The Gift He Shouldn’t Have Thrown Away
When my fiancé tossed my handmade gift in the trash and laughed about it with his friends, he thought it was just a joke. A harmless prank. But he had no idea his cruel little stunt would cost him everything.
The Beginning of Us
Greg and I had been dating for nine months when he proposed.
We met at a wild college party—the kind with sticky floors and cheap beer. But the moment he flashed that cocky grin at me, I was hooked. He was charming, funny, and made me feel like I was the only girl in the room.
“You’re different from other girls,” he used to say, his fingers brushing my hair behind my ear. “You actually get my sense of humor.”
At the time, I thought it was romantic. Now? I realize it was a red flag wrapped in pretty words.
Nine months later, he got down on one knee in the middle of a crowded restaurant, and I said yes without hesitation. My friends screamed, my mom cried over FaceTime, and for a while, everything felt perfect.
Greg seemed to love the little things I did for him. When I left cute notes in his car, he’d text me heart emojis. When I surprised 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 give him something special. Something from the heart.
The Scrapbook of Memories
I wasn’t rich—I worked part-time at a bookstore while finishing college—so buying something expensive wasn’t an option. But I didn’t care. I’ve always been the sentimental type.
“I want to make him something meaningful,” I told my best friend Sarah as we browsed the craft aisle at Target.
“That’s so sweet!” she said. “What are you thinking?”
I decided on a scrapbook.
For weeks, I collected every tiny memory—photos from our dates, ticket stubs from movies, even the silly Post-it notes I’d left on his fridge. I spent hours arranging them, decorating the pages with doodles and inside jokes.
The cover took me the longest. I hand-lettered his name in delicate calligraphy, surrounded by tiny hearts. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine.
“Alice, this is beautiful,” my roommate Emma said, watching me work late at night. “He’s going to love it.”
“I hope so,” I whispered, carefully placing another photo. “I just want him to know how much these nine months meant to me.”
The Moment It All Shattered
The night of his birthday, I handed him the scrapbook with shaky hands. His eyes widened as he flipped through the pages.
“Wow,” he said softly. “This is… amazing. I love it, babe.”
He pulled me into a tight hug, and I melted.
“You really like it?” I asked, searching his face.
“Are you kidding? Look at all the work you put into this!” He kissed me, then placed the book on his living room shelf—right where everyone could see it.
I floated home that night, heart bursting.
He gets me. He loves me.
But three days later, everything changed.
We were at his apartment with his friends, laughing over drinks, when one of them—Jake—asked, “So, what’d you get for your birthday, man?”
I smiled, expecting Greg to proudly show off the scrapbook.
Instead, he laughed.
“Oh man, you guys have to see this,” he said, grabbing the book off the shelf.
My stomach dropped.
“Straight outta middle-school romance,” he sneered, waving it like a joke.
Then—before I could react—he threw it in the trash.
Just like that.
His friends howled with laughter.
I stood there, frozen, my heart cracking in my chest.
“Babe, relax,” Greg said, grinning at my shocked face. “It’s just a joke.”
A joke.
That’s what my love was to him. A punchline.
I forced a smile, pretending it didn’t hurt. But that night, I sobbed into my pillow until my throat was raw.
The Reckoning
The next evening, Greg’s best friend, Mark, invited us over for chili. I almost didn’t go—I was still humiliated—but Greg insisted.
“Come on, babe,” he said, oblivious. “Mark makes the best chili.”
I plastered on a smile. “Sure.”
But the second we walked in, something felt off.
Mark was quiet, his jaw tight. He kept glancing at me with an unreadable expression.
Then—15 minutes in—he stood up.
And in his hands was my scrapbook.
My breath caught. Where did he—?
“Greg,” Mark said, his voice dangerously calm. “Do you recognize this?”
Greg laughed. “Oh man, that thing again?”
Mark’s face darkened. “I found it in your trash last night when I was helping you clean up.”
“Yeah, so?” Greg shrugged. “It was just sitting there.”
That’s when Mark snapped.
“Just sitting there?” His voice was sharp as a blade. *”This thing she spent *weeks* making for you? This piece of her heart that you threw away like garbage? You think humiliating her in front of your friends is funny?”
The room went dead silent.
Greg’s face turned red. “Dude, it was just a joke—”
“No.” Mark cut him off, cold as ice. *”You don’t get to call this a joke. You *shamed* her for caring. You made her feel small for loving you. And that makes you the biggest fool I know.”*
I was crying now. Someone finally saw what I’d given Greg—and what he’d destroyed.
Greg tried to backtrack, but it was too late. The damage was done.
The End—And The Beginning
That night, I left alone.
The next morning, I called Greg. My hands shook, but my voice didn’t.
“We’re done,” I said.
He begged. He apologized. But I wasn’t listening anymore.
“Goodbye, Greg.”
And just like that—nine months, an engagement, and a future I’d dreamed of—gone.
Four Months Later
I threw myself into school, reconnected with friends, and slowly remembered who I was before Greg.
Then, one day at my favorite coffee shop, I heard a familiar voice.
“Alice?”
I turned.
Mark.
We hadn’t spoken since that night. He looked nervous, like he wasn’t sure if I’d hate him.
“Hi,” I said softly. Then, because I’d never thanked him: “Mark… what you did that night? Thank you.”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to thank me for telling the truth.”
We sat down with our coffees, and then—out of nowhere—he said something that stunned me.
“I’ve been in love with you since the day Greg introduced us.”
My heart stopped.
“I never said anything because you were with him. But after what he did?” Mark’s jaw tightened. *”I couldn’t stay quiet anymore. You deserve *better.“
Then he reached into his bag—and pulled out my scrapbook.
“I couldn’t let it get thrown away again,” he said softly. *”It’s *beautiful, Alice. Just like you.”
Now
A year later, Mark and I are still together.
He keeps every note I write him. Every doodle. Every memory.
And the scrapbook? It sits on our shelf now—where it belongs.
Greg thought he was being funny when he threw my love away.
But in the end?
He lost everything.
And I won.