My husband, Clark, booked first-class tickets for himself and his mom, leaving me and our kids in economy. But I wasn’t going to let that slide. I made sure his “luxury” flight came with some turbulence, turning the trip into a lesson he wouldn’t forget.
I’m Sophie, and Clark is one of those workaholics who thinks his job is the most important thing in the world. I get it, he works hard, but being a mom isn’t a walk in the park either! So, here’s what happened.
We were going on a family vacation, and Clark booked our tickets. When we got to the airport, I realized he and his mom were flying first class, while I was left with the kids in economy. I felt embarrassed and angry that he didn’t think of me or the kids.
Instead of sulking, I decided to make things uncomfortable for him. I sent the kids up to first class every few minutes. “Go ask Daddy for a snack,” or “Tell Grandma you want to sit with her.” The kids didn’t stop, and soon, Clark’s peaceful flight turned into chaos. His first-class luxury wasn’t so relaxing anymore.
By the end of the flight, Clark wasn’t as smug. Lesson learned: if you’re going to leave your wife and kids in economy, don’t expect a smooth flight!
Oh boy, was I wrong.
As we got to the airport, I asked Clark where our seats were, juggling our toddler and a diaper bag in the chaotic airport. Clark was busy on his phone, barely looking up. “Oh, about that…” he mumbled.
I felt uneasy. “What do you mean, ‘about that’?”
He finally looked up, giving me a sheepish grin I’ve learned to dread. “Well, I managed to upgrade me and Mom to first class. You know how she is on long flights, and I really need to rest.”
Wait, just the two of them? I stared at him, waiting for a joke that didn’t come.
“Let me get this straight. You and your mother are in first class, and I’m in economy with both kids?”
Clark shrugged like it was no big deal. “Oh, come on, it’s just a few hours, Soph. You’ll be fine.”
Then his mom, Nadia, showed up with her designer luggage, smiling. “Oh, Clark, are we ready for our luxurious flight?” She smirked at me, and I swear I could have melted from her gaze.
They left me with the kids and walked off to enjoy their first-class experience. But I wasn’t going to let it slide. As I boarded with the kids, a plan began forming in my mind. This flight was about to get interesting.
When we got to our seats, I noticed the difference between first class and economy immediately. There they were, already sipping champagne while I struggled with our luggage. My five-year-old wanted to sit with Daddy, but I had to explain that “Daddy and Grandma are in a special part of the plane.”
The kids were settled, and I noticed something important—I had Clark’s wallet. Earlier, at the security checkpoint, I had quietly taken his wallet out of his bag without him noticing. I smiled to myself. This was going to be fun.
Two hours into the flight, the kids were asleep, and I was enjoying the quiet. I saw the flight attendants serving gourmet meals in first class. Clark was ordering expensive dishes and top-shelf liquor, indulging in every luxury.
Soon after, I saw Clark frantically searching his pockets. He had realized his wallet was missing. The flight attendant stood there, waiting for him to pay. Clark tried to explain that he couldn’t find his wallet, but the flight attendant wasn’t having it.
Watching this unfold from economy was like my own private show. A flight attendant came by to offer me something, but I just asked for water and some popcorn, ready to enjoy the rest of the drama.
Clark came down to economy, looking worried. He crouched next to my seat and whispered, “Soph, I can’t find my wallet. Do you have any cash?”
I pretended to be concerned. “Oh no! That’s terrible. How much do you need?”
“About $1,500,” he said, wincing.
I nearly laughed out loud. “What did you order, the entire menu?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered, panicking. “Do you have it or not?”
I rummaged through my purse. “I’ve got $200. Will that help?”
He took the cash but looked desperate. “Maybe your mom has her credit card?” I suggested sweetly.
Clark went pale. He realized he would have to ask his mom for help. His perfect first-class experience was completely ruined.
For the rest of the flight, Clark and his mom sat in stony silence. Meanwhile, I enjoyed my economy seat with a sense of satisfaction.
As we were landing, Clark made one last trip to economy. “Sophie, are you sure you haven’t seen my wallet?”
I put on my best innocent face. “No, honey. Maybe you left it at home?”
Clark was frustrated, running his hands through his hair. “This is a nightmare.”
“Well,” I said, “at least you got to enjoy first class, right?”
He glared at me. “Yeah, real enjoyable.”
After the flight, Clark was sour, muttering about his missing wallet. His mom disappeared into the bathroom, avoiding the tension. I suggested he might have left it in first class, which didn’t improve his mood.
As we left the airport, I felt a little giddy. I still had his wallet and planned to treat myself to something nice before returning it. A little revenge never hurt anyone.
So, if your partner ever tries to upgrade themselves and leave you behind, a bit of creative payback might just be what you need. After all, in the journey of life, we’re all in this together—whether in first class or economy!
Businessman Loses All Hope After His Diagnosis, but One Hospital Encounter Changes Everything — Story of the Day
When a workaholic businessman receives devastating news about his health, he meets a young boy in the hospital who changes his outlook on life. Their bond grows through unexpected friendship and small acts of kindness, teaching him what truly matters—until a heartbreaking twist reshapes everything.
Andrew, 50, sat at his desk, shuffling through papers while juggling scheduling meetings with his partners.
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He didn’t hear Michael, his assistant, enter the room. Michael stood there, waiting. After a few moments, he cleared his throat.
No response. Andrew kept working, his focus sharp. Michael tried again. “Mr. Smith.” Still no answer. He repeated his name three more times.
Finally, Andrew slammed his hands on the desk and snapped, “What?”
Michael didn’t flinch. “You asked me to tell you if your ex-wife called.”
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Andrew groaned and rubbed his temples. “How many times do I have to tell you? Ignore her calls. What now?”
Michael held a notepad. “She left a message. I should warn you—it’s a direct quote. Her words, not mine.” He read from the note. “‘You pompous jerk, I will never forgive you for wasting so many years of my life. If you don’t give me back my painting, I’ll smash your car.’ That’s the message.”
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Andrew’s face turned red. “We’ve been divorced for two years! Does she not have anything better to do?”
Michael looked at him, waiting for further instructions. “Should I respond to her?”
“No! And stop taking her calls,” Andrew said. Then he paused. “Actually, tell her I threw that painting in the trash!”
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Andrew grabbed a pen and hurled it toward the wall. Michael ducked slightly, gave a polite nod, and left the room.
Moments later, Andrew’s phone rang. He frowned, picking it up.
“Andrew Smith?” a voice asked.
“Yes. Who’s calling?”
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“This is the hospital. Your test results are ready. The doctor wants to see you.”
“Can’t you just tell me now?” Andrew said, irritated. “I’m busy.”
“Sorry, sir. The doctor will explain in person.”
Andrew sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll come in.” He hung up, shaking his head.
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Andrew rarely allowed himself the luxury of a lunch break, but this time was different. The doctor’s office was quiet, the ticking clock on the wall the only sound.
Andrew sat stiffly in a chair, his fingers tapping against the armrest. When the door opened, the doctor stepped in, his face serious. Andrew frowned, sensing bad news.
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The doctor sat across from him and spoke in a steady, measured tone, using terms Andrew didn’t understand.
Then came the word—cancer. “We need to act fast,” the doctor said.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Andrew asked, his voice sharp. “I own a company. I can’t just check into a hospital.”
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The doctor met his eyes. “Your health should come first. The company can wait.”
Andrew leaned forward. “What are my chances of getting better?”
“I can’t promise anything,” the doctor said. “Starting treatment right away is critical.”
Andrew’s voice rose. “Can I still work while I’m here?”
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“Treatment affects everyone differently,” the doctor explained. “You will stay in the hospital so we can monitor you. Someone can bring you a computer.”
Andrew frowned and stood up. “Fine. I’ll sort it out.”
The doctor watched him leave. “We’ll see you tomorrow with your things,” he said before Andrew reached the door.
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As Andrew walked through the hospital’s pediatric wing, he noticed a boy, about eight years old, tossing a ball back and forth with a nurse.
The sound of their laughter echoed in the corridor. The ball suddenly rolled across the floor and stopped near Andrew’s feet.
“Excuse me, sir!” the boy called out, smiling. “Can you please throw the ball back?”
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Andrew picked up the ball, his face tense. Without a word, he hurled it down the hall, far from the boy and nurse, then turned and walked away.
“That was mean, sir!” the boy shouted.
Andrew had been in the hospital for days that felt like weeks. He tried to keep working, setting up his laptop and pushing through meetings.
But the treatment was draining. Each session left him weaker. The nausea was constant, and sleep was nearly impossible.
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One afternoon, during another long chemotherapy session, Andrew leaned back, his eyes half-closed. He felt miserable.
Suddenly, a small voice broke through his fog. He opened his eyes to see a boy standing in front of him. Startled, Andrew flinched. The boy giggled. It was the same boy from the corridor.
“What do you want, kid?” Andrew mumbled, not even lifting his head.
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“I’ve been walking around the hospital looking for someone to play with. It’s boring here.”
Andrew glanced at him, annoyed. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Tommy,” the boy replied with a wide grin.
Andrew sighed. “Listen, Tommy. I’m not in the mood to play. Go bother someone else before I start feeling worse.”
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Tommy didn’t move. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small peppermint candy. He held it out to Andrew. “This helps with nausea. You should try it.”
Andrew hesitated, then snatched the candy and set it on the table.
“You’re really grumpy!” Tommy said, laughing. “I’m going to call you Mr. Grouch. Are you mad because you’re scared of needles?” He pointed at the IV attached to Andrew’s arm.
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Andrew frowned. “I’m not scared of anything.”
Tommy nodded. “That’s fine. I was scared at first too, but then I stopped. My mom says I’m a superhero. Do you have a superpower?”
“No,” Andrew said, his voice flat.
“That’s because you’re too sad,” Tommy replied, his tone serious now.
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Andrew looked at the boy, surprised by the honesty in his big, bright eyes. “Is there anything you want?” Andrew asked.
Tommy grinned. “Yeah. I want to buy flowers for my mom. She works really hard, but I don’t have any money.”
Andrew sighed again, reached for his wallet, and pulled out a few bills. “Here. Get your flowers. Maybe buy yourself something too. But leave me alone.”
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Tommy’s face lit up. “Thanks, Mr. Grouch!” He ran out, clutching the money, while Andrew stared at the peppermint candy on the table.
With a sigh, he picked it up, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. To his surprise, the sharp sweetness helped ease the nausea. It wasn’t much, but it made a difference for a while.
That evening, as Andrew stared at his laptop, a nurse knocked on his door.
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She carried a small paper bag. “This is for you,” she said, placing it on the table. “Tommy sent it.”
Andrew opened the bag and found it full of peppermint candies. He shook his head, unsure whether to feel amused or moved.
The next morning, he decided to find Tommy. He needed to make one thing clear: the money wasn’t a gift.
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As he approached Tommy’s room, he saw a woman leaning against the wall, her shoulders shaking. She was crying.
“Are you okay?” Andrew asked, his voice low.
The woman wiped her eyes quickly and looked up. “Yes… Did you need something?”
“Tommy gave me some candies yesterday,” Andrew said.
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The woman’s lips curved into a small smile. “Oh, so you’re Mr. Grouch,” she said.
Andrew raised an eyebrow. “My name’s Andrew,” he replied.
“I’m Sara,” she said. “Are you here for treatment too?”
Andrew nodded.
“Then you understand,” Sara said quietly. “The bills, the stress. I can’t even pay rent right now. They told me we’ll be evicted in two months.”
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Andrew nodded again, unsure of what to say. Before he could respond, the door burst open. Tommy ran out, his face lighting up when he saw Andrew. “Hey, Mr. Grouch!” he called, grinning ear to ear.
From that day forward, Tommy became a constant presence in Andrew’s life.
The boy would wander into Andrew’s room with a big grin and endless energy. At first, Andrew found it annoying, but Tommy’s persistence wore him down.
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Soon, Andrew began looking forward to the visits. Tommy taught him to notice the simple joys in life.
They sat by the window, watching the sunset, guessing the colors in the sky. They played harmless pranks on nurses, earning scolding looks and stifled smiles.
Sometimes, they “borrowed” wheelchairs and raced down the halls, laughing until their sides hurt.
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Andrew didn’t ask about Tommy’s illness. He wasn’t sure how to bring it up. One afternoon, Tommy mentioned Sara had been crying again. “She’s worried about money,” Tommy said. “We might lose our house.”
Andrew quietly gave Tommy an envelope of cash. “Tell her it’s from a magician,” he said.
When Sara tried to return the money, Andrew waved her off. “I’m not a magician,” he said. “I don’t know where it came from.”
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Weeks passed. Andrew’s treatments worked, and the day came when the doctor gave him the news—he was cancer-free.
Ecstatic, Andrew rushed to share it with Tommy. But when he arrived, Tommy was unconscious, Sara sitting beside him, tears streaming down her face.
“What happened?” Andrew asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
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Sara wiped her eyes and shook her head. “The doctors said there’s nothing more they can do.”
Andrew stared at her, struggling to process the words. “But… he seemed so happy. He always smiled. I thought he was improving.”
Sara looked at him, her face full of pain. “He didn’t want you to see how sick he was. He wanted to be strong for you. He thought he was a superhero.”
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Andrew’s chest tightened. “I’m so sorry.”
Sara managed a faint smile through her tears. “Don’t be. He said you saved him. These months, you gave him laughter and hope. You made him forget about being sick.”
Andrew shook his head slowly. “No. He’s the one who saved me.”
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He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her in a gentle hug. She cried quietly against his shoulder, and though Andrew wished he could take her pain away, he knew nothing would ever truly ease it.
That night, Tommy passed away peacefully, surrounded by the love of his mother and the memories he had made.
Andrew sat alone in his room afterward, overwhelmed by the loss. Andrew couldn’t bear the thought of such a bright soul being forgotten.
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Determined, he started a foundation in Tommy’s name to help sick children, ensuring his kindness would live on.
He also stayed in touch with Sara, offering her support in every way he could.
One afternoon, Andrew stood at his ex-wife’s door, holding the painting she had demanded for so long. She opened the door, her mouth ready to hurl accusations, but Andrew silently handed her the painting.
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“I’m not here to argue,” Andrew said, his tone calm as he held out the painting.
His ex-wife frowned, puzzled. “What is this supposed to mean?” she asked.
“Nothing important,” Andrew replied, a small smile forming. “I’m just making sure I keep my superpowers.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.
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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: Taking care of Mom was hard enough without the tension with my sister. Accusations flew when precious things started disappearing. I thought I knew who was to blame, but the truth shattered my world. Betrayal came from where I least expected, leaving me questioning everything—and everyone—I trusted.
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.
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