I’ve dated a divorced father of two for five years. This year, we dropped off his kid at his mom’s place for her birthday. I was invited to see her mother and grandmother’s gifts.
The fact that one of the gifts—a pink-cased painting set—was one I had bought and wrapped a week earlier broke my heart. Someone tried to remove the little sticker with “To Mia, from Lily,” which I had written on the side. Poorly.
Still faintly visible was my penmanship. I blinked to avoid a fuss. I didn’t want to ruin a child’s birthday with a gut sensation, but betrayal and confusion made it hard to breathe.
After cake, laughter, and too many pictures, I gently asked my boyfriend, Mark, if he gave his ex-wife the gift to pass off as hers. He looked at me like I had two heads. “What are you talking about?” he laughed like I was joking.
I wasn’t. I described what I saw. A strangely defensive man murmured about “wanting to keep the peace.” Not saying more in front of everyone, but something broke inside.
…The story doesn’t end here, it continues on the next page 👇
