His Mom Wanted Him to Marry for Money – So I Planned a Dinner He’d Never Forget

My Fiancé’s Mom Told Him to Leave Me for a Richer Woman—So I Invited Him to a ‘Farewell Dinner’ and Taught Them Both a Lesson

He actually listened to his mother and called off our wedding because she felt I wasn’t suitable for her son. I therefore made the decision to give them both a farewell gift they would never forget for our final dinner together.

Just now, Tyler proposed. It was nothing spectacular. He was holding out a ring with trembling hands and a smile so broad I didn’t even think twice. It was just him and me, sitting on my balcony with greasy takeaway and too much alcohol.

Before he could continue, I replied, “Yes.”

We immediately got to work organising the wedding. A modest, low-key event featuring a cosplay-themed photo booth and a ramen bar. For us, it was ideal.

He developed websites as a freelancer. Drawing anime sequences took up too much of my time as a graphic designer creating comics for independent publishers. Neither a lavish location nor a dozen groomsmen in identical outfits were necessary. All we needed was one another.

Or so I believed.

Tyler told me it was time for me to meet his mother a few weeks into our engagement. Patricia. To be honest, I hadn’t pressed to meet her either, and he had been putting it off.

I had heard tidbits about her. She was obviously opinionated. She may be intense at times, but she usually meant good.

His sister once told me that she asked his previous girlfriend directly what her financial account looked like, which drove her away.

Nevertheless, I had faith in myself and in initial impressions. So, with the best optimistic attitude I could muster, I chose out good clothing, styled my hair, got a bottle of Pinot noir, and drove to her apartment.

She resided in a large colonial-style home in a neighbourhood where every lawn appeared to have been trimmed with scissors.

We had driven apart because we intended to move in together after the wedding, so I parked behind Tyler’s car, straightened my clothes, and approached the door while saying again, “It’s just dinner.” You’re capable.

Patricia welcomed me as if she had been waiting to dispel the gossip. She immediately lavished me with compliments and a bright smile.

“Oh, Charlotte! You’re even more beautiful than the pictures show.” She said, “So shiny!” after actually touching my hair. “What do you use?”

“I… uh, dandruff shampoo?” I replied. She chuckled as if I had said something witty. However, as she led me into her house, I began to believe that perhaps everyone had simply misunderstood her.

Lasagne for supper. It was good. Real type, not frozen bullshit. She enquired about my job, poured the wine I brought with pleasure, and gave me seconds.

I informed her about my experience at last month’s comic convention. After I dressed myself as my favourite manga character, a guy called me Sailor Moon and chased me around shouting something.

Yes, Patricia genuinely listened and laughed when I explained the distinctions between manga and anime to her and Tyler that evening.

It was a pleasant surprise. I had therefore begun to unwind by the time dessert arrived. Hehe. I ought to have been more aware.

“Honey, could you help me with something quick in the bedroom?” Patricia offered gently to Tyler after we had finished our meal.

I blinked. “You need help moving something?”

She gestured with her hand. “Oh no, only a minor issue. It won’t take a moment.

I nodded without giving it any thought. After they left, I got to work cleaning and doing the dishes. I was laughing foolishly and singing to myself the whole time.

After ten minutes, Tyler emerged from the bedroom with a ghostly appearance. His cheeks had turned pale, and his eyes were wide.

“Everything okay?” I asked, using a dish towel to dry my hands.

He walked out to the back porch after nodding towards the kitchen door. I interpreted that as his desire for me to follow. After stepping outside, Tyler turned to face me and let out a long sigh before continuing.

“Charlotte… My mother believes that this engagement was a mistake.

I flinched back obviously. “Wait, what?”

“I need someone… different,” she remarked. I don’t have to put forth as much effort since someone with money can contribute more.”

I felt my heart pounding in my ears as I gazed at him.

He continued. Because you enjoy cartoons, she claims that although you are attractive, you are not “future material” or mature enough. The same idea has been on my mind, to be honest. I believe… “We should call it off,” he said, pausing to look at his shoes.

My throat constricted. I remained silent. couldn’t. Wondering how the same man who had proposed to me two weeks prior was now repeating his mother’s bullshit as fact, I just gazed at him.

I understand your thoughts now. I should have left without turning around.

However, I had one final move.

I grinned.

I whispered, “If that’s what you want, then that’s fine,” However, is it possible for us to share a final meal together? A proper farewell. at my house. Only us.

He blinked. “Like, closure?”

“Exactly. closure.

He paused for a moment. Perhaps my voice set off a circuit in his brain. Then he gave a nod. “Yes. Yes. That sounds… grown up.

“Okay, I’ll call you in a few days to set it up.”

“Sure!”

A fool.

I thanked Patricia for everything as I walked out that evening, grinning broadly. Before I crashed, I’ll admit that I shed a few tears. However, I got my plan underway the following morning.

I didn’t cry once more. I didn’t trash the few items he had left at my house or vent to friends. I just called Devon, a well-known tattoo artist in the area, and concentrated on my objective.

Naturally, our shared passion for comics and manga brought us together, and he became one of my best friends. He did some of my own tattoos.

He didn’t hesitate when I told him about my concept. “Oh, hell yeah,” I said. I mean, let’s mess this guy up emotionally.”

About a week after I first met Patricia, we had supper. I was shocked when Tyler arrived dressed in his finest shirt and cologne, as if we were going on a date.

Additionally, he offered me a small half-smile as if he thought I would be sobbing into his shoulder at the end of the night and pleading with him to stay together.

I opened the door for him. Soft jazz music played in the background while we ate spaghetti and wine. One of his jokes even made me laugh, and I could see him settling in.

I got up after supper and declared, “I made chocolate mousse.”

His eyes glowed. “Really? Are you spending a lot of money on a farewell dinner?

Saying, “Of course,” I set two bowls on the table. I placed a tiny velvet box next his as well.

He gave it a downward glance. “What’s this?”

“Just a gift so you never forget me.”

He pulled it open. There was a card inside: A small memento to keep me in mind. as well as a tattoo coupon.

“A tattoo?”

I remarked, “You always talked about getting one,” while enjoying a glass of wine. “A meaningful phrase on your back, remember?”

He appeared moved. “Char, that’s… wow. That’s really mature of you, I must say.

I grinned. “And you said I wasn’t mature enough.”

He chuckled. “Guess I was wrong.”

I returned the smile. “Guess so.”

We continued to converse. Tyler became even more enthusiastic when I explained that Devon was doing me a favour because he knew him. At the conclusion of the evening, we said each other farewell as though we would see one another frequently.

However, Tyler arrived at Devon’s shop the following day. Later, my acquaintance informed me that the man was giddy. discussed the “refreshing” nature of a civil breakup. declared that he was thrilled to be doing something for himself at last.

Devon made him lie face down and explained the significance of the design. Such a thing as to “leave an impression.” But also that I had given him explicit instructions to keep quiet until he was finished.

The stencil was not even requested by Tyler.

A few hours later, Tyler walked out of the store with a brand-new, plastic-wrapped tattoo on his back. Devon claimed he was smiling the entire time and didn’t care that he couldn’t even see it clearly in the mirror.

When my friend finally texted me the picture, I uploaded it to Instagram. Even if I didn’t tag him, he would eventually notice.

The tattoo said, “Property of Patricia — Mama’s Boy For Life,” and it was beautifully large and black in cursive.

My phone was overflowing with voicemails from him and his angry mother by morning, but I erased them without hearing them.

My buddies sent hundreds of texts as well. They all thought it was amusing.

However, Tyler knocked on my door when he arrived at my flat that afternoon. He said, “You tricked me!” “It’s irreversible! You’re crazy!”

I opened the door and gave him a direct look. “Nah, I’m just ‘not future material’ or ‘mature,’ remember?”

I shrugged and closed the door in front of him as he stood directly outside my flat, angry yet still.

Patricia also visited once, but I didn’t open the door.

After six months, a friend informed me that Tyler’s freelance employment had stopped, so he had to return to live with mom. He was apparently undergoing laser treatment as well, but even after multiple sessions, the tattoo remained somewhat visible.

He is reportedly still unmarried and utilising dating apps. According to his biography, he is “looking for someone who respects family values.”

And me?