On our first anniversary, I gave Melanie a single rose. She laughed, called it pathetic, and tossed it aside. She had no idea what it truly meant. Later that night, she found my real gift… and her world shattered. But by then, it was too late to save our relationship.
Valentine’s Day wasn’t just about chocolates and roses for us. It was our wedding anniversary—the first one.
When Melanie suggested we get married on Valentine’s Day, I thought it was the ultimate romantic gesture. But now, as I sat there planning her gift, I realized I had signed myself up for an impossible task. It was our first anniversary and our first Valentine’s Day as husband and wife, all wrapped into one.
Melanie had always loved luxury, fine dining, expensive gifts—things that screamed wealth and status. And I had done everything I could to give her that life. Before we got married, I worked late nights, put in extra hours, climbed the corporate ladder—all to provide for her, to be the kind of husband she wanted.
This anniversary had to be special. Something unforgettable. I had spent months planning the perfect gift, and when I finally had it all figured out, I couldn’t wait to see her reaction.
The evening arrived. I decorated our living room with fairy lights, filled the air with the soft glow of candles, and even set up her favorite music to play in the background. Everything was perfect.
When Melanie walked in from work, I took her hands and whispered, “Close your eyes. I have a surprise for you.”
She giggled, letting me guide her into the living room. When I told her she could look, her smile faltered for just a second before she forced a bright expression onto her face.
“Oh! This is… nice.”
Something about her tone set my nerves on edge, but I brushed it aside.
“Let’s exchange gifts,” she said quickly, eyes twinkling with excitement. “Wait right here. I’ll be back.”
She disappeared down the hall, and I sat down near where I had hidden her real gift, my heart pounding.
Moments later, she returned, sitting beside me.
“On three?” I asked, my voice steady but my stomach twisting with anticipation.
Melanie nodded, her signature smirk on her lips. “One…” she counted, and I quickly pulled out my gift, hiding it behind my back. “…two… three!”
We revealed our gifts at the same time.
She held out a set of car keys wrapped with a red bow. My jaw dropped.
“A car? You got me a car?” I whispered, barely believing it. But before I could say more, my eyes flickered to her expression.
Melanie stared at the single red rose in my hand as if I had handed her a rotten vegetable.
“Are you serious?” she scoffed, holding it up like garbage. “That’s it? That’s what I get after all these years? A pathetic little rose? You couldn’t even buy me a real gift?”
My heart sank.
“It’s not just a rose…” I started to explain, but she cut me off with a sharp glare.
“You’ve always been poor,” she spat, venom in her voice. “And you still act like it. Do you even know who you married?”
She tossed the rose onto the table and grabbed the car keys from my hands, twirling them in her fingers. Her lips curled into a cruel smile.
“Oh, and these? Not from me. My father bought me the car. I was just being generous. Clearly, I’m the only one who puts effort into this relationship.”
The words sliced through me like a knife.
It wasn’t even from her. Of course, it wasn’t. Melanie had never been one to spend money on anyone but herself.
I sat there frozen, memories rushing in all at once—
The long nights at work, trying to meet her standards.
The holidays where my gifts never seemed to be enough.
The dinner parties where she subtly mocked my background in front of our friends.
And now, watching her discard my gift like it meant nothing, something inside me snapped.
Later that night, our house filled with family and friends for the anniversary dinner. Glasses clinked, laughter echoed through the walls, and music played in the background.
Melanie was back to her usual self—charming, smiling, telling everyone about her new car, conveniently leaving out the part where it came from her father. She floated from guest to guest, basking in their admiration.
I sat in the corner, watching her. Watching the unopened box on the table. My real gift.
Did it even matter anymore?
“Wait… you didn’t even open his real gift?!” My sister’s voice cut through the noise, sharp with disbelief.
Melanie’s head snapped toward me. “What do you mean, his ‘real gift’? There’s another one?”
I leaned back in my chair, feeling strangely calm. “It’s not for you anymore.”
But her eyes had already found the small, unopened box.
She grabbed it and tore it open, sending tiny puzzle pieces tumbling onto the dining table. She blinked at them, confused.
“What the hell is this?” she muttered, turning the pieces in her hands. “More dollar store gifts?”
Then, she noticed the small card inside the box. She picked it up, her eyes scanning the words.
The blood drained from her face.
“N-no w-way,” she stammered, barely a whisper.
The puzzle wasn’t random. It was a photo of a house—our house. The one I had secretly bought for us. The home I had spent months finding, saving for, negotiating the deal, planning everything.
The single rose? It had come from the garden in the backyard of that house. It wasn’t just a flower—it was a promise. A symbol of the future I had built for us.
The room went silent.
I stood and took a step toward her. “Yes, Melanie. I bought us a house. A real home.” My voice was steady, clear. “The rose wasn’t just a flower. It was meant to show you what I built for us. But after what you said tonight? I have no desire to give it to you. And no desire to live in it with you.”
Her face crumpled. “Wait, no—” she gasped, reaching for me with shaking hands.
I stepped back. “It’s too late. Tonight, I saw the real cost of living up to your expectations. I saw how quickly you turned on me when you thought I had nothing to give. I’m done. I’m filing for divorce.”
The moment I said it, a weight I had been carrying for years lifted.
“Wait! We can talk about this!” she begged, her voice breaking. “I didn’t mean it! Please!”
I shook my head. “I meant every word.”
I walked away, past the guests, past the house filled with memories, past th