When my fiancé threw my handmade gift in the trash and laughed about it with his friends, he thought he was being funny. He had no idea that what he did would cost him something he wasn’t expecting. Greg and I had been dating for nine months when he proposed.
We met at a college party, and I was instantly smitten. He was charming, funny, and had this way of making me feel like I was the only girl in the room. “You’re different from other girls,” he used to tell me.
“You actually get my sense of humor.”
I thought that was romantic. Now I realize it was probably a warning sign. When he got down on one knee nine months into our relationship, I said yes without hesitation.
My friends squealed with excitement, while my mom cried happy tears over FaceTime. Everything felt perfect. Greg seemed to love all the little things I did for him.
When I’d leave cute notes in his car, he’d text me heart emojis. When I’d surprise him with his favorite cookies, he’d kiss my forehead and call me his “sweet girl.”
So when his birthday rolled around, I wanted to do something really meaningful. I’m not exactly rich because I work part-time at a bookstore while finishing college.
So, buying something expensive wasn’t an option. But I’ve always been a sentimental person anyway. “I want to make him something from the heart,” I told my best friend Sarah while we browsed through craft supplies at Target.
“That’s so sweet,” she said. “What are you thinking?”
I decided on a scrapbook. I spent hours collecting photos from our dates, ticket stubs from every movie we’d seen together, and those little post-it notes I’d written him over the months.
I even included inside jokes and doodles of things that made us laugh. The cover took me the longest. I hand-lettered his name in fancy calligraphy and decorated it with little hearts.
It wasn’t professional-looking or anything, but it was made with pure love. “This is beautiful, Alice,” my roommate Emma said when she saw me working on it at our kitchen table at midnight. “He’s going to love this.”
“I hope so,” I said, carefully placing another photo.
“I just want him to know how much these nine months have meant to me.”
When I finally gave it to him on his birthday, my heart was pounding. We were alone in his apartment, and I watched his face carefully as he opened it. “Wow,” he said, flipping through the pages slowly.
“This is… wow. I love it, babe.”
He pulled me into a tight hug, and I felt like I was floating.
“You really like it?” I asked, pulling back to look at his face. “Are you kidding? This is amazing.
Look at all this work you put in.” He kissed me softly. “Thank you, Alice. Really.”
He placed it carefully on the shelf in his living room, right where everyone could see it.
My heart felt so full I thought it might burst. “Yes,” I whispered to myself later that night. “He gets me.
He appreciates me.”
But a few days later, my perfect little world came crashing down around me. We were back at his apartment, hanging out with some of his college buddies. I was in the kitchen getting drinks when I heard Jake, one of his friends, asking about birthday gifts.
“So, what did you get for your birthday, man?” Jake called out. I smiled to myself, expecting Greg to mention the scrapbook with pride. Maybe he’d even show it off.
Instead, I heard him laugh. “Oh man, you guys have to see this,” he said. I walked back into the living room just in time to see him grab my scrapbook off the shelf.
My heart started racing, but not in a good way. “Look at this,” he said, waving it around like it was some kind of joke. “Straight outta middle school relationship core.”
The room went quiet for a second.
Then Greg did something that will haunt me forever. He tossed it in the trash. Just like that.
My hours of work and carefully collected memories were thrown away like garbage. I stood there frozen while his friends laughed like Greg had cracked the best joke of the century. I wanted to run and scream, but I forced a smile instead.
What option did I have? I didn’t want to be the “overly sensitive girlfriend” who couldn’t take a joke. “Babe, relax,” Greg said when he saw my face.
“It’s just a joke.”
A joke. That’s what my love was to him. A punchline.
I went along with it for the rest of the evening, but inside, I was dying.
That night, when I got home, I cried harder than I had in years. “Maybe I was being childish,” I told myself through tears. “Maybe scrapbooks really are lame.
Maybe I embarrassed him without realizing it.”
But no matter how hard I tried to convince myself, the hurt wouldn’t go away. Because deep down, I knew the truth. The person I thought loved me had just shown me exactly how little I meant to him.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page to discover the rest 🔎👇
