The Engagement Ring
Five years ago, my sister Samantha told my fiancé, Spencer, that he deserved someone “prettier and richer.”
Apparently, he agreed.
Because just days after my medical school finals, the man I’d loved for four years looked me in the eye and told me he didn’t want to marry me anymore.
I was 25, and we’d already picked our wedding date.
I’d even asked Samantha to be my maid of honor.
But instead, she married Spencer.
She even sent me a photo from their wedding.
No apology. No explanation.
Just a picture of her smiling beside my ex-fiancé.
And there, on her finger, was my engagement ring.
The same ring I’d taken off with shaking hands and returned to Spencer the night he left me.
I cried until I couldn’t breathe.
A while later, I met Mike.
He taught me how to trust again.
Now he’s my husband.
I’m seven months pregnant, and in those five years, I haven’t spoken to Samantha or Spencer once.
But Mom still considered what happened between us a “misunderstanding.”
So she begged us to attend her 65th birthday.
May you like
“Can’t you do this one thing for me? For your own mother?”
I should’ve said no.
