James and Rachel were once the picture of true love, visiting Romano’s restaurant every Friday without fail. As a longtime server, I watched their ritual of sharing meals and affection with admiration. James always ordered ribeye steak, Rachel the grilled salmon, and they would end each evening with a shared dessert and split the bill. Their bond was enviable, often sparking comments from coworkers wishing for such love in their own lives. But over time, subtle shifts became apparent. James began ordering extravagant meals and leaving Rachel to foot the increasingly large bills, including those for group dinners with his friends. Rachel, ever polite, never complained, but it was clear she was uncomfortable.

One night, James arrived without Rachel, celebrating a business win with friends. When she did show up, out of breath and withdrawn, she only ordered a salad and looked out of place. As usual, James passed her the bill—this time totaling nearly $900. Rachel excused herself to the bathroom, where I overheard her distressed call to her mother. Moved by her struggle, I offered to help. She pretended to have an emergency and left. I then informed James that his table was double-booked and payment was needed before reseating. Caught off-guard, he was forced to pay. The next day, Rachel thanked me, having finally told James she was tired of being treated like an ATM. That Friday, for the first time in years, they didn’t show up—leaving me to wonder what came of the love I once admired.