Aaron and I moved into a small apartment after college. I worked at a marketing firm, he sold cars, and every Friday night we ordered the same pad Thai from the same restaurant.
But on every Valentine’s Day, birthday, and Christmas, I found myself glancing at his hands, waiting for a little box that never appeared. Whenever I brought it up gently, my boyfriend gave me that same soft smile.
“Baby, a ring isn’t the main thing,” he’d say. “I’m saving. I want to do it right. I want to give you everything.”
I believed him. Every single time.
Meanwhile, my friends were getting married. Even my younger cousin, Megan, got married at 24, and I laughed too loudly to hide how much it hurt. Then there was Diane, my stepmother, who never wasted a chance to press on the bruise.
“Sandra, honey,” she said at Thanksgiving two years ago, in front of the whole table. “You’re the girlfriend who couldn’t close the deal!”
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