My Husband ‘Accidentally’ Locked Me in the Basement to Watch Basketball with His Friends at Our House

But my husband, Ethan?

He’s so different from these guys. At 35, he’s a successful manager at a tech company, and for reasons that I will never understand, he’s still friends with the same guys he went to high school with.

They’re loud, rude, and completely unlike Ethan. They’re everything he left behind when he made something of himself.

Except, apparently, his loyalty to them.

“Dani, it’s just one game,” he said that night, sitting in the kitchen with a hopeful grin. “The guys really want to watch the game here. They’re dying to see our new TV setup. It’ll be fun!”

I sighed, trying to stay calm. I could almost see the dreadful evening unfolding. I knew that Ethan’s friends would take over the house, inappropriate comments getting into every conversation.

“Ethan, you know how I feel about them. Every single time they come over, it’s like our house gets turned into a frat house. I’m not cleaning up after them again. It’s not happening.”

My husband’s face dropped, a look of wounded pride flashing in his eyes.

“It’s just one night, Danielle. I don’t get to see them very often because of work. Come on, you can hang out upstairs or something. Don’t be like this.”

“No,” I said. “They’re not coming here.”

“Please?” Ethan asked, pouting. “I promise you, I’ll do all the cleaning before and after. You won’t have to do a thing. Why don’t you invite your girls over? You guys can use the hot tub outside and catch up or whatever.”

I didn’t say anything. Ethan didn’t say anything else either.

He just turned back to his bowl of pasta, chewing in silence.

I should’ve seen what was coming next.

A few days later, it happened.

It was Saturday, the night of the big game, but Ethan hadn’t said anything about it. In fact, he was the model husband, coming with me to get groceries, even stopping to get me a bouquet of flowers.

“What do you want for dinner tonight?” he asked as we drove home.

“Anything that doesn’t involve me cooking,” I said.

Ethan chuckled.

“Okay, let’s see what we can do.”

In the end, Ethan decided that we would do takeout for dinner.

“I don’t feel like cooking either,” he said. “So, I ordered a lot of fried chicken and fries.”

“Sounds incredible,” I said. “And when I regret this in the morning, just go with the flow.”

“Deal,” Ethan laughed. “Do you think you could get the six-pack of beer from the basement fridge?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll go in a bit. I just want my nails to dry.”

Ethan nodded and went into the living room, chatting with someone on his phone, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. I was glad that he didn’t mention the game again, and I was even going to sit with him while it was on.

I blew on my nails one more time before I headed down to the basement.

“I’m going to the basement,” I called to Ethan. “Pay attention for the delivery guy!”

He waved me off, barely glancing at me as I walked down the stairs into the cold, dimly lit space where we stored extra drinks in the spare fridge.

I had been trying to turn the basement into my own little reading haven for a while, but whenever I made big purchases for it, I immediately felt guilty. Now, there was a comfy couch and two empty bookshelves.

“Gotcha,” I said to myself as I grabbed the six-pack and turned around to head up the stairs.

I was almost up the stairs when the door to the basement slammed shut.

I blinked in the sudden darkness. That was weird.

“Ethan?” I yelled.

I tried the door handle, but it didn’t budge.

“Ethan!” I called again, louder this time. No answer. I rattled the handle harder. Still locked. My stomach twisted.

He couldn’t have seriously locked me down here by accident, could he?

I banged on the door.

“Ethan! This isn’t funny! Open the door!”

Nothing.

I stood there for a moment, listening. I could hear muffled voices, laughter, and the unmistakable sound of basketball commentary blaring from the TV.

My jaw clenched tightly. His friends were here. Of course, those morons were here. He brought them over after I told him not to.

And he locked me in the basement.

The minutes dragged on, stretching into an hour. I tried yelling, pounding on the door, literally anything to get someone’s attention.

But it was no use.

Ethan was there, with his buddies, watching the game and totally ignoring me. I had no phone, no way to call for help. I was stuck.

After what felt like an eternity, the door finally clicked open. There stood Ethan, looking sheepish but casual, like he’d just made a minor mistake.

“Oh, Dani! There you are!” he said with a fake laugh. “I didn’t know you were down here! I must have locked it by accident. You know, it’s a habit to keep the basement door locked.”

“An accident?” I repeated, my blood boiling.

“Yeah, I didn’t hear you, Dani,” he grinned.

My husband walked into the living room, and I saw that his friends were still there, lounging on the couch. There were beer bottles everywhere, empty chip packets, and two empty barrels of fried chicken. The game was over, and the TV screen showed the winning team celebrating.

Of course, he hadn’t heard me. He wanted me down there.

“Sorry, babe,” Ethan said. “The chicken is finished. But I can make you a toasted cheese sandwich. Or do eggs on toast or something?”

Without another word, I brushed past him and headed straight upstairs.

I wasn’t going to interact with Ethan’s friends. I wasn’t going to give Ethan the time of day. I was furious, but I knew better than to yell. Ethan wouldn’t understand, not right then. No, he’d feel bad for a moment, sure, but in the end, he’d just make more excuses.

Instead, I waited. I plotted.

A few nights later, after Ethan had passed out in bed, already snoring softly, I crept out of our bedroom. Quietly, I went downstairs and pulled out a small tank I’d gotten from my brother earlier in the day.

Inside were two small, non-venomous snakes.

Ethan hated snakes. He was absolutely terrified of them, and my brother loved them. When I told him what Ethan had done, he was more than willing to get on board with my plan.

“My babies will get the job done, Sis,” he said.

I opened the bedroom door just wide enough to slip the snakes inside. They slithered across the carpet, disappearing into the darkness. Then, I stepped out and locked the door from the outside.

It was poetic.

Once everything was in place, I went downstairs and settled on the couch with a blanket. I dialed Ethan’s number and let it ring, waking him up.

“What?” he asked, his voice groggy and annoyed.

I smiled to myself, staring up at the ceiling.

“You might want to wake up,” I said.

“What are you talking about? Where are you?”

“There’s something in the room with you,” I said calmly. “A couple of things, actually.”

“What did you do?” Ethan shouted.

I heard a thud and then a sharp gasp.

“Oh my God, what the actual… Danielle! Get me out of here! Danielle, what the hell is in here?”

I could almost see him, thrashing around in the dark, terrified. It felt good; finally, he was the one locked up, feeling helpless.

“Danielle!” he screamed loudly. “Please, babe! Please! I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that! Please get me out!”

I let him sweat for a while, listening to his pleas. He sounded truly pathetic. After about two hours of listening to him beg, I finally walked back upstairs.

I opened the door and found my husband standing in the middle of the bed.

“Try a move like that again,” I said. “And you’ll be out of my house and my life before you know it.”

What would you have done?

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