I’m Sophie, and let me tell you about my husband, Clark. He’s the type who thinks his job is the center of the universe. I get it—his work is demanding. But being a mom isn’t exactly a spa day either. And oh boy, did he outdo himself this time.

We were heading to visit his family for the holidays. Clark volunteered to book the flights, which I thought was a relief. Big mistake.

At the airport, I asked, “Clark, where are our seats?” I was juggling our toddler and a diaper bag while navigating the crowded terminal.

Clark, absorbed in his phone, mumbled, “Oh, um, about that…”

I felt a knot form in my stomach. “What do you mean, ‘about that’?”

With a sheepish grin, he finally said, “I managed to snag first class for me and Mom. You know how she gets on long flights. I really need to catch up on some peaceful rest…”

Wait, an upgrade for just them? I stared at him. “So, you and your mother are in first class, and I’m in economy with the kids?”

Clark shrugged. “It’s just a few hours. You’ll be fine.”

As his mother, Nadia, appeared with designer luggage, I felt a surge of frustration. They headed to the first-class lounge, leaving me with two cranky kids and a plan for revenge.

Onboard, I noticed the stark contrast between first class and economy. Clark and Nadia were sipping champagne, while I struggled with our carry-on.

“Mommy, I want to sit with Daddy!” our five-year-old whined.

“Not this time, sweetie. Daddy and Grandma are in a special part of the plane.”

“Why can’t we sit there too?”

“Because Daddy’s a special kind of jerk.”

“Mommy, what’s a jerk?”

“Nothing, honey. Let’s buckle you in.”

Settled in economy, I remembered I had Clark’s wallet. While they were engrossed in conversation at security, I discreetly lifted it from his carry-on.

Two hours into the flight, my kids were asleep, and I watched Clark ordering gourmet meals, indulging in every luxury.

When a flight attendant asked me if I wanted anything, I said, “Just water and maybe some popcorn.”

About thirty minutes later, I saw Clark frantically searching his pockets. His face turned pale as he realized his wallet was missing. The flight attendant stood firm, waiting for payment.

Clark’s desperate attempts to avoid paying were met with no sympathy. I enjoyed my popcorn, savoring the show.

Finally, Clark approached me, looking like a scolded schoolboy. “Soph, I can’t find my wallet. Please tell me you have some cash.”

“Oh no, how much do you need?” I asked innocently.

“About $1500,” he said, wincing.

I nearly choked. “Fifteen hundred bucks? What did you order, the blue whale?”

“Look, it doesn’t matter. Do you have it or not?”

I rummaged through my purse. “I’ve got about $200. Will that help?”

His relief was palpable. “It’s better than nothing. Thanks.”

As he turned to leave, I added sweetly, “Hey, doesn’t your mom have her credit card? I’m sure she’d be happy to help!”

Clark’s face drained of color as he realized he’d have to ask his mother for help. This was better than any revenge I could have planned.

The rest of the flight was delightfully awkward. Clark and Nadia sat in silence, their first-class experience thoroughly ruined. Meanwhile, I relished my economy seat with a new joy.

As we landed, Clark grumbled about his missing wallet. I bit my lip, holding back a grin. Maybe his loss of dignity was worth the price.

So, fellow travelers, if your partner ever tries to upgrade themselves and leave you behind, remember: a little creative justice can make the journey a lot sweeter. We’re all in this together, economy or first class!