MY BF'S MOM POSTED ABOUT HER SON'S ENGAGEMENT, BUT HE NEVER PROPOSED TO ME—I DECIDED TO PLAY ALONG
MY BF'S MOM POSTED ABOUT HER SON'S ENGAGEMENT, BUT HE NEVER PROPOSED TO ME—I DECIDED TO PLAY ALONG.
My best friend showed up at my door that day, grinning like she had the biggest secret in the world. She shoved a cake box into my hands and congratulated me—on my engagement. Except… I wasn't engaged! No proposal. No ring. No clue.
A cold wave of dread settled in as I opened my laptop. And there it was—a post from my boyfriend's mother, gushing about how her son finally proposed to the love of his life! The comments were a flood of about time... and we knew it was coming! Meanwhile, I sat there, numb.
Ten years. A decade of waiting, dodging family jokes, swallowing when the time is right like a bitter pill. My heart pounded as I scrolled, searching for an explanation—until the post vanished. Deleted. Like it had never existed.
It wasn't shock. It wasn't even heartbreak. It was clarity. And maybe… a warning. And this time, I'd play along—on my own terms.👇
Found Out I Was 'Engaged' Through My Boyfriend's Mom's Post, So I Decided to Play Along—Story of the Day
Ten years of waiting, and my boyfriend still hadn’t proposed—until his mother did it for him on social media. A fake engagement, an unexpected post, and a deleted lie. But if she wanted an engagement, I was going to give her one. And this time, I’d play along—on my own terms.
I was halfway through my second cup of coffee, letting the warmth settle in my chest, when a sharp knock rattled my front door.
The sound wasn’t unusual—Lisa had a habit of showing up whenever she pleased, armed with gossip, questionable life advice, or a bottle of cheap wine.
But this time, as I opened the door, she stood there grinning like a lottery winner, holding a cake box like it contained the meaning of life.
“Congratulations, girl!” she squealed, pushing past me before I could say a word.
I frowned, gripping the edge of my coffee mug. “For what?”
Lisa rolled her eyes, like I was the slowest person alive. “Don’t play dumb, Emily. Your engagement, obviously!”
She shoved the cake box at me, her excitement practically vibrating off her.
“Figured I’d bring something sweet to celebrate the fact that you finally locked that man down.”
My brain short-circuited. The words didn’t land all at once; they tumbled through my head like loose marbles, bouncing off the edges of reason.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice coming out slower than I intended.
Lisa’s smile faltered. “Wait… you don’t know?”
A strange, cold sensation crawled up my spine, the kind that told me I was about to hate whatever came next.
My fingers trembled as I reached for my laptop, the weight of an unshakable dread pressing against my ribs.
I opened it.
And there it was.
A post from Ryan’s mother, written in that overly cheerful, exclamation-mark-riddled way she did everything.
"Congratulations to my son for proposing to the love of his life! I’m so happy to welcome Emily officially into the family!"
I felt my stomach turn, as if I’d just swallowed something rotten.
My eyes darted over the comment section, and it was a sea of finally! and about time! and we knew it was coming!
But the thing was… it hadn’t happened.
I hadn’t been proposed to. I hadn’t said yes. I hadn’t even had an inkling that Ryan was thinking about it.
Lisa sat down beside me, peering at the screen over my shoulder. “Em… what the hell?”
Ten years.
Ten years of waiting. Of sitting through family dinners where someone would nudge Ryan and ask, So, when’s the big day? and he’d laugh, shake his head, and say, When the time is right.
Apparently, his mother had decided that time for him.
A fresh wave of anger bloomed in my chest, hot and suffocating. My fingers clenched around my phone, my nails digging into the case.
And just as quickly as the post had appeared—it vanished.
Like it had never been there at all.
I exhaled through my nose, slow and steady, feeling something inside me shift. This wasn’t shock anymore. It wasn’t even a disappointment.
It was clarity.
I picked up my phone, flexed my fingers, and turned to Lisa, a slow smirk pulling at the corner of my lips.
I picked up my phone again, my thumb hovering over the screen. If Ryan’s mother wanted an engagement so badly, I was going to give her one.
I hit post and leaned back against my couch, stretching my legs out as my phone screen glowed in my hand.
"So happy to finally say YES! Excited for this new chapter of our lives! 💍❤️"
The words sat there, bold and bright, beneath the carefully angled photo of my left hand—bare, of course—but positioned just so, the lighting casting just enough of a shadow to make people squint and wonder.
Was there a ring? Or wasn’t there
Lisa, still perched on the edge of my couch, let out a low whistle as she stared at the post. “Oh, you are evil.”
I grinned, tilting my head back against the cushions. “No, I’m just done.”
Lisa snorted. “Same difference.”
The notifications started rolling in almost instantly. Likes. Comments. Shocked emojis.
I could practically hear the gasps from Ryan’s family as they saw it, scrambling to figure out why they hadn’t been the first to hear the big news.
Less than an hour later, my front door nearly flew off the hinges.
A loud, frantic pounding echoed through my apartment before the knob twisted violently.
Ryan barely gave me time to blink before he burst in, his breath ragged, his face flushed like he’d just sprinted here.
"Emily, what the hell did you just do?" His voice was sharp, edged with something between panic and fury.
I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just took another slow sip of my coffee and met his gaze with the calmest expression I could manage. “Good to see you, too, babe.”
Ryan stared at me, chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep himself from exploding.
He dragged a hand through his already messy hair, his frustration practically crackling in the air
“Why would you lie on social media?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Lie?” I set my mug down on the table beside me, tilting my head.





We were promised “a complete story”! This story is incomplete without an ending /resolution.
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