Emma couldn’t sit still, buzzing with nerves. Tomorrow, she was marrying James, the man she’d been dating for nearly five years. Both sets of parents were over the moon that the couple had finally taken the plunge. But Emma’s anxiety wasn’t just wedding jitters—she was fixated on what lavish gift her parents would bestow upon them.
She was absolutely convinced it would be either a flat or, at the very least, a posh studio with an en suite. Three years ago, her older brother had tied the knot, and her parents, Victoria and Edward, had gifted him a one-bedroom flat in London. On top of that, guests had showered them with enough cash to furnish the place properly. So, naturally, Emma expected a gift just as grand—if not grander—than her brother’s.
A month before the wedding, James tentatively broached the subject of a mortgage.
“Absolutely not,” Emma scoffed. “We are *not* signing up for that kind of debt.”
“So we’re just going to keep flat-hopping?” James frowned, clearly not sharing her optimism.
“Don’t be daft,” Emma said breezily. “We’re getting *gifted* a place. My parents are loaded.”
James gave her a skeptical look, as if she’d just claimed unicorns delivered the post.
“Has anyone *actually* promised us a flat?” he asked flatly.
“They don’t need to *say* it. It’s obvious!” Emma retorted. “My brother got one—why wouldn’t I?”
James wisely dropped the subject before it escalated, nodding along as if humoring a child insisting the Tooth Fairy was real.
A few days before the big day, Emma’s confidence wavered. She tried casually fishing for details from her mum.
“Wouldn’t it be *lovely* if we got a gift like the one you gave my brother?” Emma sighed dreamily.
“Oh, I’m sure no one would turn that down,” Victoria chuckled before busying herself with her napkin.
Emma took this as confirmation and relaxed.
On the wedding day, she glowed—partly from happiness, partly from imagining the keys to her new flat glinting in her palm. After five years of renting dingy apartments, she was *finally* getting her own space.
The registry office went smoothly. They signed the papers, posed by a charming little fountain, then headed to the reception.
Then came the moment Emma had been waiting for: the gift presentation. The best man made a speech, the parents toasted—and then her in-laws handed over an envelope stuffed with cash.
*Fine. But where’s the flat?*
Next, her parents stepped up. Emma barely listened to their speech, too busy daydreaming about real estate.
Then, with a flourish, Victoria handed her… an oven manual.
Emma blinked at the flimsy booklet.
“…What’s this?” she asked flatly. “Where are the keys?”
“Keys?” Victoria whispered, cheeks flushing. “The oven didn’t come with keys.”
Emma’s smile vanished. “What oven? *Where is my flat?*”
The guests froze.
“You—you *actually* got us an *oven*?” Emma’s voice climbed an octave.
Victoria nodded weakly. Emma’s face twisted in horror.
“You gave my brother a *flat*!” she shrieked. “And I get a *bloody oven*?!”
She ripped off her veil and flung it to the floor. When she spotted the sleek stainless-steel appliance in the corner, she stormed over and kicked it.
“Take it back! I *don’t want it!*”
Mortified, Victoria and Edward fled. The guests exchanged awkward glances, then slowly trickled out until only the newlyweds and James’s parents remained.
Emma sat sullenly at the empty reception, poking the untouched wedding cake.
In the weeks that followed, relatives distanced themselves, deciding Emma had been *well* out of order. Her parents blocked her on everything.
As for Emma? She doubled down, deciding they’d *clearly* loved her brother more all along.
And the oven? It stayed in the box—unwanted, unplugged, and utterly symbolic of her dashed expectations.
