I never imagined my wedding gift would become a battleground. It was a stunning espresso machine—sleek, expensive, and gifted by my cousin. At the time, it symbolized celebration, love, and the start of something beautiful. But after my divorce, that same cousin demanded I return it. His reasoning? “The marriage didn’t last, so the gift shouldn’t either.” I was stunned. Was my happiness only valid if it endured forever?
The gift wasn’t just an appliance—it was part of my life. I used it every morning, even after the heartbreak. It reminded me of the joy I once felt, the hope I carried, and the rituals that helped me heal. Returning it felt like erasing a chapter of my life, one that, despite its ending, still mattered. I didn’t see it as a failed investment. I saw it as a moment that deserved to be honored.
When I refused, the backlash was swift. My cousin accused me of being selfish, of clinging to something that no longer belonged. But I stood firm. Gifts aren’t conditional contracts. They’re given freely, without guarantees. My divorce didn’t invalidate the love people showed me on that day. If anything, I needed those reminders more than ever. The espresso machine wasn’t a trophy—it was a lifeline.
I’ve learned that people often attach strings to generosity. But I won’t let guilt rewrite my story. I’m divorced, yes—but I’m also healing, growing, and reclaiming joy in small ways. That machine makes me feel human again. And no one gets to take that away.
