I devoted years to a man I thought I’d spend forever with, only to discover on our anniversary that I was nothing more than the butt of his cruel joke. What should have been the most romantic night of my life turned into a humiliating spectacle—until I found a way to get even.
Yesterday marked our third anniversary, and I was convinced it would finally be the night Ryan asked me to marry him. He booked a fancy restaurant, hinted at a “special surprise,” and gave me just enough reason to believe my suspicions were right. But what actually happened blindsided me.
Building Up the Moment
Ryan and I are both 29. We’re not living together yet, but we’ve been talking about moving in and maybe even getting a dog once we do.
This year, he reserved a table at an upscale downtown restaurant—the type with candlelit tables, folded napkins like origami, and a quiet, elegant atmosphere. He told me to “dress nice” and said he had something special planned.
I didn’t pressure him or drop hints about marriage. I just knew. So I went all out—hair curled, nails done, and my emerald-green dress that he once said made me look like a movie star. I walked into that night glowing with hope.
The truth was, I needed something good. Work had been brutal. I’d been gunning for a promotion, working myself to the bone—late nights, impossible clients, mentoring a junior employee. In the end, that junior, fresh out of grad school, got the position.
Why? Because management assumed that, as a 29-year-old woman, I was likely to get married, have a baby, and “disappear” for a year. No one said it outright, but I heard the whispers by the vending machine. One admin even told me quietly, “They don’t want to invest in someone who might be gone soon.”
I cried in my car the day I found out. I told Ryan about it later, believing he understood how deeply it hurt me.
So, yes—I was clinging to the hope that this night, at least, would make me feel like I was winning somewhere in life.
The Cruel Joke
At dinner, Ryan seemed jittery. He complimented my dress, fidgeted with his phone, and barely touched his food. I figured it was nerves about proposing.
When dessert came, my heart skipped. The server placed a plate in front of me. On it was a slice of chocolate cake with pink icing that read:
“Congrats on Your Promotion!”
My smile froze. “What is this?” I whispered.
Ryan beamed like he’d pulled off something clever. “Surprise! I thought it would be cute to celebrate early—manifesting good energy!”
The waiter leaned in, curious. “Wow, that’s great! What position did you get?”
Heat rushed to my face. “Oh, um… it’s not official yet.”
Ryan waved his hand. “She’s just being humble. She’s overdue, so we’re celebrating in advance.”
I wanted to sink under the table.
When the server walked away, I hissed, “Why would you do this? You know I didn’t get it.”
“I know,” he said casually. “That’s why I thought this would cheer you up. Positive vibes, babe.”
I shoved the plate aside. “That’s not positive—that’s humiliating!”
He leaned back, rolling his eyes. “You’re being too sensitive. I just wanted to lighten the mood.”
“Lighten the mood?” I snapped. “I told you I didn’t get the promotion because they think I’m nothing more than a future mom. And you turned that pain into a joke. In front of strangers!”
Ryan shrugged. “I mean, you weren’t actually close to getting it. I figured this was the only way you’d ever hear ‘congratulations.’”
My stomach dropped. “So you didn’t do this for me. You did it for a laugh.”
“Whatever,” he muttered. “You’re overreacting.”
That was it. I signaled the waiter, pulled out my card, and paid for myself. Ryan grumbled about me “killing the vibe” and stormed out. I sat there, finished another glass of wine, and let the humiliation burn into something else—resolve.
Turning the Tables
Three days passed. Ryan texted, but I ignored him. My friends were split—some thought he was harmless, others agreed he was cruel. My best friend Hannah finally said, “Girl, you need a revenge party.”
So, I set one up.
Ryan loves celebrating himself—mini “Ryan Days,” goofy “Ryan Week” parties, always obsessed with his looks, especially his thinning hair.
I texted him: “Maybe I was too harsh. Come over, I have a surprise.”
When he arrived, smug in a button-down, he smirked. “You realize you overreacted, right?”
I opened the door wide. “Come in. I want to show you something.”
He stepped inside and froze.
My living room was decorated with black-and-gold balloons. A banner stretched across the wall:
“Congrats on Going Bald!”
And on the table sat a cake nearly identical to the restaurant’s—this one iced with: “Manifesting It Early!”
His Turn in the Spotlight
Ryan’s friends and mine were gathered around. Laughter rippled through the room.
His face went crimson. “What the hell is this?!”
I smiled sweetly. “Just shifting the energy. Good vibes, right?”
His buddy Derek nearly spit out his drink. Another friend whispered, “Dude, that’s savage.”
Ryan sputtered, “You think this is funny?!”
“Didn’t you?” I asked. “You thought mocking my career was hilarious. I just returned the favor.”
He fumed. “This is petty. Not the same.”
“No,” I said, still calm, “you’re right. Mine’s a joke. Yours was cruel.”
Even his friends didn’t back him up. Derek shrugged. “Man, you kind of asked for it.” Another muttered, “Told you that cake idea was weird.”
One friend, Jenna, rolled her eyes. “You both are being immature.”
“You don’t have to stay,” I told her.
Ryan stormed toward the door. “We’re done. It’s over.”
“Okay,” I replied simply, sipping my drink.
He slammed the door, leaving his humiliation behind.
The Twist I Didn’t Expect
The party died down soon after, guests trickling out. But one of Ryan’s friends, Zach, lingered.
“You know,” he said, glancing at the cake, “Ryan always joked you didn’t have a sense of humor. But that was honestly genius.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not upset I made fun of him?”
Zach shrugged. “He deserved it. And honestly, you deserve better.”
My surprise must’ve shown, because he grinned. “So… if you’re free this weekend?”
I laughed. “Are you asking me out?”
“Depends,” he teased. “Will you throw a party if I go bald?”
“Only if you deserve it,” I quipped.
We both laughed. And for the first time in months, I felt like I had the last laugh—and the upper hand.