Patrick always said we needed more time before taking big steps—time before moving in together, getting engaged, or fully committing. But the moment I inherited a fully paid-off apartment, everything changed. Suddenly, he was ready. That’s when I realized something painful: I was never his first choice.
For years, I watched my friends fall in love, get married, and start lives with partners who truly cherished them. Meanwhile, I was the third wheel, the one invited to fill space in group photos and teased about becoming a “cat lady,” even though I didn’t own a cat.
Then, two years ago, I met Patrick at a bar. His charm was undeniable, and for the first time, it felt like it was my turn to be loved. I ignored the small red flags at first—like how he rarely gave me his time or effort, or how he still lived with his mom. Whenever I brought up the idea of moving in or getting engaged, he’d say, “We don’t know each other well enough yet,” barely glancing up from his phone.
Two years went by, and still, no commitment. I told myself that love required patience, that one day he’d be ready. Then, everything shifted.
Last month, my beloved aunt passed away unexpectedly. She was like a second mother to me—always thoughtful and caring. Her passing was heartbreaking. But along with that loss came a surprise: she had left me her entire three-bedroom apartment. It was a bittersweet gift—no more rent, no more financial stress, and for the first time, a place that was truly mine.
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