Clark bought first-class tickets for himself and his mom, leaving me in economy with our kids. But I didn’t just sit back and accept it—I made sure his “luxury” experience came with a lesson he wouldn’t forget.He thought I’d be too overwhelmed to notice, but he clearly underestimated me.At the airport, while juggling our toddler and the luggage, I asked where our seats were. Clark barely glanced up and
said, “Oh, right… Mom and I are in first class. She can’t stand long flights, and I really need the rest.” That left me alone in economy with the kids. His mom, Nadia, arrived in full designer gear, thrilled for their “wonderful flight.”Neither of them offered help—not with bags, not with kids, not with anything.As we boarded, Clark and Nadia toasted with champagne while I wrangled restless kids. Then I
remembered—I had quietly slipped his wallet from his bag during security. Two hours into the flight, Clark panicked when the flight attendant asked him to pay for his indulgent order. No wallet, no dignity.
The look on his face was worth every minute in economy.
He finally came stumbling back to economy, asking if I had any cash. I “found” $200, just shy of what he needed. His first-class ride turned quiet and awkward. When we landed, I kept the wallet—my version of economy-class justice.Next time, maybe he’ll think twice before booking flights behind my back.