Sandra thought Valentine’s Day would be different this year. Maybe Jeffrey would finally make an effort. But when she saw what he’d left for her on the dining table, her heart sank. What had Jeffrey done for her? And why was she so upset?
I used to believe that love was about compromise, accepting imperfections, and achieving success. I thought that if I lowered my expectations, I would never be disappointed.
A woman standing by a window | Source: Midjourney
But as I stood in my apartment, staring at the wilted bouquet my husband had “given” me, I realized I’d been wrong all along.
Love isn’t about settling for the bare minimum, and it’s certainly not about taking flowers from a dumpster and pretending they mean something.
I don’t know exactly when Jeffrey lost interest in me, or if he ever did. Maybe it happened so slowly that I didn’t notice, or maybe I ignored the signs from the beginning.
A man standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
Regardless, when Valentine’s Day arrived, I had already prepared myself to be disappointed. I knew better than to expect anything grand, but even though my expectations were low, Jeffrey still managed to disappoint me.
A week before Valentine’s Day, he let me know he didn’t have any plans for the occasion. We were having dinner when I brought it up.
“Are we doing anything for Valentine’s Day?” I asked, watching him scroll through his phone.
A woman talking to her husband | Source: Midjourney
He barely looked up. “It’s a stupid party. Just a marketing scam to get people to waste their money.”
“I’m not asking for anything important, Jeff,” I said. “Just some flowers, maybe?”
He sniffed as he grabbed his beer. “Flowers? What a waste. They die in two days.”
I forced a smile, pretending his words weren’t hurtful, and nodded as if I understood. But deep down, I didn’t.
What was so hard about taking a small bouquet? Making me feel special for just one day?
I should have taken his answer as a warning. I should have stopped hoping at that moment.
But I didn’t. And that’s what made what happened next even worse.
A close-up of a woman’s face | Source: Pexels
Valentine’s Day morning arrived, and as expected, Jeffrey didn’t recognize it. There was no “Happy Valentine’s Day,” no warm hug, and not even a cup of coffee waiting for me on the counter.
He was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone when I said hello. He barely grumbled a response. All he cared about was complaining about his breakfast.
Later, I left for work feeling stupid for expecting something different.
A woman who walks away | Source: Midjourney
As the day went on, I tried not to dwell on it, but the pain of disappointment weighed heavily on my chest.
When I got home, all I wanted to do was take a hot shower and go to bed early.
I walked toward our building, searching my purse for my keys, when something near the entrance caught my eye.
A bouquet of roses lay on the dumpster.
They weren’t completely dead. Just slightly wilted, with a few petals curled around the edges.
A bouquet of flowers | Source: Midjourney
Someone must have thrown them away, I thought. Maybe a couple who broke up? Or a florist who couldn’t sell them?
Not my problem, I told myself, and walked past them on my way home.
I was still thinking about those flowers as I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the day.
Jeffrey came home while I was there, but I didn’t bother to hurry out. Nothing was waiting for me. No surprises, no dinner, nothing.
At least that’s what I thought.
A man standing in his house | Source: Midjourney
When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, the towel wrapped around my hair, I stopped in my tracks. On the dining table sat a bouquet of roses in a vase.
For a moment, my heart raced. Had he really changed his mind? Did he realize what this meant to me? Maybe he’d gone out and bought them after all. Maybe he cared.
As I approached, a smile played on my lips. Until I noticed something.
A bouquet of flowers | Source: Midjourney
One of the stems was bent at an odd angle. And some of the petals had already started to curl.
I knew these flowers. I had seen them before.
They were the ones who came from outside.
The ones I saw on top of the dumpster just an hour ago.
Jeffrey came out of the living room rubbing his stomach as if he’d just enjoyed a full meal instead of giving me a bouquet of flowers.
“Oh, have you seen them?” he said casually. “I thought you might like them.”
A man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney
“Where did you find these flowers?” I asked sternly.
I wasn’t smiling. My eyebrows weren’t furrowed.
I stared at him expressionlessly.
“I found them outside,” he said, as if stumbling upon bouquets on the street was the most normal thing in the world. “Some idiot threw them away before they even wilted. Can you believe that?”
He shook his head as if disgusted by other people’s wastefulness, completely ignoring the fact that he had just retrieved a discarded bouquet and presented it to his wife as a grand romantic gesture.
A man looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
“So, if I understand correctly,” I said. “You couldn’t be bothered to buy me flowers, but you can pick some out of the trash and pretend it’s the same thing?”
Jeffrey groaned, rubbing his temples as if I were the one being difficult. “Oh, come on, Sandra. They weren’t in the trash. They were on top of it. There’s a difference.”
A high-pitched laugh escaped my lips, but there was nothing funny about it. “Is that your defense? That they were on top of the garbage, not in it? Is that where the bar is now?”
A woman talking to her husband | Source: Midjourney
He rolled his eyes and leaned back, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “I don’t understand what the big deal is. Flowers are flowers. What does it matter where they come from?”
I opened my mouth to yell at him and demand to know why he thought I was worth so little effort. But the anger suddenly dissipated, and I realized something.
It wasn’t just about the flowers.
It was about everything.
A distraught woman | Source: Midjourney
The way he never made an effort, the way he ignored my feelings, and the way he made me feel like expecting even a modicum of respect was too much to ask.
I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into my palms. I wasn’t just angry.
I had had enough.
And for once, I wasn’t going to let that slide.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling as Jeffrey snored next to me. My mind raced through every moment of our relationship that had led me to this point.
A lamp | Source: Pexels
Every time I settled down, and every time I told myself everything would be okay.
Nothing’s going to get better if I don’t stand up for myself, I thought. I have to do something. Enough is enough.
Luckily for me, Jeffrey’s birthday was in three days.
For the next few days, I played my role to perfection.
A woman smiling at her husband | Source: Midjourney
I smiled when he spoke. I nodded to his lazy attempts at conversation. I even thanked him for the flowers. And because he was Jeffrey, the person who never bothered to look beyond the surface, he believed me.
The morning of his birthday, I kissed his cheek before he left for work.
“I have a surprise for you tonight,” I whispered.
Her eyes lit up. “Oh yeah?”
“Oh, yes,” I said kindly.
I’d spent years lowering my expectations of Jeffrey. But for his birthday?
I was going to return the favor.
A woman holding her husband’s hand | Source: Pexels
That evening, I set the dining table as if I truly cared. The candles flickered in the dim light, their soft glow giving the whole thing a falsely romantic air.
The plates were set, the napkins neatly folded, and a bottle of wine sat in the middle of the table. I had arranged everything to make it look like a perfect birthday dinner.
When Jeffrey entered, he couldn’t help but smile. He took off his jacket and loosened his tie like a king entering his castle.
“This,” he said, sitting down in his chair, “is how you celebrate a spouse.”
A man who smiles | Source: Midjourney
I smiled sweetly, sliding into my seat opposite him. “Only the best for you, darling.”
He grabbed the wine and poured himself a generous glass.
“So,” he said, raising his glass, “where’s my present?”
I feigned excitement as I leaned forward and placed a beautifully wrapped box in front of him. It was carefully wrapped with a red satin ribbon tied in a perfect bow.
“Go ahead,” I chirped. “Open it!”
A woman holding a gift | Source: Pexels
He smiled and rubbed his hands together before pulling the ribbon and tearing off the wrapping paper. His fingers worked quickly until he finally reached inside the box and removed its contents.
That’s when his smile faded.
I gave him a pair of socks and underwear.
Worn. Faded. Wrinkled.
As if they had been pulled from the clearance bin of a thrift store.
Jeffrey stared at the box, trying to process what he was looking at. Then he held a sock in his hand and stared at me.
A man holding a sock | Source: Midjourney
“What is this?” he asked.
I tilted my head innocently. “Your birthday present. Don’t you like it?”
“Why do they look worn?”
I took a slow sip of my wine, savoring the moment. “Oh, don’t worry. They weren’t in the trash. Just on top.”
The second the words left my mouth, I saw the exact moment it clicked.
His expression changed and his eyes narrowed as he realized exactly what I had done.
“You’re joking,” he said.
A man looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand. “I leaned forward and rested my chin on my hand. I just figured if the dumpster gifts were good enough for me, they would be good enough for you too.”
He pushed the box away as if it had physically offended him. “That’s not funny, Sandra.”
“Oh, but it is,” I said with a small laugh. “It’s actually hilarious.”
Jeffrey’s face turned red with fury. He pushed back his chair and stormed off to the bedroom without touching his food.
A man who walks away | Source: Midjourney
For my part, I had never enjoyed a meal so much. I took my time and savored each bite, slowly sipping my wine.
The next morning, he barely spoke to me. He paced around the apartment, waiting for me to apologize or feel bad.
But I didn’t.
Because I had one last surprise for him.
After breakfast, I slid a file across the table.
“Happy belated birthday,” I said.
When he opened it, his eyes widened in shock.
“Seriously, Sandra?” he looked at me. “What is this? Is this a prank?”
“No,” I replied. “This isn’t a prank. These are real divorce papers. It’s over, Jeffrey.”
A woman looking at her husband | Source: Midjourney
He stared at me as if I’d just set his world on fire. “Sandra, come on. Are you really doing this for flowers?”
“It’s not about the flowers, Jeff. It’s about everything. The bare minimum. The lack of effort. The fact that you never made me feel like I mattered.” I let out a small sigh, stand up, and push in my chair. “But that’s okay. I finally realized I deserved better.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off with one last blast.
A frustrated man | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, and don’t worry,” I said, grabbing my purse. “I didn’t find the papers in the trash. Not even on top.”
And with that, I walked out of the house I had once called my own.
Looking back, I should have left a long time ago. But I never saw the signs. I guess sometimes we all need a drop of water to push us in the right direction. And Jeffrey had given me mine wrapped in flowers he’d found on a dumpster.
So, thanks, buddy. You saved me years of wasted time.
If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might enjoy: Six months postpartum, drowning in baby laundry and exhausted beyond words, I thought my husband would understand when our washing machine broke down. But instead of helping me, he said, “Wash everything by hand—people have been doing it for centuries.”
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the story. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims regarding the accuracy of events or character portrayals and are not responsible for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and all opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the opinions of the author or publisher.
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