My husband (41M) has always been terrible at gift-giving. After our first year together, during which he didn’t give me anything for my birthday, anniversary, Christmas, or even Mother’s Day (with the excuse that I’m “not his mother”), I decided to start matching his energy.
For example, on Father’s Day, instead of putting together a big meal and driving 30-45 minutes to pick up his daughter (A, now 16) so they could spend time together, I spent the day doing my own thing. When he called in the afternoon to ask when I was picking her up, I told him I had plans and wasn’t aware it was my responsibility. When he got upset and reminded me it was Father’s Day, I threw his own words back at him: “You’re not my father.”
Anticipating his anger, I had left a letter on the table explaining how much it hurt to go out of my way for him and never have that effort reciprocated. He later called, apologized, and promised to try harder. Since then, he’s been better—not great, but better. When it comes to gifts, he usually just tells me to pick something out and he’ll pay for it, which I don’t mind.
Fast forward to Christmas. About a week before, he surprised me with my favorite coffee, breakfast out, and a trip to the mall to pick out my Christmas gift. I rarely splurge on myself, especially since I have a preteen son from my first marriage and tend to prioritize him. My stepdaughter, however, is quite materialistic and always wants expensive items, which she usually gets from her father, her mother, and their respective families.
I’d been saving for months to buy my dream designer purse, so imagine my excitement when I saw it in the store. My husband hesitated at the price, but I offered to contribute with the money I’d saved. He told me I deserved it and insisted on getting it for me, warning that this would be my only gift since it was pricey. I was overjoyed and told him I didn’t need anything else.
Afterward, he asked if he could pick up his daughter to take her Christmas shopping. I agreed since it gave me time to prepare for the holidays. When we got home, I reached for my purse, but he stopped me, saying he wanted to put another gift inside it for me to open on Christmas. I was thrilled and left it with him.
Fast forward to Christmas Day. After hosting Christmas Eve at my house, I woke up late and barely had time to get ready before we headed out to pick up his daughter and visit his family. I fell asleep during the drive and woke up to find his daughter in the backseat—holding my purse.
“Where did you get that purse?” I asked, and the car fell silent. My husband kept his eyes on the road, saying nothing. His daughter finally mumbled, “My dad gave it to me.”
I lost it. I screamed, “YOU WHAT?” and demanded to know how he thought it was okay to give her my Christmas gift. He explained that she had begged him for it after seeing it in the car, saying he owed her for all the times he hadn’t gotten her a gift. He caved and gave it to her.
Heartbroken, I told her to give it back, but she refused. I couldn’t stop crying. My husband pulled into a gas station, and his daughter bolted inside with the purse. When he tried to comfort me, I slapped his hand away and told him not to touch me.
As he went inside to give her money for snacks, something in me snapped. I got into the driver’s seat, peeled out of the parking lot, and left them both there. I turned off my phone, went to my cousin’s house, and spent the rest of the day with my family.
Later, my stepdaughter’s mother called, leaving a hateful voicemail about how I was jealous her father bought her a purse. I called back to set the record straight, explaining the purse was my Christmas gift, and her daughter guilt-tripped her father into giving it away. She apologized and tried to suggest solutions, but I told her the damage was done.
My husband’s brother eventually picked them up, and the story came out. His mother sided with him, but the rest of the family sided with me and scolded his daughter.
Since then, things at home have been tense. I’ve become distant from my husband. I only cook for myself and my son, and I avoid talking to him. At night, when he reaches for me, I cry. I feel nothing but disappointment and sadness. He’s back on the road now, and I miss him, but I can’t shake the hurt.
I know Christmas isn’t about gifts, but this felt deeper. It was about being thoughtless, inconsiderate, and dismissive of my feelings. I’m looking for perspective—was I wrong to leave them stranded?