I Saw My Fiancé Proposing to Another Woman in Front of His Family
Imagine walking into a surprise that flips your world: your fiancé, on his knee, but not for you. Worst of all, the ring was an identical copy of yours. That happened to me, but here’s the thing: I don’t take betrayal lying down.
I’m Jessica, and I was living what I thought was a love story for the ages with Jack, my fiancé. The idea of a whirlwind romance is only really great in movies, where you don’t know what happens after the credits roll.
I was naive and thought Jack was the one. He proposed to me just six months into our relationship at my favorite restaurant. We even got applause from other people. I gushed about it to my friends, being a little braggy about it, and I believed all his promises. Our connection felt destined. Life, however, had its own plans.
Man putting a ring on a woman’s finger. | Source: Unsplash
I got an opportunity at work. It was just a six-month contract, but in another city four hours away. Jack and I made a plan to see each other once a month if the plane costs weren’t so high. That first month, he came to visit me, and we had a fantastic time, getting to know a new city together.
The second month, I went back, visited my family, and started wedding planning. We picked a date! It was supposed to be two months after my contract ended. After that, I got too busy. Jack did, too, at his job, or so I thought.
We didn’t see each other for an entire month. So, on a whim, I decided to surprise him. I flew back without telling him and headed straight to that same restaurant where this all began. I didn’t know if I wanted to plan a special dinner, but the staff knew me and would help.
The problem is that I didn’t expect to find Jack already there. And even worse, I saw him proposing to another woman at the very table where he had asked me to marry him. My jaw was on the floor the entire time, and for a second, I thought I was reliving my memory.
Woman with mouth wide open. | Source: Unsplash
People around them clapped. I think the woman had brought her family. Jack stood after putting the ring on his new fiancée and must have sensed something because he turned and saw me. His lips thinned, and I knew this was no mistake or misunderstanding.
I wanted to scream and shout and call him every name in the book. But nothing came out, and then, he said something to the other woman and rushed to me, determined.
“Let me go,” I seethed when he grabbed my arm, but he dragged me outside.
“Jessica, listen to me!”
Man wiht angry face, pointing his finger at his head. | Source: Unsplash
“I WON’T LISTEN TO ANYTHING, YOU SCUMBAG!”
“Don’t scream!” he snapped, staring daggers at my face. “This is for us!”
“What?” I asked, outraged.
“I’m only marrying Monica for her money. I’ll divorce her as soon as I can, and you and I will be able to retire early,” Jack said.
Was his explanation supposed to sway me? What the hell was he thinking? I didn’t say a word. He kept talking about meeting Monica a while ago and why this was a good idea. Spoiler: it wasn’t!
Moreover, all my love for him had vanished the second I saw him on his knee for someone else. In fact, as he kept talking, I started to think. I could walk away right now, and he would be happy, tricking this woman into marriage for her money.
Woman smirking. | Source: Unsplash
I didn’t have to let that happen. My face broke into a smile, and Jack grinned, too.
“I see you understand now,” he gushed. “So, you agree to keep this secret? We’d have to move our wedding date, but still…”
“Fine,” I said, nodding.
He asked me to leave, and I agreed. But when he wasn’t looking, I ran and hid in the restaurant bathroom. I knew Monica would have to come in.
When she walked in, I took a deep breath and told her everything. I showed her pictures of Jack and me, the texts, and, most damning of all, my engagement ring—which was identical to hers. Her mouth dropped just like mine.
Woman taking off a diamond ring. | Source: Shutterstock
I also told her why Jack was doing this and my plan. Monica was a gem. We walked together back to the dining area, and I had the pleasure of seeing Jack’s face go pale.
Almost as if we had planned it, Monica and I removed our rings and threw them at his face. The room went quiet, but soon, it was filled with our story. We told everyone what Jack had done to us and his scheme.
When we were done, Monica hugged me and went to her family. I walked away from the restaurant, with the entire staff watching in shock…and admiration. Telling my family wasn’t fun, and dealing with the aftermath was annoying.
But I had to look on the bright side: I hadn’t married that scumbag.
Woman walking through nature. | Source: Unsplash
Have you ever gotten back at someone who betrayed you?
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After I restored the motorcycle my father had gifted me, he took it back — so I found a way to get my revenge
I caught them effortlessly, but I was confused.
“What’s this for?” I asked. They didn’t look like car keys, and I already had my mom’s old car anyway.
My dad nodded toward a dusty tarp in the corner of the garage. It had been there for as long as I could remember, covering up something that I was told not to touch.
When I pulled the tarp off, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was my dad’s old Harley, a ’73 Shovelhead. It was the stuff of my childhood dreams, the bike that had always seemed just out of reach.
All I had wanted to do when I was younger was steal my dad’s leather jacket and sit on the motorcycle. But he always shouted at me whenever I tried to touch it.
“If there’s one scratch on it, Seth,” he would say, “I’ll take all your spending money away.”
That was enough to keep me away from the dream bike.
“You’re giving me the Harley?” I asked, my voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.
My father shrugged it off like it was nothing.
“Yeah, why not, son?” he declared. “It hasn’t run in years, to be honest, so good luck with that. Consider it a late birthday gift, Seth.”
I could barely believe it.
I was finally going to ride that bike, and feel the engine roaring beneath me, the wind in my hair. It was going to be everything I had dreamt of and more. I was finally going to be like my dad.
I ran my hand over the cracked leather seat, taking in the gift.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “I promise I’ll take good care of her.”
The moment those keys were in my hand, that motorcycle became my new obsession.
“Jeez, son,” the mechanic said when I took the Harley over in a friend’s old pickup truck. “There’s a lot to be done here. But I can do the big things for you, and you’ll be able to sort out the smaller things if you’re confident enough.”
I saved every penny from my barista role at the café. I was extra polite to all my customers, hoping for large tips, ready to go straight into the motorcycle restoration fund.
Soon, my nights, weekends, and any and all free time I had were spent outside with the motorcycle. I tore it down and put it back together, better than ever, restoring old parts. I watched countless YouTube tutorials and read every manual I could find.
“What are you doing now?” my roommate, Brett, asked when I was hunched over my laptop on the couch.
“I’m looking at forums online for tips about the motorcycle,” I said.
“That’s all you do these days, buddy,” he said, chuckling.
Fourteen months later, the day finally came. I polished the last piece of chrome, stood back, and admired my work. The Harley gleamed under the garage lights, looking like it had just rolled off the assembly line.
“Good job, Seth,” I muttered to myself.
I could hardly contain my excitement as I thought about showing it to my parents, especially my dad. I imagined the pride on his face, the way his eyes would light up when he saw what I’d done.
I hoped that he would finally be proud of something I had done. But nothing prepared me for what was to come next.
I rode it over to my parents’ house, the engine purring beneath my legs like a big cat. As I parked in the driveway, I felt a rush of nerves. I hadn’t felt this anxious since I was waiting for my acceptance letter for college.
“Mom? Dad?” I called, walking into the hallway.
“We’re in the kitchen,” my mom called.
I walked into the kitchen, and there they were. My dad was drinking a cup of tea, and Mom was busy putting together a lasagna.
“I’ve got something to show you!” I said. “It’s outside.”
They followed me outside, their eyes going wide when they saw the motorcycle.
“Oh my gosh, Seth,” my dad exclaimed. “Is that the Harley? My old Harley? She looks beautiful!”
“Yes,” I said, grinning. “I’ve spent the last year working on it. What do you think?”
Before they could answer, my dad moved closer to the motorcycle. His eyes narrowed as he took it in. He ran his hands along the chrome as though he couldn’t believe his own eyes.
“You did all this?” he asked, his voice tight.
“I did!” I said, beaming proudly. “Every spare moment and extra cash went into this project. And now she’s perfect.”
For a second, I thought I saw pride flicker in his eyes, but then his expression changed. His face darkened, and I felt something change in me.
“You know, Seth,” he said slowly, “this bike is worth a hell of a lot more now. I think I was too generous when I gave it to you.”
I blinked, not understanding.
“What do you mean, Dad?”
My father cleared his throat, not meeting my eyes.
“I’m going to take it back,” he said, his tone final. “And I’ll give you $1,000 for your trouble.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, barely containing my anger.
He nodded.
“It’s only fair, Seth.”
I wanted to yell, to tell him how unfair he was being, how much time and money I’d poured into that bike. But I knew that arguing wouldn’t get me anywhere. My father was too stubborn.
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you think is fair.”
He looked surprised that I didn’t fight him on it, but I wasn’t done with my revenge. If he wanted to play dirty, then fine. I could play that game too. I just needed to be smarter about it.
A few days later, I saw my father posting on social media about his “newly restored” motorcycle and that he was taking the Harley to an upcoming bike meet with his old biking buddies.
“Now it’s on,” I said to myself.
When the day of the meet arrived, I watched from a distance as my father rolled up on the Harley, looking every bit the proud owner of a beautiful bike. He revved the engine, drawing the attention of everyone in the parking lot.
But what he didn’t know was that I’d made a little modification of my own.
Under the seat, I’d installed a small switch—it was nothing fancy. But it was a precaution in case the Harley was ever stolen. The switch, when accessed, would cut off the fuel line with a quick flick of the remote, which was firmly planted in my hand.
I waited until he was right in the middle of the crowd, basking in the admiration, and then, from a distance, I pressed the button.
The Harley sputtered, the engine dying with a weak cough. Soon, my father’s smug grin disappeared as he tried to restart it, but the engine wouldn’t give.
The murmurs began, making their way through the crowd, and a few of his buddies laughed under their breath.
“Need a hand, Dad?” I asked when I made my way over to him.
He glared at me, but I could see the desperation in his eyes. He nodded, too embarrassed to say anything. I knelt down, pretending to fiddle with the bike for a moment before “fixing” the problem by turning off the switch.
The engine roared back to life, but by then, the damage was done.
The look of embarrassment on my dad’s face was worth every second of the work I had put into the Harley.
He handed me the keys, his jaw clenched tightly.
“It’s yours,” he said, walking away.
I smiled, knowing the Harley was mine, and so was my father’s respect, even if he couldn’t say it.
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