In What Contexts Is 'Thanks For Having Me' Most Effective?

On the way to get our marriage certificate for the twentieth time, Rolf Trivett regretted it once again. In eight years, this was our twentieth attempt to get the certificate. But every time we reached City Hall, he would always say he needed time to care for his seriously ill childhood friend and couldn't promise to marry me. This time, I couldn't take it anymore and asked him, "If she’s never going to get better, does that mean you’ll never marry me? What am I to you?" Rolf immediately lost his temper and yelled at me, "I've already promised to take care of her for life. Can you stop being so selfish? "Besides, we've been together for eight years. What difference does it make if we don't get this certificate?"

My daughter, Annabelle Turner, was diagnosed with hereditary heart disease. I spent the past five years searching for a compatible heart donor for her. Now, I finally found one. Right before Annabelle is sent into the surgery room, my husband and renowned cardiologist, Gabriel Turner, tearfully makes me a promise. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make sure Annabelle gets a shot at life again." Yet halfway through the surgery, Gabriel suddenly leaves in a hurry without giving any explanation. I stumble into the surgery room and see Annabelle lying on the operating table, covered in blood. Her chest is cut wide open, laid bare for all to see. Tyler Rotwell, Gabriel's assistant, stammers out, "Dr. Turner said… that Anna can still hold on a little longer, but Ms. Byron's son can't. "Dr. Turner took the heart that was meant for Anna and left…" I immediately break down and repeatedly call Gabriel's number, but Gabriel never answers a single call, not even when Anna's blood has completely dried… While settling my daughter's post-mortem affairs, I happen to see a newly posted update on Gabriel's childhood friend, Suzanne Byron's social media. "Turns out it was just a misdiagnosis," was what the caption read. "In that case, let's give this useless little thing to our good boy Oscar as a treat!" The video attached depicts Suzanne's dog Oscar tearing into the heart that was supposed to be donated to Annabelle. As I turn to look at Annabelle's cold body, the last shred of love I have for Gabriel starts crumbling apart. By the time Gabriel finally remembers Annabelle, whom he left on the operating table, only an empty bedroom and an urn containing her ashes would greet him…

To avoid a ridiculous arranged marriage that had been decided before I was even born, I beg my father to send the family a picture of an ordinary-looking woman with a face covered in spots. I've heard before that Austin Hammond, the most distinguished scion in Jarlesbury and the man I was supposed to marry, has an obsession with looks. If anyone who doesn't meet his standards comes within ten feet of him, he instructs his bodyguards to get them out of his sight. Since then, I've continued to hide my captivating face and pretend to be a plain, unattractive woman—and one day, Joshua Farrell shows up. On the day he proposes to me, he holds my hand and promises, "Your looks don't matter to me, Ellie. No matter what you look like, I will still love you." Believing his words, I ignore my father's protests and insist on getting engaged to Joshua. Finally, our wedding day arrives. Just when we're about to exchange our wedding rings, he stares lovingly at the surgically-enhanced face of his first love, Isabel Grady, and abandons me at the altar. The guests mutter among themselves, casting pitying looks in my direction, but I simply smile. It occurs to me then just how easy it is to see a man's true colors. It's just as well. This means I can settle for being Mrs. Hammond without a care in the world.

My fiancé, Skeet Fadley, stood with me at my dress fitting when his phone rang. "Skeet..." Her voice came through on speaker. That was all it took—I knew today's bridal photos weren't happening again. Skeet glanced at me, guilty. "Babe, something came up with Norah. I gotta go." Not a question. A notice. I stared at myself in the mirror, already in the gown, and gave a small nod. "Go." It's fine. My groom's about to change anyway.

On the day we were supposed to get our marriage license, Michael Robertson ghosted. I sat outside the County Clerk's Office for hours. Instead of him, I got a pic from his secretary, Kallie Clunt. She was in his lap, arms wrapped around him, making out like it was the hottest scene in a drama. [Sorry, Elsa. Michael said he had to comfort my broken heart. You don't mind, do you?] When I asked him about it, he just looked annoyed. "She gave me blood once. What's the big deal if I hang out with her? Can't you be a little more understanding?" My stomach dropped. I turned away and called his older brother. "Leon, do you still want to marry me?"

In eight years together, my boyfriend—Shayne Raffield—blocked me eighty-eight times. This time? Because I missed his call. At my best friend's birthday party. Usually, I'd panic-order a gift, then stand outside his office, head down, ready to beg. But today? I blocked him first. The Chat Feed popped up, loud as ever: [Nooo, Ley-Bae, don't block Shay-Shay! He's just got abandonment issues. Comfort him!] [Shay's heart = shattered; Eyes = red. Ley, go! One pout and he's yours again!] Then Shayne called. Didn't say a word. Just breathed for ten seconds and hung up. The Chat Feed freaked out. [AHHHH SHAY LOVES LEY SO MUCH HE JUST SUCKS AT SAYING IT. THIS COWARD'S GONNA LOSE HIS GIRL.]