Year after year, he promised that we would go, but life always seemed to get in the way—work obligations, family matters, and an endless parade of excuses.
“I’m sorry, Darling,” he would say. “It’s just that something came up at the office, and I have to attend to it.”
But then, when Tom forgot our 10th wedding anniversary, something inside me snapped.
“I have to leave town for the week,” he said while shaving. “It’s for work. We’re prospecting new clients.”
I had hoped that Tom would have told me to pack my bags and get ready to celebrate our romantic milestone—yet, it slipped his mind entirely.
Enough was enough.
I wasn’t about to be a footnote in my own love story.
So, I called my best friend, Jenny.
“We’re going away for my wedding anniversary!” I said as she answered the call.
“What?” she asked, surprised by my words, I could hear her slurping on her usual smoothie.
“Tom would hate that!”
I explained to her that Tom had to be on a business trip and that I was tired of being alone.
“Pack your bags, Jen,” I told her.
I went straight to my closet and began to pack my bags. I needed this. I needed a moment to myself. I got onto my laptop and booked a hotel. This weekend was going to be a weekend to heal, laugh, and forget the sting of neglect.
The hotel Tom had often raved about was our first stop.
As we stepped into the lobby—a place he described right down to the gilded frames on the walls—my heart raced with anticipation and a twinge of sadness.
I was happy to be here with my best friend, sure. But being with Tom would have made it so much better, with memories that would have lasted a lifetime.
“Let’s check-in and leave our bags,” Jenny said. “And then get some fish and chips from that place you’ve been talking about for the past hour.”
And then I heard it.
Tom’s laugh.
I looked up, across the room, and there he was. My husband, standing across the lobby with his arm wrapped around a woman who was decidedly not me.
The scene was like a punch to the gut. There he was, living our dream with someone else.
My first instinct was to storm across the lobby and confront them. But anger gave way to a colder, sharper strategy.
Ten years of marriage for this? This was Tom’s important business trip?
Sure.
I pulled out my phone and started filming them discreetly, capturing their intimate laughs, their shared glances—all the things that should have been mine.
“Are you okay, Eliza?” Jenny asked me, oblivious to the scene I had just witnessed.
“Look,” I said, pointing at Tom.
Jenny clasped her hands to her mouth and gasped.
Feeling emboldened, I approached the reception desk.
“I’m Mrs. Cooper,” I said. “You’ll see my husband checked in as Tom Cooper? It’s our anniversary weekend, and I wanted to surprise my husband.”
The woman behind the counter bought it. She beamed at me and told me there would be complimentary couple massages if I could prove we were married.
And then, she gave me the key to his room.
I went in and filmed everything—their clothes strewn about, the champagne on ice, the unmistakable aura of a romantic getaway.
With Jenny’s encouragement, I took to the streets of Bellport. We showed the footage to anyone willing to watch it.
“What do you think of a man who promises a romantic weekend to his wife and then takes his mistress instead?” I asked the locals.
Jenny filmed all their reactions while I spoke. People were shocked, and hurt on my behalf; some were even empathetic.
And as I met more people, it turned out that people didn’t just disapprove of Tom—they shared their stories of betrayal, connecting with my own pain.
Jenny and I went back to our room and ordered room service while she whizzed away on her laptop, turning our footage into a short film.
Forgotten Promises: A Bellport Betrayal.
Then, we uploaded it online—tagging Tom on Facebook.
It went viral overnight. And as the support began to pour in, so did the outrage towards Tom.
When Tom saw the video, he called me, furious.
“Eliza!” he barked. “Take it down! This isn’t fair!”
“It’s too late, Tom,” I replied coolly. “It’s out there now, and it’s the truth.”
Tom went on, airing his grievances through the phone.
“Why doesn’t he just come and find you?” Jenny asked. “We’re in the same hotel.”
I didn’t understand that either. But Tom seemed perfectly fine spending time with his mistress. I knew she was there with him—probably comforting him while he was distressed by my actions.
“I don’t know,” I replied to Jenny.
I cut the call, and Jenny and I took to the streets, ready to eat our feelings away in ice cream.
As we were walking, out of the blue, a travel company reached out to me. They had seen our short film and offered me a job in creating “Truthful Travelogues.”
“You’ll just have to do exactly what you did for your short film,” a woman named Natasha told me. “We’ll send you a laptop so that you can edit on there, too.”
Suddenly, I was more than just another scorned wife who had to suffer in silence and wait to be acknowledged by her husband. Now, I was a storyteller, weaving narratives of authenticity in beautiful locales.
And on the other hand—Tom’s life began to crumble. His professional image soured as colleagues and clients questioned his integrity.
That trip he took to Bellport, meant to be hidden away like a secret, became his public undoing.
His car was even egged by some of the kids who lived on our street—something that he deserved.
Shortly after I returned home, I packed all my belongings and moved in with Jenny. She was single and my constant support—there was nobody else I wanted to reinvent myself with.
Looking back, the trip to Bellport was nothing like I had imagined it would be. Initially, I had wanted it to be a romantic escape with my husband, but then it had turned into a girls’ weekend.
Only for it to become an unraveling of my marriage.
Even now, I’m not completely sure that my actions were the greatest, but at the same time—I needed to do it. I needed to expose Tom for the liar that he was.
And in the end, I needed to empower myself again. I couldn’t keep living in the shadow of Tom’s job and deceit.
Now, I have to try and rebuild my life as a newly single woman ready to get what she deserves.
What would you have done?
Stevie Nicks, the iconic member of Fleetwood Mac, has opened up about the transformative guidance she received from Prince
Eight years have passed since the world lost one of its most extraordinary musicians, Prince. He was discovered dead at his Paisley Park residence in Minneapolis in April 2016, at the age of 57.
Throughout his life, Prince was not only a prolific singer-songwriter and musician but also collaborated with numerous iconic artists. One of those artists was Stevie Nicks from Fleetwood Mac, who recently shared insights into their friendship. She recounted how Prince once expressed concern about her struggles with drug use.
Their collaboration began in the early 1980s, blossoming into a profound friendship. Nicks, now 73, reminisced about feeling flattered when she realized Prince had an interest in her. “Prince and I were just friends”, she explained in an interview with Harper’s Bazaar. “I think he would have been happy to have had a relationship.”
While on her honeymoon with ex-husband Kim Anderson, Nicks heard Prince’s hit “Little Red Corvette” and felt inspired to create her own song. “Suddenly, I was singing along: ‘Stand back!’” she told Uncle Joe Benson on the Ultimate Classic Rock Nights radio show. “I asked Kim to pull over because I needed to record this, so we found a store and bought a tape recorder.”
That night, she worked tirelessly on what would become the lead single from her 1983 solo album, The Wild Heart, which eventually reached No. 5 on the Billboard Hot 100.
After completing her song “Stand Back”, Nicks arranged a meeting with Prince, and within 20 minutes, they were introduced in a Los Angeles studio. Prince listened to her track and quickly went to the keyboard to contribute his unique touches. Afterward, he hugged her and left. “He spoiled me for every band I’ve ever had because no one could replicate what Prince did all by himself”, Nicks remarked in her book Rock Lives.
Despite her admiration for him, Nicks chose not to pursue a romantic relationship, valuing their musical bond instead. “I wanted a creative partnership, and I had learned early on that relationships could end badly”, she explained. “He wasn’t just looking for that.”
Interestingly, Prince’s song “When Doves Cry” was inspired by Nicks’ “Edge of Seventeen”, Nicks candidly admitted that during their collaboration, she was deeply involved in drug use. “The eighties were a dark time for me”, she told The New Yorker. “Prince was very much against drugs, and it shocked me to learn he ended up on pain medication. He often lectured me about my habits.”
Nicks recalled their conversations, where Prince would warn her: “You gotta be careful, Stevie”, to which she would respond: “I know, I know”, In the wake of his death, she expressed her sorrow, noting: “It’s tragic that he died of an accidental overdose. I can hear him saying: ‘Sweetie, I can’t believe it happened either’”.
Prince’s concern was warranted, as Nicks ultimately entered rehab twice. In 1986, she sought help at the Betty Ford Clinic for cocaine addiction and returned to treatment in 1993 for an over-prescription of Klonopin.
In 1986, during a visit with a plastic surgeon regarding her nose, she learned she had severely damaged it from her drug use. “I asked the doctor what he thought about my nose, and he replied: ‘The next time you do cocaine, you could drop dead’”, Nicks recalled. This prompted her to seek help at the Betty Ford Clinic, a decision that helped turn her life around and potentially saved her career.
It’s a tragedy that Prince couldn’t overcome his own struggles with opioids. Nicks’ experiences underscore his musical genius and the generosity of his talent. He remains an irreplaceable legend, forever missed by countless fans worldwide.
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