The Night I Thought He Would Propose, He Played a Joke Instead, So I Gave Him One Back!

The dinner was a masterclass in romantic tension. Bathed in amber candlelight, we toasted to our history while my heart hammered against my ribs. When the waiter finally approached with a silver-domed platter after dessert, I felt a rush of adrenaline. I braced myself for the velvet box, the shimmering diamond, the bended knee.

The dome was lifted to reveal a plate decorated in dark chocolate script: “Congrats on Your Promotion!”

The air vanished from the room. Two weeks earlier, I had been passed over for a Senior Directorship I’d spent eighteen months earning. Worse, I knew the promotion went to a less experienced man because the partners viewed me as a “flight risk” who was likely to settle down and start a family. Ryan had held me while I wept over that injustice. He knew the wound was raw, yet here he was, prodding it with a dessert fork.

When I whispered that I hadn’t gotten the job, Ryan just waved a hand dismissively. He told me he was “manifesting” the success for me and called it a joke to lighten my “gloomy” mood. He told me not to be so sensitive. In that moment, the man I loved disappeared, replaced by a stranger who found my pain entertaining. He wasn’t celebrating me; he was asserting dominance by trivializing my professional grief.

I didn’t cause a scene. I simply paid for my half of the meal, looked him in the eye, and told him to “manifest this” before walking out into the night.

A week of silence followed. I realized then that Ryan wasn’t waiting for an apology; he was waiting for me to accept my role as the punchline. So, I decided to give him a finale he’d never forget. I invited our mutual friends to a “Surprise Celebration” at my apartment. Ryan arrived with his usual arrogance, likely expecting a grand gesture of reconciliation.

Instead, he walked into a room draped in funeral-black decor. A massive banner hung across the wall: “Congrats on the Receding Hairline!” In the center of the room sat a cake topped with a plastic man clutching a toupee, inscribed with the words: “Manifesting the Baldness Early!”

The room went cold. Ryan, whose vanity regarding his hair was his only true vulnerability, turned a mottled red. When he hissed at me, asking if I thought this was funny, I mirrored his exact tone from the restaurant: “Positive vibes, Ryan! It’s just a joke, honey. Don’t be so sensitive.”