I never thought I’d find myself at forty, sitting across a restaurant table, wondering if I really knew the man I’d married. But last night, that’s exactly where I was — staring at Henry, my husband, as if he were a stranger.

To rewind a bit: I’m a pediatrician, constantly busy, so marriage hadn’t been a priority. But when I met Henry, a calm, steady structural engineer, we clicked. We were both professionals with little time for grand gestures, but our simple life felt right.

So when Henry suggested celebrating my 40th at a fancy restaurant, I was excited. It felt like a big, thoughtful step. The evening started beautifully — candles, soft jazz, my parents delighted by the surprise.

“Henry,” my mom said, “This is such a thoughtful surprise. You went all out.”

Henry smiled, raising his glass. “Nora deserves it. Tonight’s special.”

But as the evening went on, Henry grew quieter, distracted. Then, when the bill came, he casually said, “It’s your birthday, so I thought you’d want to pay. I didn’t bring my wallet.”

I froze. At first, I thought he was joking, but his smile never faltered. “Come on, Nora. You’re always saying you’re ‘independent.’ Thought you’d want to show it.”

My parents stared, silent. My dad, visibly upset, said, “You’re really going to let Nora pay for this?”

Henry shrugged, sipping his wine. “It’s just a birthday dinner. She can handle it.”

I was mortified. I paid the $1,100 bill, my heart pounding with embarrassment. At home, I confronted him.

“Why would you do that, Henry?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“You’re overreacting,” he said, barely looking up from his phone. “We share finances.”

I stared at him, realizing for the first time that maybe I didn’t know him at all. “I thought I knew you,” I whispered. “But now… I’m not so sure.”