The Moment I Knew He Never Really Wanted Me
For years, I watched my friends fall in love. They got engaged, moved in together, built lives with people who adored them. And me? I was always the third wheel—the one taking cute couple photos for them, laughing off jokes about ending up alone with ten cats (even though I didn’t even own one).
Then, two years ago, Patrick noticed me at a bar.
Finally, I thought. My turn.
He had that easy charm, that way of looking at me like I was the most fascinating person in the room. And I fell for it—hard.
But looking back? The signs were always there.
He never gave—not time, not effort, not even a real gift. He still lived with his mom and had zero plans to move out. And every time I brought up moving in together, or gasp marriage?
“We don’t know each other well enough yet,” he’d say, eyes glued to his phone.
Two. Whole. Years. And he still wasn’t sure?
I swallowed the hurt, told myself love was about patience. That one day, he’d wake up and realize I was the one.
Then, everything changed.
The Inheritance
Last month, my aunt passed away. It was sudden, heartbreaking. She was my mom’s older sister—the one who never forgot my birthday, who sent me random care packages just because. Losing her felt like losing a piece of home.
Then came the shock.
She left me her three-bedroom apartment. Fully paid off.
No more rent. No more stressing about bills. A home—just like that.
I should’ve been overjoyed. But all I could think was: I’d give it all up to have her back.
Still, I told Patrick.
And guess what happened?
That same night, he showed up at my door—flowers in hand (his first ever), cheap wine in the other, and… a ring.
I opened the door, and there he was, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.
“Babe,” he breathed, dropping to one knee. “I couldn’t wait any longer. Will you marry me?”
I stared.
Two weeks ago, I’d casually mentioned engagement. His response?
“Babe, rings are crazy expensive right now. Let’s not rush it.”
But now? Now he was ready?
I forced the biggest, fakest smile of my life. “Yes! I’ll marry you!”
He slid the ring onto my finger—cheap, thin, probably bought in a panic—and hugged me like he’d just secured his future.
“You won’t regret this, babe,” he whispered. “We’re gonna be so happy.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I pulled back, holding up a finger. “But—”
His smile faltered. “But…?”
“I have one condition,” I said sweetly. “You will never enter the apartment before me. Ever. No exceptions.”
He blinked. “Uh… why?”
“Just a personal thing,” I said, shrugging. “If we’re getting married, you should respect it.”
He hesitated—then smirked, thinking he’d already won. “Yeah, babe. Sure. Whatever you want.”
The Perfect Fiancé (For Exactly 3 Weeks)
Suddenly, Patrick was obsessed with me.
He called me his “queen” (before, I was just “babe”—or “dude” when he wasn’t paying attention).
He “cooked” for me (if you can call dumping jar sauce on pasta cooking).
And he could not stop talking about our apartment.
“Babe, we should get a huge flat-screen for the living room.”
“This gaming chair would look sick in our office.”
He was getting comfortable.
Too comfortable.
But I wasn’t fooled. Because I knew what he was really waiting for—the day the apartment was officially mine.
And when that day came?
I walked in on him.
The Betrayal
I came home early—and found Patrick inside. With his mother. Measuring the living room.
His mom—who’d never cared about me—was pointing at the windows.
“Sheer curtains would brighten the space,” she said.
Patrick spun, dropping the tape measure like it burned him. “Babe! You’re home early!”
I crossed my arms. “Yeah. And you broke the one rule I gave you.”
Silence.
Then his mom sniffed. “Well, dear, now that Patrick’s your fiancé, it’s his home too!”
I laughed in their faces.
Patrick paled. His mom looked like I’d slapped her.
“Oh, you thought we were actually getting married?” I wiped an imaginary tear. “That’s adorable.”
Patrick’s voice cracked. “W-What? Babe, of course—”
“No,” I cut in. “Let’s be real—you didn’t want me. You wanted the apartment.”
His mom gasped. “How dare you—”
“No, how dare YOU plan to move in while I was at work!”
Patrick was sweating now. “Babe, please—”
“Stop.”
His face twisted—anger, panic, desperation.
I wasn’t done.
“Two years, Patrick. Two years of ‘we’re not ready.’ But the second I inherit a paid-off apartment? Suddenly, you’re down on one knee?”
He scrambled. “I just realized how much I love you!”
I laughed. “Oh? Before or after you and Mommy picked out curtains?”
His mom huffed. “My son is giving you his last name, and you’re treating him like a gold digger!”
Patrick snapped.
“FINE! You wanna know the truth? Yeah, I wasn’t ready before because—frankly—you’re not the kind of woman men fight for!”
Ouch.
But he wasn’t done.
“You should be grateful someone like me gave you a chance! You weren’t gonna do better, Janet!”
I took a deep breath. “You’re right, Patrick. Maybe I won’t do better.”
He smirked, thinking he’d won.
Then I pulled out a stack of papers and tossed them on the counter.
“Good thing I won’t have to find out. Because as of this morning? I sold the apartment.”
His face dropped.
“You WHAT?!” he shrieked, lunging for the papers like he could undo it.
“It’s done,” I said, grinning. “Money’s already in my account.”
Patrick looked like he might pass out. “You—you’re lying.”
“Call the realtor.”
He turned to his mom, panicked. “Mom, what do we do?!”
And that was it.
I grabbed my bag, walked to the door, and turned back.
“You’re right, Patrick. I wasn’t gonna do better.” I flashed him my brightest smile. “But lucky for me… I just did.”
Then I pointed. “Now get the hell out of my house.”
The Aftermath
The apartment sold fast. Within a week, the money was mine, and I was gone—new city, new life, no freeloaders.
Patrick? He lost it.
He called, begging to “work things out.”
Blocked.
His mom left a voicemail calling me a “heartless witch.”
Blocked.
A mutual friend later told me he was still living with his mom—no savings, no backup plan.
And me?
I was on my new balcony, sipping wine, happier than I’d ever been.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t settling.
And that?
That was priceless.
