Brianna Sluski Facebook ad: “Stop Sending My Gifts to Your Ex”

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Meta Ad Library ID

1621324029788355

Platforms

Facebook, Instagram, Audience Network and Threads

Relaunches

2

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Ad text

Westley and I had agreed to spend Thanksgiving weekend at my parents' house this year. Right before we left, he said, "I forgot to change the address again. The Amazon package got sent to Ava's place." I stilled. We had been married for three years, and he still hadn't changed the default shipping address on his Amazon account. The microwave he’d bought was delivered to his ex-girlfriend's place. He said hers just happened to break, so he let her keep it. The anniversary bracelet he bought for me was signed for by Ava. He said it would be too awkward to go ask for it back. The roses he ordered for me on Valentine's Day were delivered to Ava, too. He said he couldn't give me flowers someone else had already held, so he left them with her. This time, I had reminded him two weeks in advance to buy Thanksgiving gifts for my parents. And they still ended up at Ava's house. I kept my voice level. "Drive over there and get them." His expression soured. "She already signed for them. How am I supposed to ask for them back?" "We'll just stop at a store on the way and grab something else." "Go get them," I said. He frowned. "Don't be like this. Why do you always have to make things so difficult?" Every time something was delivered to Ava and I asked him to retrieve it, this was how he reacted. I watched him slam the door on his way out, my nails digging into my palms hard enough to leave marks. I wiped away a tear and sent my lawyer an iMessage. [Happy holidays. Please prepare a divorce agreement for me. Thank you.] ... I bought new gifts and drove to my parents' house alone. When Mom and Dad saw me, their smiles faltered. "Where's Westley? Didn't you say you were coming together?" "Did something happen?" I forced a faint smile. "It's fine. Something came up at his company, and he has to work overtime." They nodded. "Well, that can't be helped. Work comes first." But when I glanced down at my phone, I saw an Instagram post from Ava. Under a carousel of photos, she'd written: *His Thanksgiving surprise for me. So thoughtful.* The gift basket I had spent so much time curating was open and arranged on her dining table. The cheese and prosciutto had already been unwrapped. In one photo, a hand was slicing the prosciutto. I knew that hand. There was a small scar on the right thumb. It was Westley's. I also noticed the pale band of skin on his left ring finger. His wedding ring was gone. Beneath the post were comments from people we knew. *I always said you two should have gotten married.* I liked the post. A moment later, a message from Westley lit up my screen. *Fallon Santoro, you kicked me out on a holiday. I couldn't exactly stand on the side of the road looking for food, could I?* *It's one thing for you to make a scene at home. Don't drag Ava into this and make us a joke in front of our friends.* I didn't understand how liki......

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Stop Sending My Gifts to Your Ex