I spent three years loving Ryan, certain he’d propose on our anniversary. He made a fancy restaurant reservation, told me to dress up, and hinted at a “special surprise.” I arrived in an emerald dress, my heart racing — only for dessert to arrive with pink icing reading: “Congrats on Your Promotion!”
The problem? I hadn’t gotten the promotion. In fact, I’d been passed over because my bosses assumed I’d “probably get married and have a baby soon.” I’d told Ryan this, thinking he understood. But he admitted he did it for “a laugh” and to “manifest good vibes.” I left the restaurant furious, deciding I wouldn’t let it slide.
