I dreamed of a ring on our third anniversary, but my boyfriend’s cruel joke turned our romantic dinner into a public embarrassment. When I fought back with a taste of his own medicine, I reclaimed my pride and found a new spark.
Our third anniversary had me buzzing with hope. My boyfriend, Nate, 29, had been dropping hints—reservations at a chic downtown bistro, whispers of a “big surprise.” We’d been talking about moving in together, maybe even getting a cat. I was sure this was it: the night he’d propose.
I spent the week prepping, picking a sapphire-blue dress Nate once called “stunning,” getting my hair styled, nails polished. Work had been rough—I’d been passed over for a promotion I’d poured my heart into, leading a major project for a year. The new guy, Tom, fresh from grad school, got it instead. Whispers around the office blamed my age and gender: “She’ll probably get married and leave for maternity soon,” a coworker murmured. I confided in Nate, tears falling, and thought he understood.
I pushed the pain aside for our anniversary, imagining Nate saying, “You’re my forever promotion.” But the night took a different turn.
At the restaurant, with its soft lighting and velvet chairs, Nate was jittery—checking his phone, barely touching his steak. “You look radiant, but like, fierce,” he said, making me smile. We sipped wine, shared bruschetta, and I waited for the moment.
When dessert arrived, my heart raced. The waiter set down a chocolate torte with “Congrats on Your Promotion!” piped in gold frosting. My smile vanished.
“What’s this?” I whispered.
Nate grinned like he’d won a bet. “A little manifesting magic! Thought it’d cheer you up.”
The waiter beamed. “Big promotion, huh? What’s the job?”
I stammered, “It’s… not confirmed.”
“She’s just shy,” Nate said, waving it off. “Early celebration.”
My cheeks burned. “You know I didn’t get it,” I hissed.
“I thought it’d be fun,” he said, still grinning. “You’ve been so down. Just positive vibes, babe.”
“Fun?” I pushed the plate away. “You mocked my failure in front of everyone! I told you they think I’m a risk because I might have kids. This isn’t support—it’s a joke at my expense!”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re overreacting. You weren’t even close to getting it. This was my way of giving you a win.”
I froze. “You did this to make me the punchline.”
“Chill, you’re being dramatic,” he muttered.
I pulled out my card, paid my half, and told him to leave. He stormed out, muttering about my “vibe-killing.” I stayed, sipping wine until the sting faded, the waiter checking on me with a kind nod.
Nate texted apologies, but I ignored them. My friend Mia suggested, “You need a comeback party.” Nate loved his over-the-top “Nate Fest” birthdays, obsessing over his fading hairline. So I planned my move.
I texted him: “I overreacted. Come over for a surprise.” He arrived cocky, in a fitted shirt, smirking. “Knew you’d come around,” he said.
Inside, my apartment was decked with silver balloons and a banner: “Congrats on Going Bald!” A torte, mirroring his prank, read, “Manifesting It Early!”
Our friends—his and mine—burst out laughing. Nate’s face went scarlet. “What is this?!”
“Just shifting the energy,” I said sweetly. “Good vibes, right?”
His friend Jake snorted into his drink. Another, Sam, whispered, “That’s savage,” chuckling.
“This is low!” Nate snapped.
“Like faking my promotion?” I replied. “Yours was cruel. Mine’s just a joke.”
Jake shrugged. “You kinda earned this, man. That cake stunt was mean.”
Sam nodded. “I warned you it was a bad idea.”
Nate’s friend Tara frowned. “This is childish, both of you.”
“Then leave,” I said.
Nate stormed out, yelling, “We’re through!” I sipped my drink. “Fine.”
Most friends left, but Jake stayed, eyeing the cake. “That was epic,” he said. “Nate’s been a jerk. You’re way out of his league.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not mad?”
“Nah,” he grinned. “Coffee this weekend?”
“Only if you don’t prank me,” I teased.
We laughed, and for the first time in days, I felt light. Sometimes, the best revenge is taking back your power—and maybe a new beginning.
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