“Married life is great, right?” I would say to my friends, and for the most part, it was. My wife, Sarah, was organized and thoughtful, making everything seem effortless. But something changed.
One day, I noticed her marking tally lines on the back of her hand. “Did you just mark your hand?” I asked, puzzled. She smiled, shrugged, and said it was “just a reminder.” I laughed it off, but the habit continued. Some days there were just one or two marks; other days, five or more.
Curiosity gnawed at me. What was she keeping track of?
One evening, unable to hold it in any longer, I asked her about the marks as we were getting ready for bed. She brushed it off again, saying it helped her remember things. But my worry only deepened as I saw her tally more marks—after dinner, after arguments, seemingly at random.
When I counted the marks one night, there were seven. I watched as she meticulously transferred them into a small notebook by her bedside. The next morning, I couldn’t resist the urge to check it while she was in the shower. Each page was filled with tally marks—68 in total.
A bewildered man looking at a notebook | Source: Midjourney
What did it mean? I was desperate to know.
A few days later, I pressed her again. “What are the marks for? It’s driving me crazy.” She sighed, annoyed, and insisted it was nothing, just something she did to help her remember. But my obsession grew, each mark feeling like a wall between us.
Finally, I left for a few days, thinking distance might change things. When I returned, the tally count had increased to 78.
Desperate for a distraction, I suggested we visit her mother, Diane. During the visit, while Sarah chatted in the kitchen, I noticed a similar notebook on the guest bedroom nightstand. My heart raced as I opened it. Inside were tally marks, labeled: “interrupting,” “raising voice,” “forgetting to call.”
I felt a chill run down my spine. Was this a family tradition? Were they both counting mistakes?
I returned to the living room, trying to act normal, but Sarah noticed my unease. On the drive home, I couldn’t hold back any longer. “I saw your mom’s notebook today. Is this something you both do? Are you counting your mistakes?”
Her laughter was bitter. “You think I’m counting my mistakes?”
“Well, yeah,” I admitted. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. It’s okay to mess up.”
She shook her head, staring out the window. “I’m not counting my mistakes, Jack. I’m counting yours.”
The words hit me like a punch. “What?”
“Every time you break one of your vows, I make a mark,” she said quietly. “When you interrupt me, when you don’t listen, when you say you’ll do something and don’t. I’ve been keeping track since our wedding.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “You’re counting my mistakes? Why?”
“Because I want to know when I’ve had enough,” she said, voice breaking. “When you reach 1,000 marks, I’m leaving.”
I pulled the car over, heart racing. “You’re going to leave me? For breaking some promises?”
“They’re not stupid promises,” she snapped. “They’re our wedding vows, Jack. You made them to me, and you’ve broken every single one.”
Stunned, I realized I’d been careless and dismissive. I wanted to be angry, but I was too shocked, too hurt.
When we got home, I couldn’t sleep. I called Diane, desperate for answers. “Why didn’t you stop her?” I asked.
Diane sighed. “I did the same thing with my past husbands. It drove us apart. I tried to tell her, but she needs to see it for herself. I count good days now. It changed everything.”
That evening, Sarah came home in tears. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around me. “I didn’t realize how much this was hurting us.”
I held her close, feeling relief and hope. “Let’s forget the tally marks,” I said softly. “Let’s start fresh.”
The next day, I bought a new notebook—one for us to fill with good memories. We made our first entry that night, writing about a quiet dinner we shared, laughing like we hadn’t in months.
As we moved forward, the notebook became a symbol of our promise to focus on the positives. The tally marks were gone, replaced by stories of joy and gratitude. We were finally on the same page, and it felt like the beginning of something beautiful.
