuses.’ I filed for divorce.”

There was silence in the room. Greg’s face went from pale to flaming red. He knocked his chair back and stood up. “Are you kidding me? This is a joke.

“No joke,” I said, taking a proud stance. “Greg, you made me feel insignificant. I had confidence in myself, but you didn’t. And I’m finished now.”

His voice was beseeching as he fell to his knees. “Please refrain from doing this! I had no intention of hurting you. Everything was misunderstood. I’m the reason you’re so great now.

With a calm voice, I shook my head. “No, Greg. I’m to blame. I’m more resilient than you ever realized.”

With a lighter heart than I had felt in years, I picked up my gym bag. I strolled out the door and into the cool evening air, past the visitors’ astonished expressions.

I moved into my new apartment that week, which was bright and cozy.

I felt free for the first time in years. And of all the gifts, that was the best.