Noah Baker was always on my case about having garbage taste whenever I bought anything. So, after we tied the knot, he laid down a rule: I couldn't buy jack squat unless he signed off on it first. When my mom's knees flared up from the raw winter cold, I tried to buy a 200-dollar heated knee brace. He shut that down right away, no hesitation. "Country folks don't know how to use fancy stuff like this," he said. When my dad dropped his phone and cracked the screen, I wanted to get him a new smartphone. He rejected that request too. "Staring at a screen all day is bad for his eyes," he scoffed. "You're wasting your time playing the good kid."  On my birthday, I pulled up my shopping app, and blinked, my whole saved cart was gone, cleared out of nowhere. The latest foldable smartphone, a luxury pure silk duvet, and two senior packages for a five-star hot spring resort. Warmth rushed through me. Finally, I thought, he's actually acknowledging me for once. I tapped on the order details, practically giddy with anticipation. But the recipient listed was his female assistant's parents. Right at that same moment, that same assistant posted a flex of the order on her social media feed. A boss who cares this much about his staff's families? Total keeper. I'd devote my whole life to him.  Noah left a comment right under it. Noah: [Your family worked so hard to put you through school. The old folks deserve nothing but the best.] I stood rooted to the spot in the entryway, staring at the row of bright red "Paid" tags glowing on my phone screen. So it was never that I was bad at picking gifts. He just thought my parents didn't deserve nice things. I tapped a like on the post without a second thought, then wiped all his contact info from my phone just as easily.  If he's gonna go out of his way to clear someone else's shopping cart, then I'm clearing him right the hell out of my life.