Chapter 2

The ER doctor was quick and efficient.

"Ruptured ovarian cyst," she said, her face serious after the ultrasound. "You're bleeding internally. We need to operate immediately."

Relief washed over me, a strange companion to the fear. I wasn't crazy. I wasn't dramatic.

Surgery happened fast. When I woke up, groggy and sore, the world felt different. Quieter.

My phone buzzed a few days later, once I was coherent enough to look at it. A friend had sent me a link.

"You need to see this, Sarah."

The link led to Reddit, to a forum called r/AmITheAsshole.

The title: "AITA for not wanting to cut my vacation short for my fiancée's 'dramatic' illness?"

My blood ran cold. It was Kevin.

He'd twisted the whole story, painting me as a high-maintenance, attention-seeking shrew who faked an illness to ruin his precious, non-refundable weekend.

He mentioned the expensive hotel, my "history of complaining," how I "demanded" he drop everything.

He conveniently left out the part where I was internally bleeding and needed emergency surgery.

The comments were a mixed bag, but many sided with him, calling me a "drama queen" and a "gold digger."

Rage, pure and hot, burned through the post-op haze.

He was trying to destroy my reputation while I was recovering from surgery he dismissed.

I didn't hesitate.

I found the jeweler's appraisal for the engagement ring. It was a decent sum.

I took pictures of the ring, listed it on a reputable online marketplace, and it sold within hours to a dealer.

The money hit my account the next morning.

I opened Venmo.

I sent the full amount for the ring directly to Kevin Johnson.

For the memo, I wrote: "For your 'ruined' vacation and your next non-refundable deposit. Consider us even."

Then, I opened Instagram.

I wrote a post. Calmly. Factually.

"An open letter regarding a recent Reddit post."

I detailed the timeline: the severe pain, his dismissal, my Uber ride, the ER diagnosis, the emergency surgery.

I attached a photo of my hospital discharge papers, blurring personal info but showing the diagnosis: "Ruptured Ovarian Cyst with Hemoperitoneum."

I attached a screenshot of his Reddit post, his username clearly visible.

I attached a screenshot of the Venmo transaction.

I ended with: "Some things are more valuable than a non-refundable hotel room. My health is one. My dignity is another. The engagement is, and remains, off. I wish him well in finding someone who meets his priorities."

I hit post.

My phone started blowing up almost immediately.

Friends, acquaintances, even strangers.

The post went viral in my Austin tech circle, then wider.

The comments were overwhelmingly supportive.

"Good for you, Sarah!"

"What a scumbag!"

"Dodged a bullet!"

It felt good. I took back my story. I took back my power.

Kevin hadn't contacted me directly since I left the hotel.

I wondered how he was enjoying his newfound internet fame.