I never cared for romance. It always seemed like a fantasy, something that belonged in movies, not real life. But then the gifts started arriving—flowers, chocolates, even books I had wanted. No name, no clues. Just a secret admirer who knew too much. Someone was watching. But who? And why?
To be honest, I was never the romantic type. It had always been that way. Ever since my teenage years, I never understood why everyone was so obsessed with romantic comedies.
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The grand gestures, the dramatic confessions, the over-the-top happy endings—it all felt staged, unrealistic.
Love didn’t work like that in real life. At least, that’s what I believed. Yet, someone decided to prove me wrong.
One day, I arrived at work, juggling my coffee and bag, only to freeze at my desk.
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A massive bouquet of flowers sat there, bright and overwhelming. A note was attached.
My heart pounded as I unfolded it, hoping for a name. But all it said was, “Your smile brightens my days.”
“Did anyone see who brought this bouquet?” I asked, holding up the note.
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Robert looked up from his computer. “No. I was the first one here. It was already on your desk when I arrived.” His usual warm smile made me trust him.
Robert was my favorite coworker. He was kind, thoughtful, and always had my back.
“Wow,” Brian said from across the room. “Someone actually noticed you exist.”
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I rolled my eyes. Brian was my least favorite coworker. Brian never missed a chance to annoy me.
Since my first day at the office, he had made it his mission to get on my nerves.
“Do you have to be like that?” Robert asked, shaking his head. “Jealous the bouquet isn’t for you?”
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Brian smirked. “Oh, look at our knight in shining armor.” He walked off before I could reply.
“Thanks,” I said to Robert.
“Always happy to help,” he said, winking.
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I smiled, pushed the flowers aside, and turned on my computer. Work had to come first.
The thing was, Robert, Brian, and I were each working on a project for the company, but only one of us would receive funding.
Winning meant recognition, respect, and career growth. Losing meant months of effort wasted. I figured that was why Brian had been even more unbearable lately.
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He thrived on competition and loved getting under my skin. This was a battle, and in battles, anything was fair game.
I couldn’t let him—or even Robert—win. I was one of the only women in the company, and I had worked hard to get here.
If my project got funded, it would prove I belonged, that I was just as good—no, better—than the men.
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But then, there were the gifts. The gifts from my secret admirer didn’t stop—they kept arriving almost daily.
At first, I didn’t mind. A bouquet one day, chocolates the next. Then, candy and books—ones I had wanted but never mentioned aloud, at least not that I remembered.
That’s when it stopped feeling sweet and started feeling… unsettling. I wasn’t the kind of person to daydream about romance.
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I didn’t swoon over mystery admirers. I analyzed, questioned, doubted. How did this person know so much about me?
Someone was watching. Someone knew my habits, my preferences. I wasn’t flattered. I was scared.
“You must be happy to have a secret admirer,” Robert said one day, leaning back in his chair.
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“Honestly, it freaks me out,” I admitted.
Robert raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. It’s sweet.”
I shook my head. “Not so sure about that.”
Brian, who had been eavesdropping, smirked. “Right. It’s probably some psycho who’s going to be waiting outside the office one day to get rid of you.”
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I grabbed a pencil and threw it at him. “Only a sick idiot like you would do that.”
Brian dodged it easily. “Touched a nerve?”
I turned back to my work, pushing away the anxious thoughts. My head was already spinning from this project.
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I just wanted to get it over with. The presentation wasn’t until February 14th. Ironic, wasn’t it?
Brian wasn’t done. He strolled over and glanced at my computer screen. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
I turned the monitor away from him. “Stop snooping. You probably just want to steal my idea.”
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“My idea is way better,” Brian said, crossing his arms.
“Sure,” I said, dripping with sarcasm.
Brian rolled his eyes and walked away.
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I sighed and reached for my paper cup, but it was empty. “I really need to buy a water bottle. I’m tired of constantly running to the cooler,” I muttered to myself.
The next morning, when I arrived at work, a sleek new water bottle sat on my desk.
A note was attached. “So you don’t have to keep running to the cooler.” I froze.
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What the…?
Someone had overheard me. Someone from this office.
“Want to grab lunch together?” Robert asked, appearing beside me.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, distracted.
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“Nice bottle,” he said, pointing at it.
“Yeah,” I murmured, picking it up.
“You don’t seem too happy about it. Didn’t you want one?” Robert asked, watching me closely.
I nodded, but my mind kept racing. Something didn’t feel right. Then, it clicked. It was Robert. Robert was my secret admirer.
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He sat next to me every day, close enough to hear my offhand comments. He knew my favorite things.
He had always been kind, always supportive. Who else could it be? It made perfect sense.
I wanted to ask him about it, to confirm my theory. But the presentation was too important.
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I couldn’t let myself get distracted now. My focus had to stay on my project.
On February 14th, we finally presented. The conference room was packed, tension filling the air.
As the discussion began, I listened carefully. Robert’s project came up first.
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Then Brian’s. Executives asked questions, debated ideas. But no one mentioned mine. Not once.
“You’ve talked a lot about Robert’s and my projects, but you haven’t said anything about Leslie’s,” Brian suddenly said, his voice steady.
“You think it’s worth discussing?” our boss, Paul, asked, barely glancing at my report.
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Ouch. That stung.
Brian sat up straighter. “I think it’s the most deserving of the three. It’s obvious Leslie’s project is the best.”
I had to stop my jaw from dropping. Brian, of all people, was defending me?
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“I don’t think so,” Robert cut in. “I still believe mine is the best, or at the very least, Brian’s. Men are better architects than women.”
I felt like I had been slapped. Robert, who I had thought was supportive, had said that?
One of the executives finally looked at my project. He flipped through the pages, nodding slowly. “Actually, I think Brian is right. Leslie’s project is the strongest.”
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A heated debate followed. People argued back and forth, numbers and strategies thrown around. I held my breath, waiting for the final decision.
Nearly an hour later, we walked out of the conference room.
I had won.
My project had been chosen. Relief and pride flooded through me. I knew I had earned it.
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“Thanks for speaking up for me,” I told Brian as we walked down the hallway.
He shrugged, hands in his pockets, then kept walking.
I shook my head and turned to Robert. My excitement was quickly fading. “You were acting weird during the presentation. Especially considering how you feel about me.”
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Robert frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I know you like me. You’re my secret admirer,” I said, crossing my arms.
Robert blinked. “What? Where did you get that idea?”
“Everything fits. Plus, you’re always nice to me,” I said.
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Robert sighed. “I’m just polite. I have a girlfriend.”
“Oh…” My stomach dropped.
“Yeah. And I still think my project should have won,” he added.
I shook my head. “Learn to accept defeat,” I said and walked away.
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If it wasn’t Robert, then who was it?
Now, my secret admirer scared me even more. What if he had some kind of listening device at my desk? How else did he know everything?
That evening, as I left the office, unease settled in my stomach. Brian’s words kept replaying in my head—that one day, my admirer would be waiting outside.
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When I stepped out and saw a figure standing by the door, my heart stopped. I panicked and screamed.
“Oh my God, Brian! You scared me!” I yelled, my pulse racing.
“Sorry,” he said, shifting on his feet.
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“What are you doing here?” I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Waiting outside the office to get rid of you,” he said, his tone unreadable.
“What…?” My confusion deepened.
Brian sighed. “Remember when we talked about your secret admirer, and I said that one day he’d be waiting for you outside?”
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I interrupted him. “Yeah, but what does that—” I froze. My mind pieced it together. “Wait… it’s you?”
Brian nodded.
Only then did I notice the large bouquet in his hands. Tulips. My favorite.
“But why all of this?” I asked, staring at the flowers.
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“I figured you needed to see a different side of me. Not just the Brian who teases you,” he said, shifting awkwardly.
“You could have just stopped acting like a jerk instead of scaring me half to death,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“Yeah… it didn’t go exactly as I planned,” Brian admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
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“So… you like me?” I asked.
Brian covered his face with his hand. “I’m not good at talking about this,” he muttered.
“I’ve noticed,” I said, smirking.
“…Yeah. I do,” he finally said, avoiding eye contact.
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I smiled.
“Well, happy Valentine’s Day,” Brian said, turning to walk away.
“Hey, that’s it?” I called after him. “No invitation to dinner?”
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Brian hesitated. “You’d actually want that?”
I walked up to him and took his arm. “Well, I do need to get to know this other Brian,” I said.
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Tell us what you think about this story and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.
If you enjoyed this story, read this one: I was living my ordinary life until one of my students gave me a Valentine. It looked familiar, and when I unfolded it, my heart stopped. It was the card I had written years ago for someone I once loved. I had to know how it ended up in his hands—even if it changed everything.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
My Parents Made Me Pay for My Dinner While Covering Everyone Else’s – Their Reason Was Ridiculous
Jennifer’s parents caught her off guard during a family dinner by unexpectedly asking her to cover the cost of her meal, while they paid for everyone else. Jennifer’s resentment brews as the sting of unfairness deepens, setting the stage for a confrontation the family won’t forget.
The night I got the text from Mom about a “special family dinner,” I nearly choked on my microwaved ramen. It had been ages since we’d all gotten together, and even longer since it felt like my parents actually wanted me there.
A woman reading a text on her phone | Source: Midjourney
I love my family, but being the middle child is like being the bologna in a sandwich where everyone’s fighting over the bread.
I stared at my phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Part of me wanted to make up some lame excuse, but then I thought about Tina and Cameron, my perfect older sister and my can-do-no-wrong little brother.
They’d be there, basking in Mom and Dad’s approval, like always. And I’d remain the perpetual afterthought if I didn’t show up.
A thoughtful woman | Source: Midjourney
“Count me in,” I typed, hitting send before I could change my mind.
Mom replied instantly. “Great! Le Petit Château, 7 p.m. next Friday. Don’t be late!”
Le Petit Château. Fancy. I whistled low, already mentally tallying up my savings. This wasn’t going to be cheap, but hey, maybe it was a sign things were changing. Maybe they actually wanted to spend time with me, Jennifer the Forgettable.
A woman smiling at her phone | Source: Midjourney
That Friday, I arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early, feeling nervous. Just as I was about to go in, Mom and Dad showed up. Mom was all smiles, while Dad wore his usual concerned expression.
Inside, we found a cozy table, and soon after, Tina and Robert joined us. Tina looked stunning, as always, making me feel like a potato by comparison. Finally, Cameron arrived, late as usual, and complaining about traffic.
Now we were all settled, Mom wasted no time in making me feel insignificant.
A table in a restaurant | Source: Pexels
“So, Jennifer,” Mom said, peering at me over her menu, “how’s work going? Still at that little marketing firm?”
I nodded, trying not to bristle at the ‘little’ part. “Yeah, it’s good. We just landed a pretty big client, actually. I’m heading up the campaign.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Mom said, her attention already drifting back to Tina, who was regaling Dad with tales of her son’s latest soccer game.
That stung, but the atmosphere improved while we ate. The food was great, and soon we were talking and laughing like we used to when I was a kid.
A woman enjoying her dinner | Source: Midjourney
I was enjoying the meal and the rare feeling of being part of the family, but then the check came.
Dad reached for it and started going over the bill, like he always did. But then he frowned, looking directly at me.
“Jennifer,” he said, his voice oddly formal, “you’ll be covering your portion tonight.”
I blinked, sure I’d heard him wrong. “What?”
“You’re an adult now,” he continued, as if explaining something to a child. “It’s time you start paying your own way.”
A mature man in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
“But…” I started, my voice small, “I thought this was a family dinner. You’re paying for everyone else.”
Dad’s frown deepened. “Your sister and brother have families to support. You’re single, so it’s only fair.”
Fair. The word echoed in my head, mocking me. I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. Without a word, I pulled out my credit card and handed it to the waiter, praying it wouldn’t get declined.
The rest of the night was a blur. As I drove home, the hurt began to curdle into something else. Something harder, angrier.
An upset woman driving | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, I woke up with a headache and a heart full of resentment. I spent the day alternating between moping on the couch and pacing my apartment like a caged animal. By evening, something inside me had shifted.
I wasn’t just going to let this go. Not this time.
An idea started to form. Crazy at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I was going to give them a taste of their own medicine.
A decisive woman | Source: Midjourney
I invited Mom and Dad over for dinner and then spent days perfecting the menu. I cleaned my apartment until it sparkled, bought fancy candles, and even splurged on a tablecloth that didn’t come from the dollar store.
The night of the dinner arrived, and I was eerily calm. I had a plan, and I was sticking to it.
The doorbell rang at 7 p.m. sharp. I took a deep breath and opened the door with a smile plastered on my face.
“Mom, Dad! Come in!”
A mature couple | Source: Pexels
Dad handed me a bottle of wine. “Place looks nice, Jennifer.”
“Thanks,” I said, ushering them to the living room. “Dinner’s almost ready. Can I get you something to drink?”
As I poured their wine, Mom settled onto the couch, her eyes roaming over my bookshelf. “So, how have you been, dear? We haven’t heard much from you since… well, since our last dinner.”
I forced a light laugh. “Oh, you know how it is. Work’s been crazy busy.”
A woman having dinner with her parents | Source: Midjourney
We made small talk for a while, the conversation stilted and full of long pauses. Finally, the oven timer beeped, saving us all.
“Dinner’s ready!” I announced, perhaps a bit too cheerfully.
I’d outdone myself with the meal: herb-crusted salmon, roasted vegetables, and a quinoa salad that had taken forever to get right. Mom and Dad made appropriate noises of appreciation as they ate.
“This is delicious, Jennifer,” Mom said, sounding genuinely impressed. “I didn’t know you could cook like this.”
A mature woman smiling | Source: Pexels
I shrugged, tamping down the flare of resentment at her surprise. “I’ve picked up a few things over the years.”
The dinner progressed smoothly, almost pleasantly. I almost forgot why I’d invited them over in the first place. Then Dad started with one of his lectures about financial responsibility, and I knew it was time.
As I cleared the plates and brought out a fancy tiramisu for dessert, I steeled myself. This was it.
“So,” I said casually, setting down the dessert plates, “I hope you enjoyed the meal.”
Plates of dessert | Source: Pexels
They both nodded, smiling. “It was wonderful, dear,” Mom said.
I smiled back, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “Great. That’ll be $47.50 each, please.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Mom’s fork clattered against her plate, and Dad’s face went through a rapid series of emotions – confusion, disbelief, and then anger.
“I’m sorry, what?” he sputtered.
I kept my voice calm, channeling Dad’s tone from that night at the restaurant. “Well, you’re both adults. It’s time you started paying your own way.”
A woman having dinner with her parents | Source: Midjourney
Mom’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “But… but this is your home. You invited us.”
“Yes,” I said, my voice hardening slightly. “Just like you invited me to Le Petit Château. And then made me pay for my meal while covering everyone else’s.”
Understanding dawned on their faces, quickly followed by shame.
“Jennifer,” Dad started, his voice gruff. “That’s not… we didn’t mean…”
“Didn’t mean what?” I interrupted, years of pent-up frustration finally boiling over.
A woman speaking to her parents over dinner | Source: Midjourney
“Didn’t mean to make me feel like I’m worth less than Tina or Cameron? Didn’t mean to constantly overlook me? Or did you just not mean to get called out on it?”
Mom reached out, trying to take my hand, but I pulled away. “Sweetie, we had no idea you felt this way.”
I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Of course you didn’t. Do you have any idea what it’s like to always be the afterthought in your own family?”
Dad shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
A pensive man | Source: Pexels
“We love you just as much as your siblings, Jennifer.”
“Do you?” I challenged. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. I’m just as successful as Tina, just as hardworking as Cameron. But somehow, I’m always the one who’s expected to ‘act like an adult’ while they get a free pass.”
The room fell silent again, but this time it was heavy with unspoken words and long-ignored feelings.
Finally, Dad cleared his throat. “We… we owe you an apology, Jennifer. A big one.”
A woman speaking to her parents over dinner | Source: Midjourney
Mom nodded, tears in her eyes. “We never meant to make you feel less valued. You’re our daughter, and we love you so much. We’ve just… we’ve done a terrible job of showing it.”
I felt my own eyes welling up, but I blinked back the tears. “I don’t want your apologies. I want you to do better. To be better. To see me.”
Dad stood up, his movements stiff. For a moment, I thought he was going to leave.
A man rubbing his chin | Source: Pexels
Instead, he walked around the table and hugged me. It was awkward and a little too tight, but it was more genuine than any interaction we’d had in years.
“We see you, Jennifer,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “And we’re so, so proud of you. We’ve been blind and stupid, and we’ve taken you for granted. But that ends now.”
Mom joined the hug, and for a minute, we just stood there, a tangle of arms and unshed tears and long-overdue honesty.
A woman hugging her parents | Source: Midjourney
When we finally broke apart, Mom wiped her eyes and gave a watery chuckle. “So, about that bill…”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Tell you what. This one’s on the house. But next time we go out? We’re splitting the check evenly. All of us.”
Dad nodded solemnly. “Deal.”
As they left that night, things weren’t magically fixed. Years of feeling overlooked and undervalued don’t disappear in one conversation. But it was a start. A crack in the wall I’d built around myself, letting in a glimmer of hope.
A hopeful woman | Source: Midjourney
Here’s another story: When Carmen’s father-in-law, Jerry, invites her and Leo out to dinner, the couple is excited to spend time with the old man. But Jerry, known for his penny-pinching ways, makes the invitation sound like a rare gesture of generosity. Instead, he hands the bill over to Leo, claiming that he lost his wallet. When the couple realizes the truth, they teach him a lesson.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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