I’ll never forget the moment my fiancé proposed. The candlelit dinner, the trembling voice… and then the ring. An elaborate silver band with Celtic knots and a strange purple gem. My smile froze.
For weeks, I tried to love it. But every time someone complimented “that unique ring,” I died a little inside. Then came the discovery: receipts for the ring dated back years before we met.
The fight that followed was brutal. Zach admitted buying it for an ex who’d returned it. “I couldn’t afford another one,” he whispered.
We almost didn’t recover. But in therapy, we learned something vital: proposals aren’t tests—they’re conversations. Now, we’re planning our wedding with complete transparency. And the ring? We melted it down to make new wedding bands.
