I worked for 14 years to buy my dream home. I skipped meals, worked double shifts, and saved every cent. So when I finally got the keys, I felt like I’d made it. I called my girlfriend Betty to celebrate—she was thrilled and said she’d come over that night.

But when I walked into the house, I froze. Betty was already there—with her family, a lawyer, and a stack of documents. “Surprise!” she said. They wanted me to add her name to the deed. “If you really love her,” her mom added, “this shouldn’t be a problem.” I couldn’t breathe.

Then, just as I started to sign, everyone burst out laughing. It was all a prank. Fake papers. Hidden cameras. Her entire friend group jumped out yelling, “Gotcha!” They laughed. I smiled. But inside, I was crushed. My life’s dream was just a punchline to them.

A month later, I proposed anyway—because I did love her. We’re getting married next spring, in the backyard of that same house. Still in my name. Because while love is worth everything, trust has to be earned—and some jokes cut too deep to repeat.