He said the dinner was to celebrate “us.” Halfway through, he handed me a bill for five years of rent. I didn’t cry; I just left him with the $400 check and took his car. 🥂🔥

So yesterday was our third anniversary. I spent the whole week believing it was the night my boyfriend would finally propose. He fueled my suspicions by making reservations at a restaurant, but when his true intentions were revealed, I was forced to retaliate.

Okay, let me backtrack a bit. My boyfriend’s name is Ryan, and he’s 29, just like me. We don’t live together yet, but we’ve been talking about it more earnestly this year. We’ve even discussed if we should get a dog when we do.

On our anniversary, he’d made a reservation at a cozy restaurant tucked downtown. It was nicer and fancier than the places we usually frequented, the kind of place that had flickering candles and linen napkins folded with tweezers.

Ryan told me to dress nice and said he had a “special surprise” planned. I hadn’t even hinted about a proposal. I believed I didn’t need to. I just knew.

So, I got my nails done, curled my hair, dressed up, super excited, thinking the moment I’d been waiting for was finally here. I wore a long emerald-green dress, the one he once said made me look like something out of a movie.

My heart was light.

Even though my week at work had been brutal, I refused to let it drag me down that night.

The thing was, I had been up for a promotion, something I’d worked for nonstop over the last year. I stayed late, ran point on the company’s most complicated client project, and even mentored the guy, Matt, who eventually got the position instead of me.

Matt was literally fresh out of graduate school.

You want to know why he got it? Because of office rumors that I was probably going to get married and have a baby soon.

Apparently, being a 29-year-old woman in a corporate setting makes you a liability. No one said it out loud, of course, but it was the quiet talk near the vending machines. “Upper management doesn’t like investing in someone who might vanish for a year,” one of the admins whispered when I asked if she’d heard anything.

I smiled like it didn’t bother me, then cried in my car. Of course, I told Ryan all about it when I got home and thought he genuinely sympathized with my situation and understood where I was coming from.

So I needed this night. I needed something to feel good about. I tried to reel in my expectations by telling myself I was being silly, that Ryan might not propose.

But I kept imagining him pulling out the ring, maybe even saying something cheesy like, “I didn’t need a promotion to know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

But that’s not what happened.

Dinner started out great. Ryan complimented my dress, told me I looked “elegant but like, dangerous too,” which made me laugh. We ordered wine, shared appetizers. He seemed a little nervous, though, checking his phone, not really eating much, and tapping his fingers on the edge of the table.

So, when dessert came, I straightened in my seat, expecting something… sparkly.

Instead, the server placed a small white plate between us with a single slice of chocolate cake and pink icing piped across it: “Congrats on Your Promotion!”

I blinked. The smile froze on my face.

“What is this?” I asked softly.

His eyes lit up like he’d pulled off a magic trick. “Surprise! I thought it’d be cute to manifest it happening.”

The server chuckled. “Wow, big deal, huh? What position did you get?”

I laughed nervously. “Oh, uh. It’s… It’s not official yet.”

Ryan waved his hand. “She’s being modest. She’s due, it’s just a little early celebration.”

The server nodded, clearly unsure, then wandered off.

I stared at the cake, heart pounding. Then whispered, “Why would you do this? You know I didn’t get it!”

“I know,” he said, still smiling. “That’s why I thought this would be sweet and would lighten the mood. You’ve been so tense lately. I figured this would help shift the energy. Positive vibes, babe.”

I pushed the plate away. “You made everyone think I got something I didn’t. That wasn’t positive! That’s humiliating!”

He leaned back, frowning now. “Oh, come on. You’re taking this way too seriously. I was trying to be nice.”

“Nice?” My voice shook. “I didn’t get that promotion because they think I’m a future mom and not a professional. I told you that! And you made a joke out of it in front of strangers. It wasn’t about good energy; you wanted a laugh at my expense!”

He scoffed. “I mean, it’s not like you were actually close to getting it. I thought this would be the only way you’d hear ‘congrats.’ And if you were actually getting promoted, maybe I wouldn’t have had to fake it!”

I sat back, stunned. “You didn’t do this to support me! You did it to make me the punchline!”

He looked away, muttering, “Whatever. You’re just being dramatic.”

I slid my credit card out of my bag. “I’ll pay for myself. You can go.”

“What? Are you serious?” he asked, but I was already handing my card to the server, whom I’d signaled, as he returned with the machine. Ryan shook his head, grumbled something about me “ruining the vibe,” and stomped out after paying his share.

I stayed, ordered a second glass of wine, and sat there until my heartbeat calmed down. The waiter came over once to ask if I was okay. I said yes, then I eventually left when I felt steadier.

Three days passed, with Ryan texting, but I ignored him. My friends were divided. Half said he was harmless, the other half agreed it was messed up. One of my best friends, Hannah, texted, “Girl… you need a revenge party.”

So I planned one.

Ryan always loved throwing himself mini birthdays with themes like “Ryan Day” or “Ryan Appreciation Week.” He had a thing about his hair, always checking it, spraying it, worrying over the thinning at the crown.

So I hosted a “celebration” at my place. I texted Ryan and said, “I’ve been thinking. Maybe I was too sensitive. Can you come over? I have a surprise for you.”

Of course, he showed up all smug in a tight button-down, with a cocky half-smile. “You realize you overreacted, right?” he said at the door.

“I have something to show you,” I replied.

When he stepped into the apartment, he froze.

All around the living room were black and gold balloons. A giant banner read, “Congrats on Becoming Bald!” A cake, nearly identical to the one from the restaurant, sat on the table: “Manifesting It Early!”

His friends were there, mine too. Most laughed at the joke.

But Ryan’s jaw dropped. “What the hell is this?!”

I smiled. “I’m just trying to shift the energy. Good vibes, right?”

One of his buddies, Derek, choked on his beer. Another guy, Trevor, whispered, “Dude, that’s brutal,” but also laughed.

Ryan’s face went beet red. “You think this is funny?!”

“Didn’t you?” I asked. “You thought pretending I got a promotion I worked hard for was funny. I just flipped it.”

“This is petty. It’s not the same.”

“No,” I said, still smiling, “you’re right. Mine’s a joke. Yours was cruel.”

He looked around, clearly waiting for his friends to back him up.

“Man, you kind of set yourself up,” Derek said. “You faked her promotion. That’s cold.”

Trevor muttered, “I told you that cake idea was weird.”

A couple of his other friends didn’t laugh. One of them, Jenna, shook her head. “You two clearly have issues. This is all immature.”

“You don’t have to stay,” I told her.

Ryan turned and stormed toward the door. “We’re done, it’s over,” he snapped.

He slammed the door behind him.

Most of his friends started leaving, and some of mine made excuses too and followed suit.

Then something unexpected happened. One of his friends, Zach, lingered after everyone else had eventually left.

“You know,” he said, standing near the cake box, “he always joked you didn’t have a sense of humor. But that was honestly one of the best comebacks I’ve ever seen.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not mad I made your friend a punchline?”

Zach shrugged. “Ryan’s been kind of a jerk lately. And, for the record, I always thought you deserved better.”

I looked at him, surprised.

He grinned. “I mean, if you’re not busy this weekend…”

I smiled back. “Are you asking me out?”

“Depends. You gonna throw a party if I go bald?”

“Only if you deserve it,” I said.

We both laughed. And for the first time in a long time, it felt like I’d finally gotten the last word.