Patrick always told me we needed more time before moving in together. More time before getting engaged. More time before making any real commitment. But the second I inherited a fully paid-off apartment? Suddenly, he couldn’t wait a second longer. And that’s when I knew—I was never his first choice.
For years, I watched my friends fall in love, get engaged, and start new lives with partners who adored them. Meanwhile, I was always the third wheel, the one asked to take cute couple photos, the one joking about how I’d probably end up a crazy 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 had this effortless charm, a laid-back confidence that made me feel special, like I was the only person in the room. And I fell for it. Hard.
For two years, I ignored the little things. The way he never really gave—not gifts, not time, not effort. The way he still lived with his mom and had no plans to change that. The way he dodged every conversation about moving in together or getting married.
“We don’t know each other well enough yet,” he always said, barely looking up from his phone.
Two years together, and he still wasn’t sure. But I loved him, so I told myself to be patient. Commitment would come. Eventually.
Then, something happened. Something that changed everything.
Last month, my aunt passed away. It was sudden. Unexpected. She was my mom’s older sister, the one who never forgot my birthday, who sent me random care packages even as an adult. Losing her felt like losing a piece of home.
Then came the shock. She had no kids, no spouse, and she left her entire three-bedroom apartment to me.
It was bittersweet. I would have given anything to have her back, but this? This inheritance was life-changing. No more rent. No more stressing about rising costs. A home that was mine.
Naturally, I shared the news with Patrick.
And guess what?
That very night, he showed up at my door with flowers (his first ever), a bottle of wine (cheap, but still), and—most shocking of all—a ring.
I opened the door, and there he was, standing awkwardly on my tiny welcome mat, holding up a small velvet box.
“Babe,” he breathed out, flashing that easy grin. “I couldn’t wait any longer. Will you marry me?”
I stared at him, my stomach twisting.
Two weeks ago, I had casually mentioned engagement. His response?
“Babe, rings are crazy expensive right now. Let’s not rush it.”
But now? Now he was ready?
I swallowed hard and forced a surprised smile. “Patrick… I— I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” he urged, his eyes gleaming. “We’ve been together two years, babe. It’s time. Let’s build our future together.”
Build. Right. Because now I had something worth building in.
I should’ve thrown the ring back at him. Called him out. But instead, I did something better.
I plastered on the biggest, most over-the-top smile I could manage.
“Yes! I’ll marry you!” I gasped.
Patrick let out a relieved chuckle, slipping the cheap little ring onto my finger like he’d just won the lottery. Which, in a way, he thought he had.
He pulled me into a hug, squeezing just a little too tight. “You won’t regret this, babe,” he murmured against my hair. “We’re gonna be so happy.”
I almost laughed. Instead, I pulled back and held up a single finger.
“But—”
His face tensed. “But…?”
I tilted my head, giving him my best sweet-but-serious look. “I have one condition.”
His tense shoulders eased. “Oh, babe, whatever it is, consider it done.”
I took a slow breath, then dropped the bomb.
“From now on, you will always follow one rule of mine.” I paused long enough for him to lean in slightly, curious. “You will never enter the apartment before me. Ever. No exceptions.”
The smile on his face flickered for a second.
His brows furrowed. “Uh… what?” He let out a small, nervous chuckle. “Why?”
“It’s just a personal thing,” I said calmly. “If we’re gonna be married, you should respect it.”
Patrick hesitated, his mouth opening and closing like he was searching for the right argument. But then, thinking he had already won the grand prize—a rent-free life—he smirked and nodded.
“Yeah, babe. Sure. Whatever you want.”
For weeks, Patrick transformed into the perfect fiancé. He cooked me dinner for the first time ever. He started calling me his queen instead of babe. He talked about “our” future in “our” apartment.
And then? The day came. The apartment was finally in my name. And I left work early.
Guess what I walked into?
Patrick. Inside the apartment. With his mother. Measuring the living room.
His mother—who had never cared about our relationship—was now gesturing toward the windows. “I think sheer curtains would brighten up the space,” she mused.
Patrick turned, mid-measurement. “Oh! Babe! You’re home early!”
I set my bag down deliberately. “Yeah,” I said coolly. “And I see you broke the one rule I gave you.”
Patrick swallowed hard. “Babe, I—”
His mother sniffed. “Well, dear, now that Patrick is your fiancé, it’s his home too!”
I laughed right in their faces.
Patrick flinched. His mother’s mouth pressed into a tight line.
“Oh, you thought we were actually getting married?” I asked. “That’s cute.”
Patrick’s face paled. “W-What?”
“I knew why you proposed. You never wanted me—you wanted the apartment.”
His mother gasped. “How dare you accuse my son—”
“How dare you try to move in behind my back!”
Patrick snapped. “FINE! You wanna know the truth?” He threw his hands up. “Yeah! I wasn’t ready to marry you before because you’re not the kind of woman men fight for!”
Oof.
“You should be thankful someone like me gave you a chance, Janet!”
I took a deep breath. “You’re right, Patrick. Maybe I won’t do any better.”
His face lit up—until I tossed a pile of papers onto the counter.
“Good thing I won’t have to find out,” I said. “Because, as of this morning, I sold the apartment.”
Patrick shrieked. “YOU WHAT?!”
“You heard me,” I said. “The money’s already in my account.”
Patrick turned to his mother. “Mom, what do we do?!”
I grabbed my purse, walked to the door, and turned back.
“You’re right, Patrick. I wasn’t gonna do any better. But lucky for me… I just did.”
Then, I pointed to the door. “Now, get the hell out.”
One week later, I moved to a new city. No freeloaders. No manipulative boyfriends. Just me, living life the way I deserved.
And Patrick? Still living with his mom.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t settling.
