just too much for him. Like he was the one who had been dragged along for a decade, waiting for a promise that never came.

“Emily, I just… I wanted it to be special.”

I let out a short laugh, but there was no warmth in it.

“Special? Ten years, Ryan. Ten years.

And your mom was the one to pop the question for you.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t even look at me.

I grabbed my phone, let him watch as I tapped the screen, and deleted the post. One click, and it was gone—like none of it had ever happened.

The room was silent.

Ryan just stood there, staring at the floor, not saying a word.

And then—just like that—he acted like nothing had happened.

So, I decided to act, too.

The next morning, I picked up my phone and called Ryan. My voice was light, almost cheerful.

“Hey,” I said.

“I want to take you out for dinner tonight. Just the two of us.”

There was a pause on the other end. I could practically hear his thoughts racing.

Was I still mad? Was this some kind of trap?

“Uh… yeah,” he said slowly. “Sure.

That sounds nice.”

Nice.

By evening, we pulled up to the most expensive restaurant in town, the kind of place where the silverware weighed too much, and the waiters glided instead of walked.

The chandeliers cast a soft golden glow over the room. Candlelight flickered on every table.

A violinist played in the corner, his melody weaving through hushed conversations and the clinking of crystal glasses.

It was perfect. Romantic.

Everything a proposal was supposed to be.

Ryan glanced around, then at me. He looked a little puzzled but didn’t question it. Instead, he swirled the deep red wine in his glass and took a sip.

“This is nice,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

I smiled, taking in the moment.

“I thought we deserved something special.”

He nodded, relaxing. Maybe he thought this was my way of smoothing things over of forgiving him.

Then the waiter arrived with dessert—beautifully plated, delicate. A final touch of elegance.

I met the waiter’s eyes and gave a small nod.

Right on cue, the music shifted.

A soft, sweet melody filled the space. Conversations faded. People turned.

I took a breath, pushed back my chair, and dropped to one knee.

Gasps rippled through the restaurant like a wave, quiet at first, then growing louder as heads turned in my direction.

I could feel their eyes on me—curious, shocked, maybe even a little pitying.

The poor woman who had to propose to her own boyfriend after a decade of waiting.

Ryan’s face drained of color, his wine glass frozen halfway to his lips.

His eyes darted from me to the velvet box in my hand, his fingers tightening around the stem of his glass as if it might anchor him.

“Emily…” His voice was barely above a whisper, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted the words to carry.

“What are you doing?”

I kept my expression calm, unreadable, as I placed the small box in his hands.

The weight of it seemed to press into his palm, heavier than it should have been.

“Open it,” I said, my voice steady.

Ryan swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he hesitated, his fingers hesitating at the edges of the box. The whole restaurant seemed to hold its breath.

Finally, he flipped it open.

For a moment, he didn’t react.

Then I watched as the last bit of color drained completely from his face.

Inside wasn’t a ring.

It was a note.

Simple. Clean. Direct.

“Good luck waiting for the right moment with another woman.”

I watched the words sink into him, watched the way his shoulders slumped as if the message had weight.

A slow, deliberate smile curled at the edges of my lips.

I rose to my feet, smoothing the fabric of my dress as I picked up my purse.

Ryan just sat there. Silent. Staring.

The violinist continued playing, the melody unfazed.

The clinking of silverware had stopped. The audience? Speechless.

I leaned down, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m done waiting.”

Then, without looking back, I walked out.

The air outside was crisp, fresh, free.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the cool night breeze brush against my skin.

The faint hum of the city wrapped around me—cars passing in the distance, muffled laughter from a nearby bar, the rhythmic tapping of someone’s heels against the pavement.

It all felt different now, sharper somehow, like I was truly hearing it for the first time.

I took a slow breath, inhaling the scent of possibility. No more waiting. No more hoping that one day he’d decide I was worth the commitment.

I was done.

My phone buzzed in my purse, pulling me from the moment.

I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

Lisa.

Did you actually do it?

A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I typed back.

Oh, I did it. And it was beautiful.

I slipped my phone back into my purse, my fingers brushing against the smooth leather. As I looked up at the night sky, I realized something.

Ryan could keep waiting for his perfect moment.

I had just created mine.

Source: amomama