Patrick always had an excuse. “We need more time,” he’d say whenever I brought up moving in together. “We shouldn’t rush,” he’d insist if I hinted at an engagement. “Things like this take time, babe.”
Two years of this. Two years of waiting for the next step that never came. But the moment I inherited a fully paid-off apartment? Suddenly, Patrick couldn’t wait anymore. And that’s when I knew—I was never his first choice.
For years, I watched my friends fall in love, get engaged, move in with partners who adored them. Meanwhile, I was the forever third wheel. The one taking cute couple photos. The one joking about becoming a crazy cat lady—even though I didn’t own a cat.
So when Patrick noticed me at a bar two years ago, I thought, Finally. My turn.
He had this effortless charm. The kind that made you feel like the only person in the room. When he looked at me like that, I fell hard.
For two years, I ignored the red flags.
The way he never really gave—not gifts, not effort, not time. The way he still lived with his mom and had zero plans to change that. The way he dodged every conversation about commitment.
“We don’t know each other well enough yet,” he’d say, scrolling through his phone.
Two years. And he still wasn’t sure.
I swallowed the hurt. Told myself love was about patience. That one day, he’d be ready.
Then, something happened. And everything changed.
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 care packages well into adulthood. Losing her felt like losing a piece of home.
And 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’ve given anything to have her back. But this? This inheritance was life-changing. No more rent. No more worrying 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 to find him standing awkwardly on my tiny welcome mat, holding up a velvet box.
“Babe,” he breathed, flashing that easy grin. “I couldn’t wait any longer. Will you marry me?”
I stared. My heart pounded.
Two weeks ago, I had casually mentioned engagement. His response?
“Babe, rings are crazy expensive right now. Let’s not rush it.”
And now? Now he was ready?
I forced a surprised smile. “Patrick… I— I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” he urged, his eyes gleaming. “We’ve been together for 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 called him out. Should’ve thrown the ring back in his face.
Instead? I smiled. Big. Over-the-top. Like I was the happiest woman alive.
“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 into my hair. “We’re gonna be so happy.”
I almost laughed. Instead, I leaned 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. “You will never enter the apartment before me. Ever. No exceptions.”
His smile flickered. “Uh… what?” He let out a nervous chuckle, like I had just asked him to quit video games forever. “Why?”
“Just a personal thing,” I said calmly. “If we’re gonna be married, you should respect it.”
Patrick hesitated. But 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 was the perfect fiancé.
He called me his queen.
He cooked for me. (Well, he boiled pasta and dumped a jar of sauce over it, but still.)
He started planning “our” future in my apartment. “Babe, we should get a huge flat-screen for the living room.” Or, “I saw this gaming chair on sale. Would look sick in our office.”
He got too comfortable. Too confident.
And then, the apartment was officially in my name.
I didn’t tell Patrick right away. But one day, I left work early and went home unexpectedly.
And guess what I walked into?
Patrick. Inside the apartment. With his mother. Measuring the living room.
I froze in the doorway.
His mother—who had never cared about our relationship—was now gesturing toward the windows. “Sheer curtains would brighten up the space,” she mused.
Patrick turned. “Oh! Babe! You’re home early!” he stammered, dropping the tape measure like it burned him.
I set my bag down. Crossed my arms. Raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. And I see you broke the one rule I gave you.”
Silence.
Patrick swallowed hard. “Babe, I—”
His mother sniffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Well, dear, now that Patrick is your fiancé, it’s his home too!”
And that’s when I lost it.
I laughed. Right in their faces.
Patrick flinched. His mother’s mouth pressed into a tight, disapproving line.
“Oh, you thought we were actually getting married?” I asked, shaking my head. “That’s cute.”
Patrick’s eyes widened in horror. “W-What? Babe, of course—”
“No, no, no,” I interrupted, holding up a hand. “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 plan to move in behind my back!”
Patrick was sweating. “Babe, please—”
“Stop. Just stop.”
I pulled a stack of papers from my bag and tossed them onto the counter.
“Good thing I won’t have to find out,” I said, grinning. “Because as of this morning, I sold the apartment.”
Patrick turned ghost-white. “YOU WHAT?!”
“You heard me. Money’s already in my account.”
His mother clutched his arm. “Patrick, 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 flashed him the brightest smile of my life.
“I just did.”
Then, I pointed to the door. “Now, get the hell out.”
And I walked away.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t settling.
