He Gave Me His Mistress's Bag, So I Threw Him in the Trash

I put the designer bag my boyfriend gave me up for sale on eBay. His younger sister, Zoe, saw it immediately. She tagged me in the family group chat: "@Gwen, are you seriously selling a gift my brother bought you?" "If you're broke, just ask me. Don't break my brother’s heart like this." I didn’t reply. Her messages kept buzzing in. "A bag worth thousands of dollars, and it's still not good enough for you? I swear, girls these days have no shame." The bag was pre-owned. When I first unzipped it, I found a photo inside—a photo of my boyfriend with another woman. I had planned to handle this quietly and end things with dignity. I never intended to make a scene in front of his family. Yet here Zoe was, relentless, trying to dig up every detail. She pushed further in the chat: "Gwen, Derek saved up three months of his salary to buy you that bag. Is this how you treat his love?" I picked up my phone and typed just one sentence. "I don't use second-hand things." Then, I tagged Derek. I locked my phone. The picture slipped out from the inner pocket of the bag again. In the photo, a woman rested her head gently on his shoulder, both of them beaming with effortless intimacy. The background was a cozy café, snowflakes pasted onto the floor-to-ceiling windows. It had been taken last winter. A date was scribbled on the back: the third weekend of December. That was the weekend Derek told me he had to work late at the office. The leather on the corners of the bag was worn pale, fine scratches ran across the surface, and the gold hardware on the strap had long lost its shine. It was an old, discarded item belonging to someone else. Yet Derek put it in a luxury box, tied it with a satin ribbon, and handed it to me on our five-year anniversary. Why did he give it to me? Was it pity? A twisted test? Or did he not even bother to check inside before shoving it into my hands? Within twenty seconds, Zoe fired off a string of question marks. "What does that mean? What do you mean 'second-hand'?" "Derek bought that brand new! How could it be used?" "Gwen, can you stop speaking in riddles?" Derek's aunt chimed in: "Gwen, dear, watch your mouth. Derek is a decent, loyal boy. Don't you dare slander him." Another aunt joined: "Exactly. If there’s an issue, say it to his face. What's with the passive-aggressive attitude in the family chat?" Zoe texted again: "Gwen, you must be misunderstanding something. You know what kind of guy Derek is! Why would he give you something used?" "Didn't you check the price tag? That'll prove it's brand new!" There were no tags. The bag didn't have tags when it was handed to me. There was only this photo. Zoe grew bolder by the second: "Gwen, if you want to break up, just say it. Don't make up sick lies to frame my brother." "Calling his gift 'second-hand'—are you just trying to drag his name through the mud?" "Our whole family knows how well Derek treats you. If you need cash, I'll lend it to you. Just stop stomping on his heart." Derek’s mother, Brenda, sent a voice note. I tapped it. Her voice was steady, coated in that sickeningly calm tone of hers: "Gwen, whatever it is, let’s talk like adults. Don't air dirty laundry in the group chat." "You know how good Derek has been to you. Saying things like this will only break his heart." "There’s probably a misunderstanding about the bag. Don't jump to conclusions. Wait for Derek to come home and talk to him." "Making a scene here... where does that leave his dignity?" Dignity. Did he think about my dignity when he cheated on me? Did he think about my dignity when he gifted me his mistress's used purse for our five-year anniversary? The relatives started chiming in one after another, accusing me of making mountains out of molehills. They called me ungrateful. They said Derek treated me like a princess and wondered what more a girl could possibly want. Zoe tagged me again: "Gwen, if you really think that bag is used, show us the proof." "Otherwise, you're just picking a fight out of thin air." Proof. I snapped a picture of the photograph. I snapped close-ups of the scratched leather and the chipped metal clasps. Select all. Send. The group went dead silent. It stayed silent for a long time. After a few minutes, Zoe finally typed: "Someone probably gave it to him and he didn't know. Derek would never cheat." "Gwen, don't lose your mind over a single picture." "Photoshop is everywhere these days. Who knows if this is even real?"Reading her texts, I almost burst out laughing. From start to finish, Derek hadn't uttered a single word. The evidence of his betrayal was right in front of them, yet they chose blindness. They only believed what served their family pride. I couldn't be bothered to reply. I tossed my phone aside and looked down at the photograph once more. In the picture, Derek wore the grey hoodie I bought him, the collar pulled slightly open, exposing a dark, undeniable mark on his collarbone. The woman leaned against him, their fingers intertwined, looking like a real, devoted couple. And what was I? Nothing. Five years together. How long had he been seeing her? One year? Two years? Or had he never been genuine with me from the very start? My phone buzzed again. It wasn't the group chat. It was a friend request on SnapChat. The profile picture was a side profile of a girl. The username was simply the letter "Y." I accepted. A message popped up immediately: "Hello. I'm Ivy." "Derek's girlfriend." Girlfriend. She introduced herself as Derek's girlfriend. Then what on earth was I? Before I could type a reply, another message appeared: "That bag belonged to me. I slipped that picture inside on purpose. Derek had no idea." "We've been together for three years. He promised he’d break up with you, but he kept stalling." "I didn't want to resort to this, but I had no choice." She sent an image. It was an ultrasound scan. Patient Name: Ivy. Exam: Early Pregnancy Ultrasound. Findings: Intrauterine pregnancy, approximately 9 weeks. Below that was a smaller line: Cardiac activity detected. Another text followed: "I'm pregnant." "He needs to take responsibility." Staring at the screen, my fingers began to tremble. Three years. They had been together for three whole years. That meant when Derek and I were only two years in, Ivy was already in his bed. Two years. During those years, he cooked breakfast for me every morning, picked me up from work every evening, went grocery shopping with me on weekends, bought me roses on Valentine's Day, and took me to fancy dinners for our anniversaries. I truly believed he was the best boyfriend in the entire world. I had even told my mom that he was the one I wanted to marry. And this was the truth? Every ounce of his tenderness was a lie. Every time he smiled at me, his heart belonged to someone else. I took a deep, shaky breath and replied to Ivy: "Is Derek with you right now?" She answered instantly: "Yes." I asked, "Did he tell you he had to work late tonight?" "Yes." I let out a bitter laugh. Working late. His so-called late night at the office was spent by another woman's side, having dinner with her, walking with her, waiting for their unborn child. Meanwhile, I had waited at home like an idiot, ready to celebrate our five-year anniversary. I typed out a message: "Please tell him we're done. Tell him to come get all his shit out of my apartment tomorrow."Ivy sent back two words: "Thank you." Thank you. What was she thanking me for? For stepping aside? For letting her win? For handing over five years of my life on a silver platter? I didn't answer. I closed her chat and opened the family group again. It was in total chaos. Zoe had posted over a dozen messages, demanding answers. "Gwen, what was that picture supposed to mean?" "Why aren't you answering?" "Derek hasn't texted back at all. Did you pick a fight with him?" "Listen to me, Gwen, if you dare falsely accuse my brother, I won't let this slide." Derek’s mother had sent several more voice notes. I didn't bother listening. I already knew what she would say. Nothing more than telling me to calm down, not to blow things out of proportion, not to ruin the peace of this family. Peace. What a pathetic joke. When her son was busy cheating, why didn't she care about peace then? I set my phone down and stood up, scanning the apartment. The place I had called home for three years. On the living room wall hung a framed picture of Derek and me at the beach from last summer. His arm was around my waist, and my eyes were crinkled in pure joy. On the sofa was the blush-pink throw pillow he bought me. On the coffee table sat a vase of roses he brought home last week, their petals already turning dry and brown at the edges. In the kitchen, a pot of beef stew was still sitting on the stove. He had told me he’d be home late and asked me to save him some. There was no need for that anymore. I walked into the bedroom and slid open the closet doors. His clothes took up two-thirds of the space—suits, dress shirts, sweaters, jeans, all neatly organized on hangers. I had bought almost all of them. The blue dress shirt was his birthday gift last year. The silk tie was picked out two Christmases ago. That winter down jacket took me two hours in line on Black Friday to get his size. I ripped them off the hangers, one by one, and hurled them onto the floor. Deep inside the closet was a shoebox. I opened it to find stacks of printed photos. Pictures of Derek and me. From our first year together until now, preserved with care. I pulled them out of their sleeves, tearing some in the process, and dumped them straight into the trash can. Then I grabbed the designer bag, along with the photo of him and Ivy, and shoved it down into the trash as well. I didn't want a single trace of Derek left in this home. I stood by him when he had nothing, helped him navigate the brutal early days of his startup, helped take care of his sick mother, and carried him through every low point. I thought we were finally getting married this year. My mom had brought it up multiple times: "You two have been together for five years. When are you making it official?" I always made excuses for him, saying he was busy, that we’d talk about it once his projects settled down. My mom told me I was too soft on him. She said five years was too long to date, that I'd be thirty before I knew it. I told her not to worry. I told her Derek treated me so well. Well. He treated me so well that he kept another woman on the side for three whole years. He treated me so well that he got her pregnant. He treated me so well that he handed me her worn-out bag as an anniversary gift. I was the biggest fool on earth. The front door lock clicked. Derek was home.He walked in carrying the winter chill, a takeout bag in his hand. When he saw the cardboard boxes piled in the living room, he froze. I said nothing. His eyes drifted to the clothes scattered across the floor, the shredded memories in the trash can, and finally, the designer bag. The color drained from his face. "Gwen, let me explain..." "Explain what?" I cut him off, my voice dead cold. "Explain why you've been sleeping with her for three years? Explain how you knocked her up? Or explain why you handed me her garbage as an anniversary gift?" His mouth opened, but not a single sound came out. "Derek," I said his name slowly. "Tell me, do you think I'm an idiot?" "Did you think I'd never find out? That you could just play house with me, marry me, and keep her tucked away forever?" He shook his head frantically. "No, it's not like that... I ended things with her a long time ago..." "Ended things?" A sharp laugh tore from my throat. "She’s carrying your child in her belly right now, and you’re standing here telling me it's over?" "That was an accident..." His voice dropped to a whisper, unable to even convince himself. "An accident?" I snatched the photo from the trash and slapped it against his chest. "What about this? Was this an accident too?" "I don't know who put that picture in there! I swear, Gwen, please believe me..." "Believe you?" "I believed you for five years, Derek! And look where that got me!" "What am I supposed to believe? Believe you didn't cheat? Believe she isn't pregnant? Believe you're still that sweet boy who used to bring me breakfast every morning?" He stood frozen in place, his posture stiff. His eyes were welling up with tears. Disgusting. How did he have the nerve to cry? "Gwen, I don't want to lose you," his voice trembled. "I love you. I really do." Love. He dared say he loved me. A wave of nausea washed over me. "You've been with her for three years, and you have the audacity to tell me you love me?" I asked, staring straight into his eyes. "Is your love that cheap, Derek? Cheap enough to be split between two women?" "No, it's not..." He stepped forward, reaching out to grab my hand. I stepped back instantly. "Don't touch me." His hand hung suspended in the air before slowly dropping back to his side. "I know I messed up," he choked out. "Just give me one chance. I'll cut all ties with her. I'll make her get an abortion. I'll—" "Shut up!" I snapped. "Do you hear how sick you sound?" "That's a human life! You'd tell her to kill it just to save your own skin? Do you have a shred of humanity left?" "Gwen, I'm so sorry, please..." He dropped to his knees, frantically scooping up the clothes from the floor and trying to shove them back into the closet. "Don't leave me. Please, I'm begging you, don't leave..." Watching him made me feel sick with disbelief. He was on the floor, stumbling over shirts and pants, repeating apologies like a broken record: *I was wrong, please don't go, I'm sorry.* "Derek," I said coldly. "Stop. Leave them on the floor. I don't care where they end up." "Gwen, give me one more chance. Just one..." He scrambled to his feet and lunged to pull me into an embrace. I grabbed the glass of water off the side table and splashed it directly into his face. Water dripped down his nose and chin, mixing with his tears, making him look completely pathetic. "Wake up," I said. "We are done." "We are not done!" he suddenly roared, his voice cracking. "I say we're not done, so we're not! You're my girlfriend, and you're not going anywhere!" I froze for a second. In all five years of being together, he had never once raised his voice at me. This was the first time. All to keep me from walking away. How ironic. When he courted me, he was gentle, attentive, soft-spoken as a lamb. Now the mask was slipping. "Derek, calm down." I backed up another step, keeping distance between us. "I am calm!" He wiped the water from his face with his sleeve, took several ragged breaths, and forced his tone to soften. "Gwen, let's just talk. Please?" "There is nothing to talk about." "Just hear me out. I can explain everything about Ivy..." "I don't care to hear it." "You have to hear it!" Panic seized him again. He rushed forward and locked his fingers around my wrist, squeezing so hard it hurt. "We've been together for five years! You can't throw everything away because of some outsider!" "An outsider?" I looked him dead in the eye. "She's carrying your child, and you're calling her an outsider?""I don't want that baby!" "That's between you and her. It has nothing to do with me." "How can you say it has nothing to do with you?" His grip loosened slightly, his voice dropping into a desperate whine. "Gwen, we're supposed to get married. We agreed we’d get married this year..." "You said that. I never agreed." "You did! Your mom even offered to help us with the down payment for a house!" "That was before." "Now, the answer is no." "Derek." "Listen to me carefully. From this moment on, I am nobody to you, and you are nobody to me. We are finished. Do you understand?" He shook his head, refusing to accept it. I grabbed my phone from the counter and turned toward the door. "Where are you going?" He blocked my path. "Out of my way." "I won't let you leave." "Derek, if you don't move, I'm calling the cops." Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Derek didn't move. I pushed past him and opened the door. Standing in the hallway were his mother, Brenda, and his sister, Zoe. Brenda wore a dark red winter coat and carried an insulated thermos bag. When she saw me, she forced a tight smile. "Gwen, honey, I brought you some warm soup." Zoe stood behind her, scowling. She looked me up and down, her eyes landing on the packed suitcases behind me. "What is all this, Gwen?" Brenda stepped inside, placing the thermos on the table. She looked at Derek’s wet, miserable face, then turned back to me. "Gwen, whatever happened, let's talk it out nicely. Look at this mess—it's embarrassing." "Brenda, there's nothing to discuss. Derek and I are over." "Over?" Zoe let out a harsh scoff. "Over a stupid bag? Seriously, Gwen? Are you out of your mind?" "My brother poured his heart into this relationship, and you're throwing a tantrum over a single photo?" "Zoe, stop," Derek muttered under his breath. "No, Derek, don't defend her!" Zoe's voice grew shrill. "I'm going to say it plain and simple. Gwen, look me in the eye and tell me Derek hasn't been good to you. He gave you his paycheck, let you buy whatever you wanted—was that not enough?" "Now you're dumping him over some random picture? You're just looking for an excuse to treat him like dirt!" "Zoe, shut up!" Derek yelled, his voice strained. "Am I lying?" Zoe rounded on him. "Derek, stop being scared of her! If she wants to leave, let her go! A woman like this isn't worth keeping!" Brenda tugged at Zoe's sleeve. "Keep your voice down." "Mom, am I wrong?" Zoe jerked her arm away. "Look at this place! It looks like a crime scene. If Derek really did something wrong, let her show real proof! What does one photo even prove?" I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and opened my chat with Ivy. I shoved the screen directly in Zoe's face. Zoe glanced down, and her smirk instantly vanished. Her thumb scrolled down mechanically until she hit the ultrasound scan. Her lips parted, but no words came out. Brenda leaned in, frowning. "What is it?" Zoe silently handed the phone to her mother. Brenda stared at the screen for several seconds. Her hands began to shake violently. "Who... who is this?" she whispered. "Your son's girlfriend," I said flatly. "Nonsense!" Brenda slammed the phone down onto the counter, glaring at me. "Gwen, you can't just fabricate sick lies about Derek just to end the relationship!" "Mom." Derek finally spoke. His voice was barely a rasp. "It's true."