For my husband’s birthday, I saved for months—sacrificing weekends and sleep—to buy him a rare, signed lithograph from his favorite artist. It cost $5,500, but his joy made it worth it.
Then came my birthday.
He handed me a small box, eyes filled with anticipation. I opened it slowly, expecting something meaningful. But inside was a keychain with our wedding date. My heart sank.
“Are you serious?” I asked. “I spent months on your gift. You didn’t think to do the same for me?”
He looked hurt. “It’s the thought that counts.”
“Exactly,” I said, holding back tears. “And it feels like you didn’t think at all.”
We didn’t speak the rest of the day. I cried; he sulked, saying I’d ruined everything.
A few weeks later, he came home with a wrapped box. Inside was a leather-bound journal with my initials. He had handwritten pages of memories, reasons he loved me, and a promise to do better. “This isn’t a replacement,” the card read. “It’s a promise to never take you for granted again.”
It wasn’t about money—it was about feeling seen.
Maybe I overreacted. But maybe it was the wake-up call our marriage needed.
