Patrick always told me we needed more time. More time before living together. More time before getting engaged. More time before committing to anything real.
But the moment I inherited a fully paid-off apartment? Suddenly, he was ready. And that’s when I realized something heartbreaking—he was never truly in love with me.For years, I watched my friends build beautiful lives with partners who genuinely cherished them. Meanwhile, I played the role of the third wheel, always smiling through the loneliness. I joked about becoming a cat lady—even though I didn’t even own a cat.
So, when Patrick noticed me at a bar two years ago, I thought, Finally. My turn. He was charming, engaging, and made me feel seen in a way no one else had.
I fell for it. Hard.
For two years, I ignored the little red flags—the lack of effort, his refusal to talk about the future, and how he still lived with his mom without any plans to move out.
“We don’t know each other well enough yet,” he’d say, often while scrolling on his phone.And I told myself love required patience. That eventually, things would fall into place.
Then, last month, my aunt—who had always been like a second mother to me—passed away suddenly. She left behind something unexpected: her apartment. A fully paid-off, three-bedroom apartment. And she left it to me.I was overwhelmed. It was bittersweet, of course—I would have given anything to have her back. But this gift changed my life.
When I shared the news with Patrick, his reaction surprised me.
That very evening, he showed up with flowers (his first ever), a bottle of wine, and—most surprising of all—a ring.I opened the door to find him standing there, smiling nervously, holding up a small velvet box.
“Babe,” he said, “I couldn’t wait any longer. Will you marry me?”
Just two weeks before, I had casually brought up the idea of engagement, and he’d shut it down.“Rings are really expensive right now,” he had said.
But now? Now he was ready.
I felt my heart sink—but I smiled.
“Yes! I’ll marry you!” I said, with a cheer I didn’t feel.
He looked so proud, slipping the ring onto my finger like everything was falling into place.
I gave him a tight smile. “But I have one condition,” I added.
He looked surprised, but said, “Of course. Anything.”
“You can never enter the apartment before me. Ever.”
He laughed, a bit nervously, but agreed.
Over the next few weeks, Patrick became a whole new person. He cooked (barely), complimented me constantly, and began making comments about “our” home—things like buying a big TV or a gaming chair.
But I wasn’t convinced. Deep down, I knew he was waiting for one thing: for the apartment to be officially in my name.
And once it was, I didn’t say a word.
A few days later, I left work early—and walked into a scene I’ll never forget.
Patrick. In the apartment. With his mother. Measuring the living room.His mom was suggesting curtain options like she already lived there.
I stood in the doorway and said nothing. Just watched.
Patrick jumped. “Babe! You’re home early!”
I looked around. “And I see you broke the one rule I gave you.”
His mom stepped in. “Well dear, once you’re married, this will be his home too.”
That’s when I calmly smiled and said, “You thought we were actually getting married?”
The silence was deafening.
Patrick tried to explain, to backpedal, to tell me he loved me. But I had heard enough.
I reached into my bag, pulled out a few papers, and laid them on the counter.
“As of this morning, I sold the apartment.”
Patrick’s face went pale.
“You did what?!”
“It’s done,” I said. “The funds are already in my account.”
I turned to leave, looking over my shoulder one last time.“You were right, Patrick. Maybe I wasn’t going to do better. But lucky for me—now I don’t have to.”
And I walked out.
The sale went through quickly. I moved to a new city, found a place of my own, and began a new chapter.
Patrick called—many times. I didn’t answer. He left messages. I didn’t reply. His mother wasn’t happy either.
I’ve never looked back.
Because for the first time, I chose myself. And that made all the difference.