My name’s Loren. I’m 35, widowed young, and mom to two amazing kids. I met Brian 13 months after my husband died. He was charming, gentle, and quickly became a part of our lives. The kids adored him.

For two years, he was everything—birthday planner, pancake maker, bedtime storyteller. When he proposed, my daughter whispered, “I hope he stays forever.”

Eight months later, he didn’t.

He grew cold. Distant. One night after work, I saw him at a pizza place—holding hands with someone else.

When I confronted him, he didn’t deny it. “Now you know,” he shrugged. Then demanded I return everything he gave me and the kids—right down to Nancy’s stuffed elephant.

So I did.

I packed every gift: the Xbox, my bracelet, the perfume, the elephant. I didn’t seal the perfume—just tossed it in the box. It sat in my garage overnight.

The next morning, I left the box on Brian’s porch and watched from across the street.

When he opened it, chaos broke loose. Bugs spilled out—ants, spiders, beetles, drawn in by the perfume and leftover chocolates. Brian screamed like a child, swatting the air and hopping in his bathrobe.

His housekeeper eventually dumped the box in the trash. That night, I retrieved it. The Xbox still worked, the elephant was fine, and my kids got their things back.

Love isn’t something I regret. But next time, I’ll choose better. Someone who doesn’t make children cry.

And if not? Well, karma and I still make a pretty great team.