When we sat down, I asked Fiona a question.
She looked up, startled, and said, ‘Oh, yes. I was just quickly checking something.’
I nodded, trying to hide my disappointment.
This was supposed to be our special evening, but she seemed miles away.
The waiter brought the menu and asked, ‘May I offer you our anniversary special? A bottle of champagne as an aperitif?’
‘Sounds perfect,’ I replied and smiled at Fiona.
‘What do you think, darling?’
She was still looking at her phone.
‘Hm? Oh, sure. Whatever you want.’
I sighed and ordered the champagne.
When the waiter left, I reached across the table and gently touched Fiona’s hand.
‘Hey, can we put our phones away for a minute? It’s our anniversary.’
Fiona looked guilty.
‘You’re right, sorry. It’s just this new video series I found…’
I tried to keep the anger out of my voice.
‘Another prank channel?’
‘They’re hilarious, Aidan! You should watch a few of them…’ she began, but I tuned out as she enthusiastically recounted the latest viral prank.
My thoughts returned to the last few weeks, and I felt a knot form in my stomach.
It had started innocently enough, with Fiona showing me funny videos on her phone.
We both laughed together.
But then she started re-enacting these pranks at home.
Once, she jumped out from behind the shower curtain and nearly gave me a heart attack.
Then there was the fake spider web in Nora’s lunchbox, which made our daughter cry, and the “broken” glass that kept Callum from touching anything in the kitchen for several days.
Each time, Fiona laughed.
“It’s just a joke!” she said.
‘Don’t be so serious!’
But I saw the fear in our children’s eyes, felt the constant tension in my shoulders.
It wasn’t funny anymore.
It was exhausting.
I came back to the present when the waiter brought our champagne.
Fiona was still chatting away, gesturing animatedly as she recounted the latest stunt by some YouTuber.
Suddenly, she stood up abruptly.
‘I need to quickly use the loo. I’ll be right back.’
I watched her leave, a feeling of unease growing in my stomach.
Something was wrong.
There was a noise behind me.
I turned around and saw Fiona stumbling between the tables and clutching her throat.
‘I can’t breathe!’ she gasped as she fell to her knees.
‘Help!’
The restaurant descended into chaos.
People rushed to her, shouting for help.
I sat paralysed, unable to comprehend what was happening.
Then Fiona started laughing.
‘It was a joke!’ she shouted and stood up.
The silence that followed was deafening.
I could feel all the guests’ eyes on me.
Fiona grinned, oblivious to the horrified expressions on the faces of the others.
‘Madam, that was extremely inappropriate,’ said the manager, approaching our table.
‘I must ask you to leave.’
I stood up and grabbed my coat.
‘I’m leaving,’ I said, my voice tense with anger.
‘Without my wife. You can take an Uber home yourself.’
Fiona’s smile faded.
‘Oh, come on. It was just a joke!’
I didn’t respond.
I couldn’t even look at her.
I hurried to the car and drove away, not giving her time to react — besides, she had to pay the bill anyway.
As soon as I got home, I went straight to the children’s rooms.
‘Pack your bags,’ I said to Nora and Callum.
‘We’re going to Uncle Declan’s for a while.’
An hour later, I knocked on my brother’s door with two sleepy children in tow.
Declan glanced at my face and let us in without a word.
‘The guest room is yours,’ he said, helping me with the bags.
‘Want to talk?’
I shook my head.
‘Not tonight. Thanks, brother.’
My phone vibrated tirelessly with messages from Fiona, but I ignored them and tried to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up to 37 missed calls and twice as many messages.
I scrolled through them and flared up with anger again.
‘You’re overreacting.’
‘It was just a joke!’
‘How could you embarrass me like that?’
‘You owe me an apology.’
I threw my phone aside in disgust.
How could she not understand how wrong she was?
Just then, my phone rang again.
This time it was Greta, Fiona’s mother.
I hesitated before answering.
‘Aidan! What’s this I hear about you leaving my daughter at a restaurant?’ Greta’s voice was filled with indignation.
I took a deep breath.
‘Hello, Greta. It’s not what you think.’
“Oh? Then explain it to me, young man.
Because from my point of view, you left your wife on your anniversary.
That’s pretty low.”
I rubbed my nose, feeling a headache coming on.
“Fiona played a prank, Greta.
A bad prank. She pretended to choke in the middle of a crowded restaurant.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
‘What did she do?’
I told her what had happened last night, including Fiona’s recent obsession with pranks and how it had become a heavy burden on our family.
When I finished, Greta was silent for a long time.
Then she sighed heavily.
‘Oh, Aidan. I didn’t know things had gotten that bad.’
‘Well, now you know.’
‘I… I don’t know what to say. If it’s really that bad, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted a divorce.’
Her words hit me like a punch in the gut.
Divorce? Was that really the path we should take?
‘I don’t know, Greta,’ I said honestly.
‘I need time to think.’
After we hung up, I sat on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands.
Was this really the end of our marriage?
I spent the day in a trance, mechanically going through the motions, taking care of the children.
By evening, I had made my decision. I called Fiona.
‘Meet me tomorrow at 7 p.m. at the restaurant. We need to talk.’
She agreed immediately, sounding relieved.
I hung up without letting her say anything else.
The following evening, I arrived at the restaurant early.
My palms were sweaty as I held the envelope containing the divorce papers I had drawn up that day.
Fiona entered, looking smaller and more vulnerable than I had ever seen her.
Her eyes were red and her hair was tousled.
‘Hello,’ she said quietly, sitting down next to me.
‘Hello,’ I replied, with a lump in my throat.
We sat for a while in an awkward silence.
Then Fiona blurted out, “Aidan, I’m so sorry.
I never meant to hurt you or the children.
I just got carried away with the pranks and…”
I raised my hand to stop her.
Without a word, I pushed the envelope across the table towards her.
Fiona’s hands trembled as she opened it.
Her eyes widened when she realised what it was.
‘No,’ she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Please, Aidan, no. We can fix this. I’ll stop with the pranks, I promise.
Please don’t leave me.”
I let her cry for a moment, my own eyes burning.
Then I took a deep breath.
‘It’s a prank,’ I said quietly.
Fiona’s head snapped up.
‘What?’
‘The divorce papers. They’re not real. It’s a prank.’
Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
I leaned forward, my voice becoming urgent.
“This is how it feels, Fiona.
This is how your pranks feel to us.
Fear, pain, betrayal.
Is this what you want for our family?”
Fiona’s face broke.
‘No,’ she sobbed.
‘God, no. I’m so sorry, Aidan. I never realised…’
I reached across the table and took her hand.
“I love you, Fiona. But this has to stop. No more pranks. Ever.
Can you promise me that?”
She nodded vigorously and squeezed my hand.
‘I promise. No more pranks. I’ll delete all those stupid videos. I’ll do whatever it takes.’
I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight lift off my shoulders.
‘Okay,’ I said.
‘Then let’s go home.’
As we stood up to leave, Fiona hesitated.
‘Aidan? Thank you for not giving up.’
I pulled her towards me and hugged her, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair.
‘We’ll get through this together,’ I murmured.
‘Through good times and bad, remember?’
She laughed softly, and I suddenly realised how much I had missed that.
‘I remember. Let’s aim for “better” now, shall we?’
I nodded, and for the first time in weeks, I felt cautiously optimistic.
As we left the restaurant holding hands, I knew we had a long road ahead of us.
But at least now we were on the same side.
And there were no more pranks on the horizon.
What would you do?
