They Laughed While I Ate Alone… But I Had the Last Word (2 of 3)

“Oh, no—she’ll need her own table,” Richard said firmly, pointing at a small table off to the side.

I froze. Surely, he was joking. “Excuse me?” I asked, half-laughing.

His wife, Susan, didn’t look up from her menu. “It’s just how we do things,” she said, dismissive and cool.

My eyes darted to Mark. My partner. The man who was supposed to have my back. He only shrugged and murmured, “It’s just their way.”

So I sat. Alone. While the family laughed, clinked glasses, and shared plates of food, I pushed a lonely fork through my dinner in silence.

I should have walked out right then. But love makes fools of us, and I still clung to hope that this was some odd family quirk, a one-time mistake.

It wasn’t.

The next morning, I woke early, excited to start fresh. I walked to breakfast expecting to meet them, but the dining room was empty. Thirty minutes later, I finally spotted them across the courtyard—already halfway through their meal, laughing without me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked when I reached their table.

Richard didn’t even glance up. “We figured you’d find us,” he said flatly.

Susan sipped her coffee. “It’s just how we do things.”