After three years together, I was sure our anniversary dinner would be the moment Ryan proposed. He’d booked a fancy restaurant, told me to dress up, and teased a “special surprise.” I wore the emerald dress he loved, hoping the night would lift me from the sting of a recent promotion I’d lost—thanks to office gossip that I might soon marry and have kids.
Dinner began beautifully. Ryan complimented me, we laughed, shared wine. But when dessert arrived, it wasn’t a ring—it was a cake that read, “Congrats on Your Promotion!” I froze. I hadn’t gotten the promotion. He knew that. Yet he staged a fake celebration, turning my disappointment into a public joke. When I confronted him, he brushed it off as “positive vibes,” then mocked me for being “dramatic.”
I left the restaurant heartbroken. Days passed. Ryan kept texting, but I stayed silent. My friend Hannah said, “Girl… you need a revenge party.” So I planned one.
Ryan, obsessed with his hair and self-image, was invited to my place for a “surprise.” He walked into a room filled with black and gold balloons, a banner that read “Congrats on Becoming Bald!” and a cake that mirrored his own cruel joke: “Manifesting It Early!”
His friends laughed. Ryan didn’t. “You think this is funny?” he snapped. I smiled. “Didn’t you?”
He stormed out. But one friend stayed behind—Zach. He said, “That was one of the best comebacks I’ve ever seen.” Then he added, “You deserve better.”
And maybe, just maybe, I do.
