I completely lost it when I unwrapped my fiancé’s so-called Christmas present—especially after I spent months saving up to get him a PS5. Karma really had its way that day

After I spent so much time and effort finding the perfect Christmas present for my fiancé, I was completely devastated by the gift I received in return. At my wit’s end, I left for my mother’s house in a desperate attempt to salvage Christmas, only to come to a heartbreaking realization about our relationship.

Let me be clear: I never wanted our relationship to feel transactional, but sometimes you have to wonder if things are as balanced as they should be.

My fiancé, Ben, and I were far from equals financially. He was a pediatrician with his own private practice, and I was a hairstylist trying to build my clientele. Still, I never let that stop me from giving my all when it came to gifts—especially at Christmas.

Last year, I worked double shifts for months to buy Ben the one thing he’d been talking about for ages: a PS5.
“I just want something that I can do while switching my brain off. Work is tough enough,” he’d say.

Ben loved gaming, yet for some reason, he had never bought the console for himself. I saw this as my chance to surprise him and show that I’d been paying attention.

There was a catch, though. The PS5 was nearly impossible to find at retail price. I searched online, checked every store in town, and finally located one through a cousin who, with a hefty markup, “helped” me secure it.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Ashley,” my cousin complained. “I went through a lot of trouble to get the PS for you. Honestly, I did you a favor by getting it.”

I couldn’t argue—I dipped into my savings because, after all, it was Christmas. Didn’t the man who saved children deserve something special?

I couldn’t wait to see his reaction. I imagined his face lighting up in pure joy when he opened his gift—Ben beaming at me, and me feeling like I’d just knocked Christmas out of the park.

But what happened on Christmas morning was a whole different story.

In the hectic run-up to the holiday, Ben’s practice was booming—he’d even been featured in a medical magazine, which made him every parent’s dream doctor. He was doing so well that he moved into a newer apartment with three bedrooms and a study.
“It’s perfect for us, Ash,” he told me as he showed off photos online. “And we won’t have to move until we decide to have kids.”

He had even given his old apartment, upgraded and all, to his parents as a Christmas present. His brother got a new customized Mercedes, his sister Mandy received diamond earrings and an exclusive art kit—and even her kids got a few gifts.

Everyone seemed to benefit from his financial success, and I was genuinely happy for them. He deserved to celebrate after all his hard work. But something felt off: these gifts were given before Christmas, and there was more to come. And what about me?

A few days before the holidays, I casually mentioned that I could use a few practical things for work—a new set of professional scissors, some dye bowls, maybe even a new pair of boots. Ben listened and nodded, and I believed he’d taken the hint.

Boy, was I wrong.

On Christmas morning, as Ben’s family gathered around the tree exchanging gifts, I watched him open his PS5 with uncontainable excitement. His eyes sparkled, he grinned ear to ear, and he kissed and thanked me repeatedly.

Then it was my turn.

Ben handed me a small gift, smiling widely as if he harbored a secret he couldn’t wait to reveal. The room was thick with anticipation—even Mandy had her phone out, ready to capture the moment. I tore through the wrapping paper, my heart pounding, only to discover a bottle of toothpicks.

Toothpicks.

I blinked, waiting for him to explain, for any sign that this was some elaborate joke. But he simply stood there with a smile. His sister burst into laughter, recording every second as she zoomed in on my shocked face. I couldn’t believe it—after months of planning and saving for the PS5, my gift was a pack of toothpicks.

“I thought you’d like it,” Ben said with a smile. “But if you don’t, I can give it to my niece instead.”

Laughter filled the room. Ben’s mom chuckled, his sister nearly in tears from laughing so hard, and all I wanted to do was vanish—or maybe even slap him. I stared at that pack of toothpicks, utterly speechless, while he continued thanking me for the PS5 as if that could make up for everything.

I excused myself and rushed to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I stood there, staring at my reflection and trying desperately to hold myself together. Outside, I could still hear his family giggling about the gift.

A few minutes later, Ben knocked on the door.
“Come on, babe,” he said. “It was just a prank. Mandy thought it would be funny.”

His voice was calm—as if this were some light-hearted joke I should simply laugh off. But how could I? How could I pretend that it was all okay?

Taking a deep breath, I wiped away my tears and opened the door.
“What kind of prank is that?” I snapped. “Toothpicks? After I spent months saving for something you really wanted, this is what you thought would be funny?”

His family gathered around as the tension escalated. I felt like I was on display, like a zoo animal being prodded for a reaction.

“You’re overreacting,” Ben said, crossing his arms. “It’s just a joke. Lighten up.”

“Overreacting?” I couldn’t believe it. “This isn’t a joke—it’s cruel. You’re a grown man, Ben, not some teenager. And the fact that you think this is funny shows just how little you care.”

The earlier laughter faded into an awkward silence. His mother gave me a pointed look, as if I were the one ruining Christmas. I could even smell the turkey burning in the oven, but I didn’t move to check on it.

I had had enough. This family was ridiculous. I grabbed my coat and keys and left.

The rest of Christmas I spent at my mom’s house, finding solace in peace and quiet after the chaos with Ben’s family. Later, Ben texted, apologizing and promising to bring my “real” gift the next day. Apparently, the toothpicks had been his sister’s idea all along, and I was supposed to take it as a joke.

But when I recounted what had happened, my mother said, “It just seems like they don’t have enough respect for you.” And she was right. I picked at my turkey and mayo sandwich, thinking, “How am I supposed to marry a man like that when he always goes along with his family, no matter what?”

My mom left me alone at the dining table, and as I sat there, I realized that this went deeper than a bad prank. It wasn’t just about the gift—it was about respect, something clearly missing in our relationship.

The next day, Ben showed up with a small box and an apologetic look, but I was already checked out.
“Here’s your real gift,” he said.

I took the box, but it meant nothing.
“Ben, I’ve thought about it, and this isn’t just about the gift. It’s about how little you value me,” I said.
“What do you mean?” he asked, confused.
“I’ve been putting so much effort into making this work, but I can’t keep pretending that everything is fine.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m calling off the engagement.”

Ben was stunned. He stammered, trying to talk me out of it, but I had made up my mind. The disrespect, the childish behavior, the disregard for my feelings—it was all too much.

A few days later, things took an unexpected turn. Ben had been promised a new job as Head of Pediatrics at a renowned hospital, thanks to my father’s best friend, the hospital chief. But soon after I ended our engagement, I learned that he had lost the position. A malpractice lawsuit from a patient’s parents had come crashing down on him, and his entire reputation crumbled.

I hadn’t wished for any of this to happen, of course, but karma has its way of showing up when you least expect it.

A week after the breakup, Ben and his family showed up at my door, yelling that I was being “vindictive” and accusing me of sabotaging his career.
“I didn’t do anything,” I said simply.

When they refused to leave, I called the police, and they escorted them off my property. As I watched them go, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time: relief. The weight of the relationship, the hurt, and the disrespect—it was finally gone.

What would you have done?