Every year, Greg insists we host Christmas dinner. But this year, he tossed a crumpled $50 on the counter and smugly said, “Don’t embarrass me in front of my family.” That’s when I knew—I wasn’t just cooking dinner. I was setting the stage for a moment he’d never forget.

I acted like I was couponing and budgeting, but behind the scenes, I used my savings to hire caterers, rent decorations, and prepare a feast fit for royalty. Greg stayed clueless.

On Christmas Day, the house sparkled, the table dazzled, and Greg’s family was stunned. “How did she do it?” they asked.

Greg beamed. “All Claire needed was my $50,” he bragged.

I stood to toast. “A special thanks to Greg, who handed me fifty bucks and told me to be resourceful.” Gasps. Silence. Then: laughter. His mother looked horrified.

I revealed the truth: the dinner cost $750, which I paid. And then I handed Greg an envelope—my gift to myself: a luxury spa retreat. “You’re doing the dishes tonight,” I added with a smile.

Greg sulked in the kitchen. I savored dessert.

Moral: Never underestimate a woman armed with grit, grace—and a grudge.