They say the strongest relationships are built on trust and teamwork. I’ve always believed that.
But what happens when one partner seems to think promises are as good as actions?
Our backyard was supposed to be a shared vision. At least, that’s what we’d planned.
But plans have a funny way of unraveling, especially when one person keeps putting off their part of the deal.
Somewhere deep down, I knew starting without him might spark a fight.
I just didn’t expect what happened next.
The Endless Promises
The backyard was supposed to be our sanctuary, a place where we could sit under a pergola with string lights and relax after long days.
That had been the plan—emphasis on had been.
Months ago, Ryan and I picked out the design together, ordered the materials, and talked endlessly about how beautiful it would look.
And then… nothing.
At first, I believed his excuses. “This weekend,” he’d say, tossing me a reassuring grin. “The weather will be perfect for it.” Or, “Work’s been crazy, babe. Let me clear my schedule first.”
The problem was, the weekends passed, the weather changed, and his schedule never seemed to clear.
Meanwhile, our dream backyard remained an untouched pile of lumber, collecting dust and spiderwebs.
“I’ll get to it,” Ryan said again one evening as we sat on the patio, staring at the barren yard.
He leaned back in his chair, sipping a beer as if the conversation was over. “Just need to be in the right mindset for a big project like this.”
I swallowed my irritation, forcing a smile. “You’ve said that for weeks.”
“And I mean it!” he replied cheerfully, oblivious to my growing frustration. “I just don’t want to rush it, you know?”
“Right,” I murmured, turning away before the words I really wanted to say could escape.
If I’d learned one thing about Ryan, it was that he had an incredible ability to make promises he genuinely intended to keep—but never actually did.
That night, as I stared out the window at the neglected materials, I made a decision. I wasn’t waiting anymore.
Taking Matters Into Her Own Hands
The next morning, I laced up my boots, rolled up my sleeves, and headed into the backyard with a tape measure and the instruction manual. I hadn’t built anything like this before, but how hard could it be? If Ryan wasn’t going to help, I’d figure it out myself.
By the time Ryan wandered into the kitchen for coffee, I had already dragged the lumber into position and started marking the dimensions. He stepped onto the patio, still in his slippers, his brow furrowing as he watched me hammer stakes into the ground.
“Uh, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and mild alarm.
“Starting the pergola,” I replied without looking up, my tone brisk. “Someone has to.”
He chuckled nervously. “I was going to do that this weekend.”
I straightened and shot him a look. “You said that last weekend. And the weekend before that.”
Ryan opened his mouth, then closed it, looking sheepish. “You didn’t have to start without me.”
I shrugged and went back to work. “I’ve been waiting long enough.”
He lingered for a moment longer, coffee mug in hand, before retreating back inside. I rolled my eyes and got back to measuring. If he wasn’t going to help, fine—I’d do it myself.
The morning wore on, and my confidence grew.
The work was harder than I expected, but there was something deeply satisfying about seeing my progress. I had two posts securely in the ground by the time Ryan reappeared, now dressed and looking slightly more serious.
“You’re really doing this, huh?” he asked, watching me wrestle with a heavy beam. “Do you need a hand?”
I paused, gripping the beam tightly, and turned to face him. “Do I need a hand? Yes. But I’ve needed a hand for months, Ryan. Where were you then?”
His face fell, the casual grin disappearing. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “You’re right. I’ll help.”
I stepped back, giving him space to pick up the beam. But as he struggled to position it properly, I couldn’t help feeling a flicker of doubt.
Ryan meant well, but his idea of “helping” usually came with its own set of problems. Still, I let him take over—hoping, for once, that he’d follow through.
The tension in my shoulders refused to ease. I didn’t trust his sudden enthusiasm, and deep down, I knew the real challenge was still ahead.
The Guilty Sprint
By mid-afternoon, the pergola was starting to take shape. The posts were up, the beams aligned, and my muscles ached in ways I didn’t know were possible.
Ryan had joined me after lunch, his guilty conscience finally spurring him into action. At first, I welcomed the extra hands, hoping his enthusiasm would stick.
It didn’t take long for the cracks to show.
“Are you sure this is right?” I asked, watching him hammer a support beam into place at an odd angle.
Ryan waved me off, smiling confidently. “Trust me, I’ve got this.”
I glanced at the instruction manual, then back at his haphazard work. “Ryan, it’s upside down.”
He froze, his hammer mid-swing, before sheepishly pulling the beam back out. “It’s fine, I’ll fix it,” he mumbled.
I wanted to scream but held my tongue. The irony wasn’t lost on me: the one time he decided to help, he was creating more problems than he solved.
An hour later, disaster struck. Ryan, eager to prove he could handle the work, decided to attach the last beam without checking the alignment. As he drilled the screws into place, the entire frame wobbled dangerously.
“Ryan, stop!” I shouted, but it was too late.
The beam groaned under the strain, and with a loud crack, it snapped free, pulling part of the structure down with it.
We both stood frozen, staring at the mess. The pergola that had been taking shape so beautifully now lay partially collapsed, a tangle of wood and metal screws on the ground.
“I—uh—” Ryan stammered, his face pale. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t mean to,” I snapped, my patience finally breaking. “You didn’t mean to help when I needed you, and now you’ve made it worse!”
His shoulders slumped, and for once, he didn’t argue. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “You’re right.”
I turned away, biting back tears of frustration. My vision blurred, but I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. If I had to rebuild the entire pergola myself, so be it.
Irony in the Finish Line
By the time the sun dipped low on the horizon, the pergola was finished—or as close to finished as I could manage in a single day.
I’d reassembled the collapsed sections, secured the beams, and even added a few decorative touches. My hands were blistered, my back ached, and sweat clung to my skin, but the sense of accomplishment was undeniable.
Ryan hovered nearby, clearly unsure of what to say. He’d helped in small ways, holding screws and passing me tools, but I’d done the bulk of the work alone.
“Looks great,” he said finally, his voice tentative. “You did an amazing job.”
I turned to him, arms crossed. “Thanks. It would’ve been easier if you’d started helping when I asked you to.”
He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know. I really messed up.”
Just as I opened my mouth to reply, my parents pulled into the driveway, eager to see our progress.
“Wow, that looks incredible!” my mom exclaimed, stepping into the yard. “Did you two build this together?”
Ryan hesitated for a beat before grinning. “It was a team effort,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow but kept my voice light. “Sure, Ryan helped… a little.”
The family burst into laughter, and Ryan’s grin faltered as his cheeks turned red. He shot me a look that was equal parts amused and mortified.
“Okay, fair,” he muttered under his breath.
Later, after the family had admired the pergola and left us alone, Ryan sat down beside me on the patio.
“I deserved that,” he admitted with a small smile. “I should’ve followed through from the start. I’ll be better next time—I promise.”
I looked at him, weighing his words. “I hope so,” I said simply.
The pergola, now standing tall under the fading light, felt like more than just a backyard project.
It was a testament to my determination—and a reminder to Ryan that promises mean nothing without action.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start. Now, I just wonder if I can trust any of his promises in the future.