TV Show II

My ex girlfriend of 4 years from college tried to force her way back into my life recently. My blunt reaction to her apology has my buddies acting like I committed a crime.

Back in our university days, I was just an awkward kid trying to figure out my place in the world. I didn't have much money or confidence, but I considered myself the luckiest guy alive to have her. I loved her with everything I had and made her the priority in my life.

As a broke student, I couldn't afford luxurious dates, but I constantly stretched my tiny budget for her. I gladly handed over my last few dollars on countless occasions just to keep a smile on her face. I genuinely believed we'd built a strong foundation that would last a lifetime.

I routinely ignored my own needs and put her desires ahead of my well-being. I'd assumed my relentless devotion would guarantee a happy future together. I pictured us eventually settling down and starting a family of our own one day.

Then the harsh truth surfaced, and it shattered my naive illusions. I discovered she'd cheated on me and slept with an old buddy of mine. That double betrayal cut deep, destroying the trust I'd placed in both of them.

The resulting breakup threw me into a painful downward spiral for months. It messed me up so badly that I couldn't see myself ever dating again. I decided to hit pause on romance and figure out how to stand on my own two feet.

I'd spent the next 6 years pouring my energy into my personal growth. I threw myself into a demanding tech career, grinding through long hours to secure a stable future. I invested my weekends into new hobbies and learning how to enjoy my own company.

The peace I built was hard-earned and took a lot of effort to maintain. Now, as a 32-year-old man, I finally feel secure and content with my life. I still want a family of my own, but I'm no longer desperate to rush into anything.

I assumed that painful chapter of my past was permanently sealed away. I hadn't heard from her in 8 years and didn't want to open old wounds. But fate decided to throw an unexpected wrench into my peaceful routine.

We crossed paths by pure chance, and she immediately tried to close the distance between us. She started pushing for us to catch up and talk about where things went wrong. She put on a remorseful expression and went on about how much she regretted her actions.

She spoke as if a simple apology could erase the lasting damage she'd caused. Hearing her talk about her deep regrets after betraying me with a friend felt like a twisted joke. A strong wave of disbelief bubbled up in my chest.

I looked her in the eyes and let out a loud, sarcastic laugh. I told her to f**k off and stated I wasn't interested in catching up. I checked my watch and started walking toward my car to leave.

My husband bought me zero gifts for Christmas, blaming his post office hours for the empty spot under the tree. He works seven days a week. His shifts stretch from ten to fourteen hours.

This schedule has been his routine since Thanksgiving. I know he is exhausted. I don't discount his hard work.

But I'm an elementary school teacher currently doing my job remotely. We have two small children, aged four and two. They've each been exposed to Covid twice.

That meant they had to quarantine at home with me. I taught a class of young students through a screen. I kept two toddlers quiet in the background.

I couldn't clock out. My days bled into my nights. We've both been stretched thin.

It hasn't been a walk in the park for either of us. I managed to keep the house running. I tended to our kids' needs every single day.

I did my full-time job. I also put an entire Christmas together by myself. I didn't have a single day off either.

I stayed up late every night this week. I wrapped presents, organized the stockings, and prepped the holiday meals. I wanted our family to have a normal, happy morning.

I assumed he'd handled my gift on his own. I bought his gifts online weeks ago. I handled the shopping for our extended family.

I wrapped everything and placed it under the tree. I just assumed there was a package hidden somewhere for me. I wanted to feel appreciated.

I wanted to feel seen after a brutal month. I found out tonight that he didn't get me anything. He didn't even bring home a cheap card.

I asked him where my present was. I wasn't expecting diamonds. I just wanted something to unwrap with the kids.

I wanted to know he thought of me during his busy days. He shrugged and gave me his excuse. He said he didn't have time to go anywhere.

He pointed out he hasn't had a single day off. He acted like I was being unreasonable for asking. He used his work schedule as a shield against my disappointment.

He didn't acknowledge my workload. He didn't see that I was drowning too. He just expected me to be fine with being forgotten.

I didn't ask for a grand gesture. I didn't ask him to spend hours wandering a mall. I just wanted a sliver of effort.

He couldn't even manage that. He let the holiday creep up without doing a single thing. He left me hanging on the one day I needed a boost.

I realized he hadn't given my holiday a single thought. I set the roll of tape down on the coffee table. I stared at him sitting on the couch.

My friend tried to sabotage my upcoming wedding by confessing her six-year secret love for me at my bachelor party. Kelly and I have known each other since we were twenty-one. We met in college, navigated our early twenties together, and she'd always been a prominent fixture in my main social circle.

When it came time to plan my bachelor party, it wasn't a traditional, rowdy guys-only event. I wanted all my closest people there, so several of my friends attended, bringing both men and women together to celebrate this huge milestone in my life.

We booked a great venue for the night, the music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and everyone seemed to be in high spirits. As the evening progressed, I noticed Kelly hitting the bar pretty hard. I didn't think much of it initially, assuming she was just letting loose and celebrating like the rest of us.

But as the hours ticked by, her mood noticeably shifted. She became strangely intense, lingering around me and isolating herself from the larger group conversations. Eventually, she managed to pull me aside into a quieter hallway, away from the noise.

I genuinely thought she just wanted to offer a sentimental toast or share a nostalgic memory from our college days. Instead, she dropped a huge, relationship-altering bomb on me. She looked me dead in the eye, her words slurring slightly, and confessed that she isn't happy I'm getting married.

She flat-out stated that my future wife isn't a good match for me, boldly criticizing the woman I plan to spend the rest of my life with. Before I could even process the blatant disrespect of that insult, she escalated the situation even further. She revealed she's been harboring deep romantic feelings for me since we first met six years ago.

She even had the audacity to complain, whining about how much it hurt her feelings that I'd never noticed her hidden crush or made a move on her during all that time. I stood there in the dimly lit hallway, thoroughly stunned by her timing and entitlement.

Because she was visibly intoxicated, I decided the best course of action was not to engage in a serious argument. I purposefully ignored the heavy weight of her words. I just muttered a dismissive "fine, okay, whatever," turned on my heel, and walked straight back to my fiancée's brother and my other friends.

I figured it was just the alcohol amplifying some lingering jealousy. I resolved to wait until she sobered up to see if she'd ever bring it up again, hoping she'd wake up mortified and pretend it never happened. Two full days passed.

I was back to stressing over catering numbers and seating charts, assuming the bizarre incident was permanently buried. Then, my phone buzzed on the table. It was a text from Kelly, casually asking if I'd spent time thinking about what she said at the party.

I wanted to give her a graceful exit, so I asked her to elaborate, just to make sure she was actually referring to her drunken confession and not some other conversation. She replied quickly, confirming she was indeed talking about her romantic feelings.

That confirmation erased any shred of sympathy I had left for her. I didn't hold back in my response. I typed out exactly what I thought about her selfish stunt.

I told her I don't give a single damn what she thinks about me and my fiancée being a good match. I pointed out she wasn't exactly an objective judge of my relationship, considering she claims she's in love with me. I explicitly stated that I truly don't care about her feelings toward me, questioning what she realistically expected to achieve by pulling this stunt two weeks before I walk down the aisle.

She was apparently shocked by my bluntness. Her reply popped up instantly, defensively claiming I didn't need to be rude about the situation. I lost whatever tiny sliver of patience I still possessed.

I typed back my final, blistering response. I told her that of course I'll be rude when she's actively trying to ruin my wedding. I told her to come back to reality and realize she isn't starring in some romantic comedy where the guy ditches his bride at the altar.

I explained that her confession was nothing but embarrassing. Instead of taking the easy out, blaming it on the alcohol, and letting it go, she pushed the issue just to see if her selfish fantasy would actually work.

I ended the message by stating clearly that I don't care about her at all at this point. I hit send and dropped the phone onto the kitchen counter so hard the glass screen protector rattled.

My girlfriend's 71-year-old mother treats everyone around her like a walking ATM. I finally caught her in a deliberate trap in the middle of a drugstore.

I'm twenty-three and currently dating Kelly, who's twenty-five. Kelly has two wonderful mothers, Gina, who's sixty-four, and Stacy.

I generally get along great with both of them, but Stacy has a known habit of making things up. She spins tales about serious matters and trivial things alike.

Kelly's vented to me multiple times about this behavior over the past few months. The constant deception hurts Kelly's feelings and causes her unneeded stress.

Despite the frustration, Kelly's largely resigned herself to it. She figures it's just an unchangeable part of Stacy's personality at this age.

Last week, I offered to run some errands with Stacy to help out. At our first stop, she suddenly realized she didn't have her wallet.

She's in her seventies, so forgetting an item didn't seem alarming to me. I gladly paid for the couple of things she needed.

I assumed she'd just reimburse me whenever we got back to the house. Later that evening, Kelly and I were relaxing alone.

I casually recounted my day and mentioned covering Stacy's purchases. Kelly immediately stopped me and asked if her mom had made me pay for her stuff.

I nodded, and Kelly let out a heavy sigh. She explained that Stacy runs this exact routine on anyone who agrees to take her shopping.

She claims she left her purse behind, asks you to cover the bill, and promises to pay you back. The problem is, she almost never actually returns the money.

Hearing this irritated me, mostly because I don't appreciate being deceived. Up until that point, I hadn't experienced Stacy's dishonesty firsthand.

It isn't even a financial necessity for Stacy. She's got plenty of assets to her name and zero debt.

Gina handles the majority of the household bills anyway, so Stacy keeps her own cash. Yesterday, Stacy asked me to accompany her on another errand run.

She claimed she needed to pick up items that were simply too heavy for her to carry alone. I agreed to drive her, but I decided to test Kelly's warning.

Just as we were about to walk out the front door, I paused. I patted my pockets and said I needed to grab my jacket.

I then turned to Stacy and asked if she had everything she needed. I specifically listed her wallet, keys, and phone.

She looked at me and confidently said yes. I pushed a bit further, asking if she'd physically checked her purse before we stepped outside.

She assured me she'd checked and everything was there. We proceeded with the initial stops, and eventually pulled into the local drug store.

We went inside and she ended up asking me to grab her something, claiming she forgot her wallet again. I paused and stared at her, thinking back to our conversation on the porch.

I reminded her that she claimed she had everything before we left. She shrugged and said she guessed she was wrong.

I pointed out that she explicitly told me she checked her bag. She didn't flinch, insisting she had done so.

I asked her a direct question: did she lie to me about having her wallet, or did she lie about checking for it? She deflected, claiming she didn't know what I was talking about.

I asked if she truly didn't have it with her or if she was lying about that too. She got defensive and asked why I was giving her an attitude.

I told her I didn't have an attitude, but I wouldn't deal with her lying to me. I told her straight up that lying has consequences.

I dropped her unpurchased items onto the nearest display shelf. Then I turned my back on her and started walking toward the exit.

AITA for expecting basic recognition for a major personal milestone, even though my chosen school lacks traditional academic prestige?

I (21F) finally finished my community college program yesterday, and walking across that stage felt like a monumental triumph after years of setbacks. It didn't happen overnight, as I've struggled heavily with my severe ADHD and ongoing mental health issues throughout my entire academic journey.

Managing deadlines, staying focused during lectures, and handling the pressure of exams took a heavy toll on my well-being. There were countless times I couldn't see the finish line, so I'm deeply proud of myself for pushing through those relentless hurdles.

It took me a little longer than a standard two-year timeline to complete my required credits, but I earned my degree through sheer persistence and late-night studying. That's what matters to me the most right now, regardless of how long it took to reach this milestone. I also have three cousins (22F twins and another 22F cousin) who happened to graduate this same exact weekend.

They went to bigger, traditional four-year universities out of state, experiencing the typical college life complete with dorms and sprawling campuses. I woke up this morning to a huge flood of Facebook posts from our aunts, uncles, and grandparents celebrating their milestones. They're showering the three of them with endless congratulations, sharing graduation photos, and typing out long paragraphs praising their dedication.

Of course, I'm genuinely happy for their achievements, knowing they put in their own share of stressful study sessions to earn their bachelor's degrees. I didn't want to detract from their moment in the spotlight, so I sent my own private congratulatory texts to each of them individually. But as I kept scrolling through my timeline, my own feed stayed empty, and I didn't get a single public shoutout from anyone in our family network.

My relatives all know I was finishing up my final classes this week, as I had mentioned it during recent family gatherings. They've just never viewed community college in the best light, often treating it like a lesser path for people who couldn't handle rigorous academics. I suspect that underlying bias is exactly why they aren't giving me any acknowledgment for my own commencement.

It's safe to say the deafening silence hurt a bit more than I anticipated, casting an unexpected shadow over my personal victory. I felt like my hard work wasn't worth celebrating in their eyes, simply because my chosen institution lacked the prestige of a four-year university. The contrast between their glowing paragraphs for my cousins and the stark silence regarding my achievement was hard to swallow.

I tried explaining my frustration, hoping they would recognize how much effort it took me to cross the finish line. I wasn't asking them to throw me a parade, but merely hoping for a brief post acknowledging my effort alongside my peers. Sadly, those hopes were dashed the moment I decided to bring up the issue at home.

I couldn't hold it in any longer, so I approached my mom in the kitchen to vent about the obvious double standard playing out online. Instead of offering any comfort, she scoffed, rolled her eyes, and called me dramatic for wanting a slice of the attention. I gripped the edge of the kitchen island, my knuckles turning pale against the cold granite.

My friend's girlfriend showed up to my house three hours early in a swimsuit, and things went downhill fast. I'm starting to wonder if I handled this the right way.

Andrew (29M) is a good buddy of mine. He designs these intricate tabletop games. He put together a special one-off D&D campaign set in the 1980s.

The whole group loved the concept. We all agreed to dress up as our characters for the session. I'm a 25-year-old female, playing an elf.

I had my pointed ears and a neon 80s outfit ready to go. Andrew asked if he could host this specific campaign at my place. I've got enough room for the group, so I agreed.

Mark (31M) is a regular in our campaigns. He reached out a few days prior. He asked if his girlfriend Marcy (25F) could join us this time.

I told him that was fine. I didn't know her well, but I figured more players meant more fun. The day of the game finally arrived.

We scheduled the campaign to kick off at 7:00 PM. I had a mandatory online class that afternoon. I sat at my desk, deep into the lecture.

It was exactly 4:00 PM when I heard a loud knock. I checked the time, confused about who'd be stopping by three hours before start time. I muted my microphone and went to answer the door.

Mark stood on my front porch. I didn't see Marcy with him. I asked him where his girlfriend was.

He casually pointed toward the side of my house. He told me she went around the back. My backyard is fenced in, and I keep the side gate padlocked.

I have a dog. I need to make sure he stays safe inside the yard. A minute later, Marcy walked up to the front porch.

She wasn't wearing an 80s costume. She wore a swimsuit and carried a large tote bag. I stood in my doorway, looking between the two of them.

I explained that I was right in the middle of my online class. I told them nothing was set up yet, and they needed to come back at 7:00 PM. Marcy looked past me into the house.

She'd flat out stated she wanted to use the pool. She didn't ask; she just announced it. I told her I don't let people use my pool.

I reminded her again that I was in class. I asked them to leave and return at the correct time. Marcy wouldn't drop it.

She claimed she just wanted to swim. She promised she wouldn't be loud. She insisted she'd just use the pool and then leave.

I shook my head. I told her no, she couldn't swim. I clarified that meant not now, and not in the future.

I hate when people try to use me just to get access to my pool. It feels disrespectful. Mark chimed in to defend her.

He told me she wasn't using me for the pool. He repeated that she just wanted to swim. Marcy then added that she did have a costume for later.

She just wanted to get some pool time in first. I listened to my professor talking through my laptop speakers down the hall. My patience was wearing thin.

I stood in the doorway with my arms crossed. I watched Mark nod along with her ridiculous request, expecting me to just cave.

My husband expected me to risk the fashion business I built 16 years ago just to hand his 23-year-old daughter a job she hadn't earned. Mia has dreamed of working in this competitive industry since she was a young kid, constantly talking about the glamorous side of the fashion world. I married her dad when she was 15, so I've watched her take countless extracurricular courses to build her portfolio and try to establish a personal aesthetic.

She definitely has an eye for picking fabrics and coordinating colors, but creating original pieces from scratch just isn't her strong suit. She makes a great stylist when putting together existing items, but the hard truth is she simply isn't cut out to be a professional designer. I started my brand from the ground up with a tight budget, and growing it into a successful company took everything I had over the years.

We aren't the biggest name globally, but we hold serious weight in our region, and our reputation is built on delivering high-quality garments. My current expansion plan relies heavily on bringing in top-tier fresh talent who can push our creative boundaries forward and elevate the brand. My team and I are consistently strict about who makes the cut because we can't afford to lower our standards for anyone.

The designs are the actual products we sell to our clients, so they have to pass our official judging board before ever going into production. I choose not to be the sole decider in the hiring process because I strongly prefer hearing what my team thinks about a candidate's potential. It keeps the workplace fair and ensures we only hire people who can genuinely contribute to our upcoming collections.

Then my husband approached me with a heavy demand, expecting me to bypass our entire recruitment system and hire Mia as a designer. From the beginning, I knew her technical skills weren't up to par with our usual applicants, but I didn't want to shut her down immediately. I told him she should formally apply for the job and submit her papers for me and the team to look at.

I wanted her to go through the standard application so the judges could examine her work constructively without any familial bias clouding their judgment. I wasn't 100% sure she'd fail, but I knew the odds were stacked against her given our rigorous criteria for new hires. He seemed caught off guard that I didn't hand over an immediate yes, probably assuming my position meant an automatic free pass for his kid.

A few hours later, Mia texted me a long message thanking me for "helping her out" and acting like the job was already hers. I still don't know if my husband lied to her about my answer, or if she was trying to trap me into confirming an offer. I simply replied that the judges and I would be waiting to review her submission fairly, wishing her the best of luck.

I made sure not to skyrocket her expectations, keeping my response as professional and neutral as possible to avoid any future misunderstandings. The evaluation day finally came, and unfortunately, her submitted portfolio fell far below the benchmark we set for our new designers. No one on the board saw her work as being on par with our criteria, so she was sent an email stating she wasn't accepted.

That's when all hell broke loose in my house, starting with my husband bursting through the door in a rage over the rejection. My husband stormed into my home office, shouting about how unfair the decision was and accusing me of actively sabotaging her career. He waved his phone in my face, angrily listing off every single class she'd ever taken as if a certificate guaranteed raw talent.

I reminded him that bending the rules for one person would set a terrible precedent for the rest of my hardworking staff. If I gave her special treatment, my credibility as a leader would sink, and I'd likely lose my best employees eventually. Plus, her fellow designers wouldn't respect her anyway, knowing she only got the gig through nepotism rather than her actual design skills.

He kept pushing, insisting that family should always come first, even if it meant putting my life's work in jeopardy. I rested my hands flat on the desk, bracing myself for the fight while he continued to raise his voice at me. I stared back at him, refusing to let his guilt-tripping tactics force me into making a disastrous business decision.

My 20-year-old sister demanded I fund her wedding to an unemployed student, expecting the exact same financial backing our older sibling received. I'm 26 and the eldest of four kids. The younger ones are Liam, 17, Rose, 23, and May, 20.

We lost our dad six years ago, and that event changed the trajectory of all our lives. The grief hit our mom the hardest. She couldn't cope with the loss and passed away shortly after him.

That left us on our own. With no adult to guide or support us, I had to step up and figure out a way to keep a roof over our heads. I took a part-time job immediately and worked all through my graduation.

I had always dreamed of pursuing a master's degree. Instead, I accepted my campus placement right away to ensure we had a steady income. It was a tough transition, but we managed to survive.

Rose was mature about the whole situation. She deliberately chose a local, government-funded college so her tuition fees stayed manageable. Our dad had started a fixed deposit for her wedding, and she used that fund to pay for her whole degree instead.

She was so careful with her expenses that there was still a bit of that money left over. I combined it with my own savings to pay for Rose's wedding. She found a wonderful guy who treats her right.

He is respectful, hardworking, and holds a stable job. He's exactly the kind of man our dad would have approved of, and they are building a solid life together. Rose was ready for that step.

Before getting married, she landed most of the job interviews she tried for. She also managed our household finances to a great extent, saving us quite a bit of money. Now, May is expecting the same treatment under different circumstances.

May brought a guy home recently and bluntly informed us they plan to marry soon. The problem is her boyfriend has no promise of graduating this year. He was actually supposed to finish his degree last year.

He doesn't have a job and isn't managing to secure a stable one either. Right now, he survives on pocket money provided by his parents. I wouldn't be this concerned if May was responsible and trustworthy, but she isn't.

She isn't in any position to manage job interviews or handle full-time work. Her grades aren't even high enough to push her into a master's program. I sat her down and explained why rushing into marriage isn't a smart move right now.

She didn't want to listen to a single word. Her only defense is that Rose was her age when I helped pay for her wedding. I tried explaining the stark difference in their maturity levels and financial independence.

May hasn't contributed to our household or shown any initiative. Instead of understanding my concerns, her reaction was dismissive and harsh. She told me I could hate her boyfriend all I want and keep my blessing.

She coldly instructed me to just pay for the wedding and get it done with. I sat across from her at the dining table, my fingers tightly gripping a stack of household bills. The sheer entitlement in her voice hung heavy in the air.

My younger brother outed me to our ultra-conservative parents when I was 22, and now he expects me to pay his rent. I'm 29 now, and those seven years haven't exactly been a breeze. Back then, my parents kicked me out within hours of finding out.

I had zero financial support overnight, left to figure out the world alone. I wasn't ready to come out, but my brother, who is 26 now, just casually dropped it in conversation. He didn't mean to be malicious at the time, but the fallout tore my world apart.

I had to scramble to find a place to sleep and a way to eat. I worked multiple part-time jobs just to keep my head above water and pay my way through college. It was exhausting, rushing between shifts and living off cheap noodles.

Meanwhile, he stayed comfortably in their good graces, getting his life subsidized. I built a stable life for myself eventually, but it took years of scraping by. We haven't had much of a relationship since that day.

He'd occasionally send a text on holidays, but we definitely aren't close. Fast forward to this week, and his name flashes on my screen out of nowhere. He didn't bother asking how I was doing or pretending to care about my life.

He just launched straight into a long sob story about his failing finances. Apparently, he's in deep trouble and can't make his rent this month. Our parents recently cut him off because of his mounting debts.

They called him an embarrassment and refused to bail him out yet again. So, he turned to the guy who had to learn how to survive without a safety net. He explicitly told me I'm his last option to avoid losing his place.

I sat there staring at the huge block of text on my phone. He wanted a chunk of my hard-earned savings, and he expected me to just hand it over. I'm still angry about what happened seven years ago.

He's muttered a quick apology once or twice, but I don't think I've ever truly moved past it. He didn't just share a private secret back then. He cost me my family, my home, and my basic security.

Now he wants me to play the supportive, generous older sibling. I drafted a firm message telling him I wouldn't be funding his mistakes. My thumb hovered over the send button, watching his typing bubble appear and disappear.

AITA for banning my wife from making my meals after she dragged me out of a deep sleep just to make me cook for her?

My wife (41f) and I (45m) enjoy a quiet house since we don't have kids or pets. Our weekends are our time to unwind from the work week. Saturday mornings are especially sacred for my rest.

I always plan to sleep late before eventually heading to the gym. This particular Saturday started off perfectly quiet until she nudged me awake. My eyes were barely open when she leaned over the bed.

She softly asked if I wanted her to make me breakfast. I mumbled a firm no, explaining I would just make something later when I actually got up. She wouldn't drop the subject at all.

She pushed back, asking why I couldn't just let her do this nice thing for me. I didn't want to argue at that early hour. I finally caved and requested boiled eggs, figuring it was a simple choice.

I heard her walk out to the kitchen. The sounds of a metal pot clanking and running water drifted down the hallway. Five minutes later, she wandered right back into our bedroom.

She climbed under the covers and grabbed her device. She immediately glued her eyes to her phone screen. I lay there half-awake, assuming she had the cooking under control.

The minutes ticked by slowly while the house stayed quiet. I knew at least ten minutes had passed, which was plenty of time for the water to boil and the food to be done. She didn't move an inch from her spot on the mattress.

She was deeply engrossed in scrolling through her apps. I thought about reminding her about the stove, but I kept my mouth shut. I hate feeling like I'm dictating her actions or bossing her around in our own home.

I just wanted to go back to sleep. My brain was too active now, and I was stuck waiting on the food. I finally threw the blankets off and stood up with a sigh.

She barely glanced up from her screen to ask where I was heading. I bluntly told her I was going to check on the eggs. I walked down the hall and stepped into the warm kitchen.

The water was bubbling away loudly on the stove. I looked down into the pot and counted three eggs bouncing in the hot water. I normally only eat two, so it was clear she had tossed an extra one in for herself.

I stood there staring at the boiling pot, resting my hands on the cool counter. Her voice echoed from down the hall. She shouted a bright request for me to make her an egg with some toast.