The Moment I Knew Patrick Never Really Wanted Me
For years, Patrick always had an excuse.
“We need more time before moving in together.”
“Let’s not rush into an engagement.”
“Commitment is a big step—we should wait.”
But the second I inherited a fully paid-off apartment? Suddenly, he couldn’t wait another day.
And that’s when I realized—I was never his first choice.
The Girl Who Always Waited
While my friends were falling in love, getting engaged, and building lives with partners who adored them, I was the one stuck on the sidelines. The third wheel at dinners. The one taking cute couple photos for everyone else. The one joking about becoming 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 that effortless charm, that way of looking at me like I was the most interesting person in the room. And I fell for it—hard.
The Red Flags I Ignored
For two years, I made excuses for him.
- He never gave—not gifts, not time, not effort.
- He still lived with his mom and had no plans to move out.
- Every time I brought up moving in together or marriage, he dodged it.
“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 about me.
I swallowed the hurt, telling myself love was about patience. That one day, he’d wake up and realize I was worth committing to.
But then—everything changed.
The Inheritance That Changed Everything
Last month, my aunt passed away. It was sudden, heartbreaking. She was the one who remembered my birthday, who sent me care packages “just because.” 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. No mortgage. No rent. Just… mine.
It was bittersweet. I would’ve given anything to have her back. But this? This was life-changing.
Naturally, I told Patrick.
And guess what happened next?
The Proposal That Wasn’t About Love
That same night, he showed up at my door—flowers in hand (his first ever), a bottle of cheap wine, 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, stunned.
Two weeks earlier, 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—a cheap, tiny thing—like he’d just secured his future.
“You won’t regret this, babe,” he murmured, hugging me too tight. “We’re gonna be so happy.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I pulled back and hit him with my one condition.
“You will never enter this apartment before me. Ever. No exceptions.”
His smile flickered. “Uh… why?”
“It’s personal,” I said sweetly. “If we’re getting married, you should respect it.”
He hesitated—but then, thinking he’d already won, he smirked. “Yeah, babe. Whatever you want.”
The Perfect Fiancé (For Exactly Three Weeks)
Suddenly, Patrick was the man I’d always wanted.
- He called me his “queen” (instead of “dude”).
- He “cooked” for me (if you count boiling pasta as cooking).
- He started planning our future in my 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.
The Day I Caught Him
The apartment was finally in my name. I didn’t tell Patrick.
Then one day, I came home early.
And there he was—inside my apartment. With his mother. Measuring the living room.
I stood frozen in the doorway.
His mom—who’d never cared about me—was pointing at the windows.
“Sheer curtains would brighten this space,” she said.
Patrick spun around, dropping the tape measure. “Babe! You’re home early!”
I crossed my arms. “Yeah. And you broke the one rule I gave you.”
Silence.
His mom scoffed. “Dear, now that Patrick’s your fiancé, it’s his home too!”
I burst out laughing.
“Oh, you thought we were actually getting married?” I wiped an imaginary tear. “That’s adorable.”
Patrick’s face went pale. “W-What?”
“Let me spell it out,” I said, my voice sharp. “You didn’t propose because you love me. You proposed because of the apartment.”
His mom gasped. “How dare you—”
“No, how dare YOU plan to move into MY home behind my back!”
Patrick was sweating now. “Babe, please—”
“Stop.” I reached into my bag and tossed a stack of papers onto the counter. “I sold the apartment this morning.”
His jaw dropped. “YOU WHAT?!”
“It’s done. The money’s already in my account.”
He looked like he might pass out. “You—you’re lying!”
“Call the realtor. Ask.”
His mom grabbed his arm, panicked. “Patrick, what do we do?!”
And that? That was the moment I knew I’d won.
I grabbed my purse, walked to the door, and turned back.
“You’re right, Patrick. Maybe I wasn’t gonna do any better.” I smiled. “But lucky for me… I just did.”
Then I pointed to the door. “Now get out.”
The Aftermath
The apartment sold fast. I moved to a new city, started fresh—no freeloaders, no lies. Just me, living life on my terms.
Patrick? He lost his mind.
- Him: “We can work this out!” (Blocked.)
- His mom: “You 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 ever.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t settling.
And it felt amazing.
