Patrick always told me that we needed more time before moving in together. More time before making things official. More time before getting engaged. But as soon as I inherited a fully paid apartment… He couldn’t wait another second. That’s when I knew I had never been his first choice.
For years, I watched my friends fall in love, get engaged, and start their lives with partners who adored them. Meanwhile, I was always the plus one, the one asked to take beautiful couple photos, the one joking about how I would probably end up a crazy cat lady, even though I didn’t even have a cat.
So, when Patrick noticed me at a bar two years ago, I thought: finally. My turn. He had a natural charm, and when he looked at me like I was the most interesting person in the room, I fell for him. And boy, did I fall.
For two years, I ignored the little details. The way he never gave anything—no gifts, no time, no effort. The way he still lived with his mother and had no plans to change. The way he dodged every conversation about moving in together or getting married.
“We don’t know each other well enough yet,” he would always say, usually while looking at his phone.
Two years together. And still, he wasn’t sure.
I swallowed the pain and told myself that love was about patience and that commitment would come.
But then something happened.
Last month, my aunt passed away. It was sudden, unexpected. She was my mother’s older sister, the one who always remembered my birthday, the one who sent me care packages just because, even as an adult. Losing her was like losing a piece of my home.
She had no children, no spouse, and left me her four-room apartment: a living room and three bedrooms.
It was bittersweet. I would have given anything to have her back. But this? This inheritance was life-changing. No more rent. No more stress about rising costs. A home that was mine.
Naturally, I shared the news with Patrick.
That same night, he showed up at my door with flowers (the first flowers he’d ever given me), a bottle of wine (cheap, but still), and, most surprisingly, a ring.
I opened the door, and there he was, standing awkwardly on my small welcome mat, holding a velvet box.
“Darling,” he sighed, showing his easy smile. “I couldn’t wait any longer. Will you marry me?”
I stood there, not knowing what to say.
Two weeks ago, I had casually mentioned marriage. And what was his response?
“Darling, rings are really expensive now. Let’s not rush.”
And now? Now, he was ready?
I swallowed the lump in my throat and put on my best surprised face. “Patrick… I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” he urged, his eyes sparkling. “We’ve been together for two years, baby. It’s time. Let’s build our future together.”
Build. Right. Because now he had something worth building. I should have handed back the ring. I should have yelled at him.
But instead… I forced the biggest, most exaggerated smile I could. The kind of smile that would make anyone believe I was the happiest woman in the world.
“Yes, I’ll marry you!” I exclaimed.
Patrick let out a sigh of relief and slipped the cheap ring on my finger as if he had won the lottery. In a way, he thought he had.
He hugged me, squeezing me just a little too tight. “You won’t regret this, baby,” he murmured against my hair. “We’re going to be so happy.”
I almost laughed. Instead, I pulled away and raised a finger between us. “But…”
His face tensed. “But…?”
I tilted my head and gave him my sweetest but most serious look. “I have a condition.”
His tense shoulders relaxed. “Baby, whatever it is, consider it done.”
I breathed slowly and dropped the bomb.
“From now on, you’ll always follow one of my rules.” I paused long enough for him to lean in slightly, curious. “You’ll never enter the apartment before I do. Never. No exceptions.”
His smile faltered for a second.
His brows furrowed. “What?” He let out a nervous laugh, as if I had just told him he had to quit playing video games forever. “Why?”
“It’s just a personal matter,” I said calmly. “If we’re going to get married, you should respect it.”
Patrick hesitated, his mouth opening and closing as if he were searching for the right argument. But then, thinking he had already won the grand prize—a life without paying rent—he gave me a mocking smile and nodded.
“Yeah, baby. Sure, whatever you want.”
For weeks, Patrick became the perfect fiancé.
He started calling me his queen, which was funny, considering he used to call me “baby”—or worse, “buddy”—when he was distracted.
He cooked dinner for me for the first time in his life. Well, if you count boiling pasta and pouring a can of sauce over it as “cooking.” But I smiled and thanked him as if he were a five-star chef.
He started casually mentioning our future in the apartment.
“Baby, I was thinking we should buy a huge flat-screen TV for the living room.” Or: “I saw this gaming chair on sale. It would look great in our office.”
He was slipping, getting too comfortable. Too confident. But I didn’t believe him. Because under that sweet smile… I knew he was waiting.
Waiting for the day the apartment would officially be mine.
And sure enough, that day came.
Finally, the apartment was in my name. But I didn’t tell Patrick right away. Then, one day, I left work early and came home unexpectedly.
And guess who I found?
Patrick. Inside the apartment. With his mother. Measuring the living room.
I froze at the door, gripping my purse tightly.
His mother—who had never cared about our relationship, who barely acknowledged my existence—was pointing at the windows.
“I think some sheer curtains would brighten up the space,” she murmured.
Patrick, caught in the middle of measuring, turned around. “Oh, honey! You’re home early!” he stammered, dropping the tape measure like it burned him.
I deliberately dropped my purse on the floor, crossed my arms, and raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” I said coldly, letting my gaze sweep over them. “And I see you’ve broken the one rule I gave you.”
Patrick swallowed. “Honey, I…”
But before he could try to make excuses, his mother—bless her heart—sniffed and waved a dismissive hand.
“Well, darling, now that Patrick is your fiancé, it’s his house too.”
And then I lost control.
Patrick flinched, and his mother’s mouth shut in a line of disapproval. The tension in the room thickened.
“Did you think we were really going to get married?” I asked, shaking my head while wiping away an imaginary tear from my eye. “How cute.”
Patrick’s eyes went wide, horrified. “What? Honey, of course…”
“No, no, no,” I interrupted, raising a hand. “Let me make this clear: I knew why you proposed. You never loved me, you wanted the apartment.”
His mother let out a scandalized scream, clutching her chest as if I had just slapped her. “How dare you accuse my son…?”
“No, how dare you plan to move into my apartment while I was at work!” I retorted, my voice cutting through the room like a whip.
Patrick was sweating now, his hands raised as if he could calm the situation. “Honey, please, I just…”
His face twisted, between anger and panic, and I realized he was falling apart.
But I wasn’t done.
“Let’s talk about what’s really going on here, Patrick,” I said, crossing my arms. “You weren’t ready to propose for two years. But as soon as I inherit a fully paid property? Suddenly you’re on one knee?”
Patrick blinked quickly, searching for an excuse. “It’s not that… I just realized how much I love you, babe!”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, really? Tell me, when exactly did you ‘realize’ that? Before or after you and your mother started planning where you’d put your furniture?”
His mother scoffed, stepping forward like a queen heading to her subjects. “Young lady, you are being very ungrateful. My son is giving you his last name, and you treat him like a gold digger.”
Then Patrick exploded.
“FINE! You want to know the truth?” He raised his hands. “Yes! I wasn’t willing to marry you before because, frankly, you’re not the kind of woman men fight for!”
“You should be grateful that someone like me is giving you a chance! You weren’t going to get a better man, Janet.”
I took a deep breath. “You’re right, Patrick. Maybe I won’t get a better one.”
His face lit up, thinking I was backing down. His mother smiled, clearly believing they had won.
Then I reached into my purse, pulled out a stack of neatly stacked papers, and threw them on the kitchen counter.
“Good thing I won’t have to figure that out,” I said casually. “Because, as of this morning, I sold the apartment.”
“WHAT?” Patrick screamed, lunging toward the papers as if he could undo what had already been done.
“You’ve heard me,” I said, smiling. “I signed the papers this morning. The money is already in my account.”
Patrick looked like he was about to faint. His face went pale, and for the first time since I knew him, he had nothing to say.
“You’re lying,” he whispered.
I shrugged. “Call the realtor. Ask.”
He staggered backward, eyes wide, looking at his mother, who grabbed him by the arm, panic-stricken.
And that? That was the last nail in the coffin.
I grabbed my purse, headed for the door, and turned around.
“You’re right, Patrick. I wasn’t going to get a better one. But luckily for me…” I gave him the brightest, most satisfied smile of my life.
Then I pointed to the door. “Now, get out of my house.”
The apartment sold faster than I expected. Within a week, the paperwork was finished, the money was in my account, and I was gone. I moved to another city, got a cozy little place on my own, and started over. No users. No manipulative boyfriends. Just me, living the life I deserved.
Patrick, of course, lost his mind.
He called nonstop, begging me to “fix things.” He swore that “he never meant to hurt me” and that we could “start over.”
His mother left a three-minute voicemail calling me a “heartless witch” for “ruining her son’s future.”
Later, a mutual friend told me that Patrick had no savings, no backup plan, and—big surprise—was still living with his mother.
I was in my new home, sipping wine on the balcony, happier than ever.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t settling.
If you thought this story was unbelievable, wait until you hear about the long-distance boyfriend who thought he could pull a fast one. He visited his girlfriend, ate and dined at her expense, and assumed she wouldn’t notice. But what didn’t he expect? She had a lesson prepared for him that he would never forget. Click here to read the full story.
