The Moment I Knew He Never Really Wanted Me
For years, I watched as my friends fell in love, got engaged, and built lives with partners who adored them. Meanwhile, I was always the third wheel—the one taking cute couple photos for everyone else, laughing off jokes about becoming a “crazy cat lady” even though I didn’t even own a cat.
Then, two years ago, Patrick noticed me at a bar.
Finally, I thought. My turn.
He had this easy charm, this 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.
Patrick never gave—not gifts, not time, not real effort. He still lived with his mom and had no plans to move out. And whenever I brought up moving in together or marriage?
“We don’t know each other well enough yet,” he’d say, eyes glued to his phone.
Two whole years together. And he still wasn’t sure.
I swallowed the hurt and told myself love was about patience. That one day, he’d wake up and realize what we had was real.
Then, everything changed.
Last month, my aunt passed away. It was sudden, devastating. She was my mom’s older sister—the one who never forgot my birthday, who sent me random care packages even when I was an adult. Losing her felt like losing a piece of home.
And then came the shock.
She left me her entire three-bedroom apartment. Fully paid off.
It was bittersweet. I would’ve given anything to have her back. But this? This was life-changing. No more rent. No more stressing about bills. A home—all mine.
Of course, I told Patrick.
And guess what happened?
That same night, he showed up at my door—with flowers (his first ever), a bottle of wine (cheap, but still), and the biggest shock of all: a ring.
I opened the door, and there he was, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.
“Babe,” he said, breathless. “I couldn’t wait any longer. Will you marry me?”
I stared at him, my stomach twisting.
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 a smile, my heart pounding. “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 in his face. Should’ve called him out right then.
But instead? I put on the performance of a lifetime.
“Yes! I’ll marry you!” I gasped, like some lovesick heroine in a rom-com.
Patrick exhaled like he’d been holding his breath, sliding the cheap little ring onto my finger like he’d just secured his golden ticket.
“You won’t regret this, babe,” he murmured, pulling me into a hug. “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.
He relaxed instantly, like he’d already won. “Oh, babe, whatever it is, consider it done.”
I took a slow breath. “From now on, you will never enter the apartment before me. Ever. No exceptions.”
His grin flickered. “Uh… what?” He let out a nervous laugh. “Why?”
“It’s just a personal thing,” I said calmly. “If we’re gonna be married, you should respect it.”
He hesitated, his mind clearly racing. But then—thinking he’d already won—he smirked and nodded.
“Yeah, babe. Sure. Whatever you want.”
The Perfect Fiancé (For Exactly 3 Weeks)
Overnight, Patrick transformed into Prince Charming.
He started calling me his “queen”—funny, since before, I was just “babe” or, when he was distracted, “dude.”
He “cooked” for me (if you can call boiling pasta and dumping sauce on it cooking).
And he couldn’t 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 finally came?
I walked in on Patrick and his mother measuring the living room.
I froze in the doorway, my grip tightening on my bag.
His mother—who had never once acknowledged me—was pointing at the windows.
“Sheer curtains would brighten the space,” she said, like she was already decorating her new home.
Patrick spun around, dropping the tape measure like it burned him. “Babe! You’re home early!”
I set my bag down slowly, crossing my arms. “Yeah. And I see you broke the one rule I gave you.”
Silence.
Patrick swallowed hard. “Babe, I—”
But his mother cut in, waving a dismissive hand. “Well, dear, now that Patrick’s your fiancé, it’s his home too!”
And that’s when I lost it.
I laughed—hard—right in their faces.
Patrick flinched. His mother’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“Oh, you thought we were actually getting married?” I wiped an imaginary tear. “That’s cute.”
Patrick’s face went pale. “W-What? Babe, of course—”
“No, no, no,” I cut in, holding up a hand. “Let’s be clear: You didn’t want me. You wanted the apartment.”
His mother gasped, clutching her chest like I’d slapped her. “How dare you accuse my son—”
“How dare YOU two plan to move in while I was at work!” My voice cut through the room like a knife.
Patrick was sweating now, his hands up in surrender. “Babe, please—”
“Stop.”
His face twisted—anger, panic, desperation. The mask was slipping.
But I wasn’t done.
“Let’s talk facts, Patrick. You weren’t ready to propose for two years. But the second I inherit a paid-off apartment? Suddenly, you’re down on one knee?”
He blinked rapidly. “That’s not—I just realized how much I love you!”
I snorted. “Really? So when did this realization hit? Before or after you and Mommy started picking out curtains?”
His mother huffed. “Young lady, you’re being ungrateful. My son is giving you his last name, and you’re treating him like a gold digger!”
Silence.
Then—Patrick snapped.
“FINE! You wanna know the truth?” He threw his hands up. “Yeah! I wasn’t ready to marry you before because, frankly, you’re not the kind of woman men fight for!”
Ouch.
But he wasn’t finished.
“You should be thankful 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.”
His face lit up. His mother smirked.
Then—I reached into my bag and tossed a stack of papers onto the counter.
“Good thing I won’t have to find out,” I said casually. “Because, as of this morning? I sold the apartment.”
His jaw dropped.
“You WHAT?!” Patrick shrieked, lunging for the papers like he could undo it.
“You heard me,” I said, grinning. “The money’s already in my account.”
Patrick looked like he might pass out. His mother clutched his arm, her face twisted in panic.
“Mom, what do we do?!” he whimpered.
And that was the final nail in the coffin.
I grabbed my purse, 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 to the door. “Now get the hell out of my house.”
The Aftermath
The apartment sold faster than I expected. Within a week, the money was mine, and I was gone—moved to a new city, a fresh start, no freeloaders in sight.
Patrick? He lost it.
He called nonstop, begging to “work things out.” Swore he “never meant to hurt me.”
Blocked.
His mother left a voicemail calling me a “heartless witch” for “ruining her son’s future.”
Also blocked.
A mutual friend later told me Patrick 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 was the best revenge of all.
