On my birthday, I expected my fiancé Sean to surprise me with the dream dress I’d been eyeing for months. Instead, his mother Linda walked in wearing it, saying Sean had gifted it to her and insisted she wear it to my party. My heart sank as I unwrapped my present — not the dress, but a $50 gift card. When I asked Sean why, his cold reply was, “To humble you… it was a test before marriage.”
I packed my things that night and left for my sister’s place. A week later, Linda called, asking to meet. She looked smaller somehow, weighed down by guilt, and told me Sean had lied to her too — claiming I’d picked the dress for her as a surprise. When she saw my face that night, she knew something was wrong and pressed him until he admitted the truth.
Linda slid a shopping bag toward me, and inside was the dress — cleaned, pressed, and tied with a ribbon. She refused to keep it, saying it was always meant to be mine. With tears in her eyes, she told me Sean didn’t deserve me, or any woman, and urged me not to return to him. Her words felt more like a mother’s than his ever had.
I left the café carrying the dress, but also something more — the knowledge that I deserved love without games or manipulation. Linda and I promised to stay in touch, our bond unexpectedly strengthened by Sean’s cruelty. I’ll wear that dress someday, but for me — not for him.