I thought I was giving him the best gift of our lives.
I’m Megan, 38 now. This happened in summer 2024, leading up to our 10-year wedding anniversary on August 17.
My husband, Tyler, and I met in 2011 at a friend’s rooftop party in Seattle. He was 29, a civil engineer with a quiet intensity and dry humor that made me laugh until my sides hurt. I was 27, a marketing coordinator who loved planning everything. We clicked instantly. Dated for three years, got engaged on a rainy hike (he proposed under a waterfall with a soggy ring box), and married in 2014 in a rustic barn venue with wildflowers and fairy lights. 120 guests, live band, the whole dream.
The first decade was solid. We bought a house in 2017, traveled to Italy for our 5th, adopted a golden retriever named Scout in 2020. We had normal ups and downs — money stress during COVID, arguments about chores — but we always came back stronger. Therapy in 2021 helped us communicate better. We talked openly about wanting kids “soon.” Everyone said we were #couplegoals.
For our 10th, I wanted to go big.
Tyler always said his dream was to renew our vows in the exact spot we got engaged — that waterfall trail in the Olympics. But life got busy; we hadn’t been back in years.
So I planned a surprise.
Six months out, I secretly booked the trail permits, a private cabin nearby, a photographer, a string duo to play our wedding song. I reached out to our closest family and friends — 25 people total — and arranged for them to fly in and hide at the trailhead for the “reveal.” I even had a new simple white dress made and commissioned a new ring engraving: “Forever starts again – 8.17.24.”
I told Tyler we were doing a “quiet weekend getaway” to recharge. He seemed excited but stressed from work — long hours on a big bridge project.
The week before, he was distant. Snappy. Sleeping on the couch “because of back pain.” I thought it was deadline pressure.
August 16, we drove to the cabin. Scenic route, playlist of our songs, Scout in the back. I was buzzing with nerves.
That night at the cabin, I gave him “part one” of the surprise: a leather-bound album I’d made of our 10 years — photos, ticket stubs, love notes. He flipped through it, smiled, but his eyes were… empty.
He said, “Meg, this is incredible. You’re incredible.”
Then he went quiet.
I thought he was overwhelmed.
The next morning — anniversary day — I told him to dress nice, we were going on a “special hike.” He looked confused but went along.
We parked at the trailhead. I led him down the path, heart pounding.
At the waterfall clearing, everyone jumped out: “Surprise!”
Family, friends, the duo playing “our” song, me in the white dress I’d hidden in the trunk.
Tyler froze.
His face went from shock to… panic.
Not happy tears. Not overwhelmed joy.
Panic.
He pulled me aside, away from everyone.
“Megan… we need to talk. Now.”
I laughed nervously. “After the vows, babe. This is the surprise!”
He whispered, “I can’t do this.”
My stomach dropped.
He took my hand, led me further down the trail, out of earshot.
Then he said it.
“I’ve been having an affair. For two years. Her name is Claire. She’s… pregnant.”
The waterfall roared behind us. Everything went silent in my head.
I stared at him.
He kept talking — words tumbling out.
It started as emotional support when his dad got sick in 2022. Turned physical. He thought he could end it. Couldn’t. She’s 12 weeks along. He’d been planning to tell me after the anniversary “so it wouldn’t ruin the day.”
He didn’t know about the surprise.
He thought we were just having a quiet weekend — the perfect time to confess and “start fresh.”
I started shaking.
All those people waiting. My parents. His mom. Our best friends.
I walked back to the clearing like a ghost.
Told everyone, voice flat: “The surprise is off. Tyler has something to say.”
He told them.
Gasps. Tears. His mom collapsed into his dad’s arms.
My best friend Sarah hugged me while I stared at nothing.
We canceled everything. Sent people home. I drove back to Seattle alone — Tyler stayed at the cabin “to give me space.”
The fallout was brutal.
He moved out the next week. Into an apartment with Claire — a 28-year-old junior engineer on his project team. I’d met her at holiday parties. She’d complimented my dress.
They’re still together. Had a baby girl in February 2025.
I filed for divorce in September 2024. Finalized in June 2025.
We sold the house. Split everything 50/50. Scout lives with me.
The worst part? The album I made — all those memories — sits in a box I can’t open.
The ring engraving mocks me every time I see it.
I spent months planning the most romantic gesture of our lives.
He spent years building a new one without me.
People keep saying, “At least you found out before kids.”
Or “Better now than later.”
But 10 years isn’t “not long.”
It’s a life.
And my surprise — the one meant to celebrate us — became the moment everything ended.
I learned that sometimes the biggest surprises aren’t the ones you plan.
They’re the truths people hide until the perfect moment shatters.
I’m okay now. Dating someone new — slowly, carefully. Scout and I hike different trails.
I haven’t been back to that waterfall.
I don’t think I ever will.
Because some places aren’t meant for renewal.
They’re just where dreams go to die.
TL;DR: Spent six months secretly planning a surprise 10-year vow renewal at the spot my husband proposed. On the day, surrounded by hidden family and friends, he pulled me aside and confessed a two-year affair and impending baby with a coworker. The surprise backfired catastrophically, ending our marriage and exposing the double life he’d been living.
