And I told myself love required patience. That eventually, things would fall into place.
Then, last month, my aunt—who had always been like a second mother to me—passed away suddenly. She left behind something unexpected: her apartment. A fully paid-off, three-bedroom apartment. And she left it to me.
I was overwhelmed. It was bittersweet, of course—I would have given anything to have her back. But this gift changed my life.
When I shared the news with Patrick, his reaction surprised me.
That very evening, he showed up with flowers (his first ever), a bottle of wine, and—most surprising of all—a ring.
I opened the door to find him standing there, smiling nervously, holding up a small velvet box.
“Babe,” he said, “I couldn’t wait any longer. Will you marry me?”
Just two weeks before, I had casually brought up the idea of engagement, and he’d shut it down.
“Rings are really expensive right now,” he had said.
But now? Now he was ready.
I felt my heart sink—but I smiled.
“Yes! I’ll marry you!” I said, with a cheer I didn’t feel.
He looked so proud, slipping the ring onto my finger like everything was falling into place.
I gave him a tight smile. “But I have one condition,” I added.
He looked surprised, but said, “Of course. Anything.”
“You can never enter the apartment before me. Ever.”
He laughed, a bit nervously, but agreed.
Over the next few weeks, Patrick became a whole new person. He cooked (barely), complimented me constantly, and began making comments about “our” home—things like buying a big TV or a gaming chair.
But I wasn’t convinced. Deep down, I knew he was waiting for one thing: for the apartment to be officially in my name.
And once it was, I didn’t say a word.
A few days later, I left work early—and walked into a scene I’ll never forget.
Patrick. In the apartment. With his mother. Measuring the living room.
His mom was suggesting curtain options like she already lived there.
I stood in the doorway and said nothing. Just watched.
Patrick jumped. “Babe! You’re home early!”
I looked around. “And I see you broke the one rule I gave you.”
His mom stepped in. “Well dear, once you’re married, this will be his home too.”
That’s when I calmly smiled and said, “You thought we were actually getting married?”
The silence was deafening.
Patrick tried to explain, to backpedal, to tell me he loved me. But I had heard enough.
I reached into my bag, pulled out a few papers, and laid them on the counter.
“As of this morning, I sold the apartment.”
Patrick’s face went pale.
“You did what?!”
“It’s done,” I said. “The funds are already in my account.”
I turned to leave, looking over my shoulder one last time.
“You were right, Patrick. Maybe I wasn’t going to do better. But lucky for me—now I don’t have to.”
And I walked out.
The sale went through quickly. I moved to a new city, found a place of my own, and began a new chapter.
Patrick called—many times. I didn’t answer. He left messages. I didn’t reply. His mother wasn’t happy either.
I’ve never looked back.
Because for the first time, I chose myself. And that made all the difference.