Sandra had always thought Valentine’s Day would be different this year. After all, maybe Jeffrey would finally surprise her with something meaningful. She hoped he’d show a little more effort, even just for one day. But when she walked into the apartment and saw what he had left on the dining table, her heart sank. What did Jeffrey get her? And why did it upset her so much?
“I used to believe that love was about compromise,” Sandra thought, standing in her apartment and staring at the sad bouquet of flowers Jeffrey had “gifted” her. “I thought it was about accepting imperfections and making things work.” She had lowered her expectations so much, convincing herself that if she didn’t ask for too much, she wouldn’t be disappointed.
But as she stood there, looking at the wilted flowers, Sandra realized she had been wrong all along. Love shouldn’t be about settling for the bare minimum. It shouldn’t be about taking flowers from a dumpster and pretending they meant something special.
She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when Jeffrey had stopped caring about her, or whether he ever really had. Maybe it had happened so slowly that she hadn’t noticed. Or maybe she’d been too focused on ignoring the signs.
By the time Valentine’s Day came around, Sandra had already braced herself for the inevitable disappointment. She knew better than to expect any grand gestures, but even with her expectations set so low, Jeffrey still found a way to let her down.
Just a week before Valentine’s Day, he made it clear that he had no plans for the occasion. They were sitting down to dinner when Sandra casually brought it up.
“Are we doing anything for Valentine’s Day?” she asked, hoping for a spark of enthusiasm, but Jeffrey was too busy scrolling through his phone.
“It’s just a stupid holiday,” he muttered, not looking up. “A marketing scam to get people to waste money.”
Sandra sighed. “I’m not asking for anything big, Jeff. Maybe just some flowers? That’s all.”
Jeffrey snorted, grabbing his beer. “Flowers? What a waste. They die in two days.”
Sandra forced a smile, pretending she didn’t care. But deep down, she was crushed. What was so difficult about picking up a small bouquet? Why couldn’t he make an effort to make her feel special, even for one day?
Looking back, she realized that should have been her warning sign. But she didn’t listen. And that only made what happened next even worse.
The morning of Valentine’s Day came, and as expected, Jeffrey didn’t acknowledge it. There was no “Happy Valentine’s Day,” no warm embrace, and no thoughtful gesture, not even a cup of coffee waiting for her on the counter.
When Sandra greeted him that morning, he barely grunted a response, his attention fixed on his phone. All he cared about was complaining about his breakfast.
By the time Sandra left for work, she felt foolish for even hoping for something more.
Throughout the day, she tried to focus on work, but a heavy feeling of disappointment hung over her. It weighed on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
When she finally got home that evening, all she wanted was a hot shower and an early night.
As she approached the building, fumbling for her keys, something caught her eye near the entrance. Sitting on top of a dumpster was a bouquet of roses.
They weren’t totally dead, but they were far from fresh. The petals were starting to curl at the edges, and the stems drooped slightly. It was a sad sight. Someone must have thrown them away, maybe a couple who had broken up or a florist who couldn’t sell them. But it wasn’t her problem, right?
She kept walking, trying to push the thought out of her mind.
Later, as she showered, she tried to wash away the weight of the day. Jeffrey came home while she was in the bathroom, but she didn’t rush out. There was nothing waiting for her—no surprise, no thoughtful gift, nothing.
When she finally emerged from the shower, towel around her head, she froze in her tracks. There, sitting on the dining table in a vase, was a bouquet of roses.
For a split second, Sandra’s heart lifted. Maybe, just maybe, he had gone out and bought them. Maybe, just maybe, he finally cared.
But as she got closer, she noticed something. One of the stems was bent awkwardly, and a few petals were already curling. Sandra felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. She knew those flowers.
She recognized them. They were the same ones she had seen just an hour ago, sitting on top of the dumpster.
Jeffrey strolled into the room, rubbing his stomach like he had just enjoyed a full-course meal.
“Oh, you saw them?” he said nonchalantly. “Thought you’d like ’em.”
Sandra wasn’t even sure what to say at first. She stood still, staring at him with no expression on her face.
“Where did you get these flowers?” she finally asked in a calm, but stern, voice.
“Found them outside,” Jeffrey said casually, as if discovering flowers on the street was the most normal thing in the world. “Some idiot threw them out before they even wilted. Can you believe that?”
Sandra’s mind raced. “So, let me get this straight,” she said, her voice ice-cold. “You couldn’t be bothered to buy me flowers, but you picked some out of the trash and thought it would be the same thing?”
Jeffrey groaned, rubbing his temples as though Sandra were the one being unreasonable. “Oh, come on, Sandra. They weren’t in the trash. They were on top of it. There’s a difference.”
Sandra let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Wow. That’s your defense? That they were on top of the garbage, not in it? That’s the bar now?”
Jeffrey rolled his eyes and leaned back, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this. Flowers are flowers. What does it matter where they came from?”
Sandra felt her anger rise, but then, just as quickly, it faded. This wasn’t just about the flowers.
It was everything.
The way Jeffrey never made an effort. The way he dismissed her feelings. The way he made her feel like expecting basic respect was asking too much.
And in that moment, Sandra realized: She was done.
That night, as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling while Jeffrey snored beside her, Sandra thought about every time she had compromised. Every time she had told herself that things would get better. She had spent so many years lowering her expectations, trying to make things work. But no more.
She was done.
Three days later, it was Jeffrey’s birthday. Sandra had played her role perfectly for the past few days. She smiled when he spoke. She nodded at his half-hearted attempts at conversation. She even thanked him for the “flowers,” pretending like it was no big deal.
But now it was her turn.
That evening, she set the table as if she truly cared. Candles flickered in the soft lighting, casting a warm glow over the scene. Everything looked perfect—too perfect. Plates were set, napkins folded neatly, and a bottle of wine sat in the middle.
When Jeffrey walked in, he couldn’t contain his smile. “Now this,” he said, loosening his tie as he sat down, “is how you celebrate a spouse.”
Sandra smiled sweetly, sliding into her seat across from him. “Only the best for you, babe.”
He reached for the wine and poured himself a glass. “So,” he asked, leaning forward, “where’s my gift?”
Sandra grinned and placed a beautifully wrapped box in front of him. It had a red satin ribbon tied in a perfect bow.
“Go ahead,” she said, her voice dripping with sweetness. “Open it!”
Jeffrey eagerly tore into the wrapping, his fingers working fast. When he finally opened the box, his face froze.
Inside, there was a pair of socks and underwear—used. They were faded and wrinkled, like they had been plucked from the clearance bin at a second-hand store.
Sandra watched as Jeffrey stared at the items, his smile fading. “What the heck is this?” he demanded.
Sandra leaned back, taking a slow sip of wine. “Your birthday gift. Don’t you like it?”
“Why do they look used?” he asked, holding up one of the socks.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Sandra said, with a sly smile. “They weren’t in the trash. Just on top.”
His eyes widened as it dawned on him. His face flushed with anger. “You’re joking.”
Sandra’s grin grew wider. “Nope. I figured if dumpster gifts were good enough for me, they’d be good enough for you.”
Jeffrey stood up, furious, and pushed the box away from him like it disgusted him. “This isn’t funny, Sandra.”
“Oh, but it is,” Sandra said, her laughter light and mocking. “It’s actually hilarious.”
Jeffrey stormed off to the bedroom without touching his meal. Sandra, on the other hand, took her time, savoring every bite, sipping her wine slowly, and enjoying the moment.
The next morning, Jeffrey didn’t say a word to her. He stomped around, waiting for Sandra to apologize or feel bad. But she didn’t.
Because she had one last surprise for him.
After breakfast, Sandra slid a folder across the table. “Happy belated birthday,” she said, her voice cool.
Jeffrey flipped open the folder, his face turning pale as he saw the divorce papers. “Seriously, Sandra?” he said, staring at her in disbelief. “Is this a joke?”
“No joke,” Sandra replied, standing up to leave. “It’s over, Jeff.”
His face twisted in confusion and anger. “You’re really doing this over some flowers?”
Sandra shook her head. “It’s not about the flowers, Jeff. It’s about everything. The bare minimum. The lack of effort. You never once made me feel like I mattered.” She sighed, standing up. “But that’s okay. I finally realized I deserve better.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but Sandra cut him off. “Oh, and don’t worry,” she said, grabbing her purse. “I didn’t find the papers in the trash. Not even on top of it.”
With that, she walked out, leaving behind the life she had once thought she could make work.
Looking back, Sandra knew she should have left long ago. She had ignored the signs for too long. But sometimes, it takes one final straw—one last moment—to push us in the right direction.
And Jeffrey had just given her hers.
