The Moment I Knew Patrick Was Full of It
For years, Patrick had excuses. 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 another second.
And that’s when I realized—I was never his first choice.
The Waiting Game
I watched my friends fall in love, get engaged, and start their lives with partners who actually wanted them. Meanwhile, I was the eternal third wheel—the one taking cute couple photos for everyone else, the one laughing off jokes 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 fascinating person in the room. And I fell for it. Hard.
But over time, I started noticing things.
- He never gave—not gifts, not time, not real effort.
- He still lived with his mom and had zero plans to move out.
- Every time I brought up moving in together or marriage, he dodged it like a bullet.
“We don’t know each other well enough yet,” he’d say, eyes glued to his phone.
Two 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 he had.
Then life dropped a bombshell in my lap.
The Inheritance
Last month, my aunt passed away. It was sudden. Painful. 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 had no kids, no spouse. And she left me her entire three-bedroom apartment.
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 that was mine.
Of course, I told Patrick.
And guess what happened next?
The Sudden Proposal
That very night, he showed up at my door—flowers in hand (his first ever), a bottle of cheap wine, and, most shockingly, a ring.
I opened the door, and there he was, standing awkwardly on my welcome mat, holding out a tiny velvet box.
“Babe,” he said, flashing that grin. “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 swallowed the lump in my throat and forced the biggest, fakest smile of my life.
“Yes! I’ll marry you!” I gasped.
Patrick let out a relieved chuckle and slid the ring onto my finger like he’d just won the lottery.
“You won’t regret this, babe,” he murmured, squeezing me too tight. “We’re gonna be so happy.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I pulled back, holding up a finger. “But—”
His face tensed. “But…?”
“I have one condition.”
He relaxed instantly. “Oh, babe, whatever it is, consider it done.”
I took a slow breath.
“From now on, you will never enter this apartment before me. Ever. No exceptions.”
His smile flickered. “Uh… what?” He chuckled nervously. “Why?”
“Just a personal thing,” I said sweetly. “If we’re gonna be married, you should respect it.”
He hesitated, mouth opening and closing like a fish. But then—thinking he’d already won the grand prize—he smirked and nodded.
“Yeah, babe. Sure. Whatever you want.”
The Perfect Fiancé (For Exactly Three Weeks)
Suddenly, Patrick was obsessed with me.
- He called me his “queen” (when before, I was just “babe”—or “dude” when he wasn’t paying attention).
- He “cooked” for me (if you count boiling pasta and dumping sauce on it as cooking).
- He started talking about our future in my apartment.
“Babe, we should get a huge flat-screen for the living room.”
“I saw this gaming chair on sale—it’d look sick in our office.”
He was getting too comfortable. Too confident.
But I wasn’t buying it.
Because I knew what he was really waiting for.
The Trap
The day the apartment was officially in my name, I didn’t tell Patrick.
Instead, I left work early.
And when I walked in?
There he was. Inside my apartment. With his mother. Measuring the living room.
I froze in the doorway, gripping my bag so hard my knuckles turned white.
His mom—who had never cared about me—was pointing at the windows.
“Sheer curtains would brighten up the space,” she said, like she already lived there.
Patrick spun around, dropping the tape measure. “Oh! Babe! You’re home early!”
I set my bag down slowly, crossed my arms, and raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah. And I see you broke the one rule I gave you.”
Silence.
Patrick swallowed hard. “Babe, I—”
But his mom cut in, waving a dismissive hand. “Well, dear, now that Patrick is your fiancé, it’s his home too!”
That’s when I lost it.
I laughed in their faces.
Patrick flinched. His mom’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 interrupted. *”Let’s be clear: You never wanted *me*—you wanted the *apartment.”
His mom gasped like I’d slapped her. “How dare you accuse my son—”
*”How dare *you* plan to move into my home while I was at work!”* I snapped.
Patrick was sweating now. “Babe, please—”
“Stop.”
His face twisted—anger, panic, desperation.
*”Let’s talk about what’s *really* happening here,”* I said coldly. *”You weren’t ready to propose for *two years. But the second I inherit a free apartment? Suddenly, you’re down on one knee?”
Patrick blinked rapidly. “That’s not—I just realized how much I love you!”
I snorted. “Really? So when did you ‘realize’ that? Before or after you and Mommy started picking out curtains?”
His mom stepped forward, nostrils flaring. “Young lady, you are being ungrateful. My son is giving you his last name!”
Patrick finally snapped.
“FINE! You wanna know the truth? 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 done.
*”You should be *thankful* someone like me gave you a chance! You weren’t gonna do any better!”*
I took a deep breath. “You’re right, Patrick. Maybe I won’t do any better.”
His face lit up. His mom 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. Because as of this morning, I *sold* the apartment.”*
His jaw dropped.
*”You *WHAT?!” he shrieked, lunging for the papers like he could undo it.
“It’s done,” I said, grinning. “The money’s already in my account.”
Patrick looked like he might pass out.
“You—you’re lying,” he whispered.
I shrugged. “Call the realtor. Ask.”
He stumbled back, eyes darting to his mom in panic.
“Mom, what do we do?!”
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 any 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 fast. Within a week, the money was mine, and I was gone—moved to a new city, a new life, no freeloaders in sight.
Patrick? He lost his mind.
- He called nonstop, begging to “work things out.” (Blocked.)
- His mom left a voicemail calling me a “heartless witch.” (Also blocked.)
- A mutual friend later told me he was still living with his mom, broke and furious.
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.
