Patrick and I had been dating for two years. And every time I brought up the idea of moving in together or getting engaged, he’d hit me with the same line:
“We don’t know each other well enough yet.”
So I waited. Patiently. Thought maybe time would change things.
Then last month, my aunt passed away and left me her fully paid, three-bedroom apartment.
I told Patrick about it.
That very same night?
He suddenly knew me well enough. He got down on one knee—with a ring in hand.
For illustration purposes only.
The man who couldn’t commit two weeks ago had a whole proposal planned. Just like that.
And my heart sank.
It wasn’t me he wanted—it was a free apartment.
But instead of confronting him, I played along.
I gasped, clutched my chest, and beamed the biggest smile of my life.
“Yes! I’ll marry you!”
His eyes sparkled. But I wasn’t done.
“On one condition,” I added.
“Anything, darling!” he said, all charm.
I looked him straight in the eye.
“We split everything 50/50. Rent, groceries, bills. No free rides—even in a free apartment.”
His smile twitched. “Oh babe, that’s cute. But if the place is already paid for, what am I even paying into?”
“That’s the point,” I said. “If you love me, you’ll want to contribute.”
He nodded, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course. Of course.”
In the following weeks, we started “planning” the wedding.
But not once did he mention vows or venues.
All he talked about was renovating the kitchen, flipping the apartment for profit, or turning my aunt’s old office into a home gym—for him, not us.
So, I tested him again.
I told him I was thinking about donating part of the inheritance to a domestic @buse shelter my aunt used to support. Said it felt like something she’d want.
For illustration purposes only.
Patrick’s face froze like he just bit into a lemon.
“Donate? Why? That money could go toward our honeymoon—or a new car.”
“She always wanted to help women rebuild their lives,” I said. “Feels right.”
He forced a smile. “Okay, maybe a small donation. But don’t go overboard.”
So I went overboard—on purpose.
I wrote a $30,000 check to the shelter. Asked them to mail me a printed thank-you letter.
When it arrived, I left it on the kitchen table, right where he’d see it.
That night, he came home, spotted the letter, and just stared.
“You donated how much?” he asked, voice sharp.
“Thirty grand,” I said casually. “That’s what she would’ve wanted.”
He scoffed. “We could’ve bought a Tesla with that.”
I shrugged. “Or helped thirty women escape abusive homes. Depends on your definition of value.”
After that, things got cold. Fast.
He stopped talking about the wedding. Started “working late.” Took phone calls outside. Canceled dinner with my mom—twice.
I knew what was coming.
One quiet Sunday morning, he finally broke the silence.
“I’ve been thinking… maybe we rushed this engagement.”
I gave him a sad smile. “You mean… maybe we don’t know each other well enough yet?”
He blinked.
And that was that.
He packed his things the next day. Didn’t even ask for the ring back.
For illustration purposes only.
A week later, I ran into his coworker, Salome—sweet girl—at a bookstore downtown. I casually mentioned the breakup.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh wow. He was still telling people he was single at work.”
Not surprising. Just… confirmation.
And here’s the thing—I never wanted to trap or embarrass him. I just wanted to know.
Did he love me? Or did he love the perks that came with me?
Turns out, it wasn’t me.
And honestly? I’m grateful.
Because that test saved me years of wondering. Wondering if he’d stay if the money disappeared. If he’d still propose if there was no inheritance, no apartment.
Now? My aunt’s old office is a cozy reading nook. No gym equipment in sight.
For illustration purposes only.
I’ve started volunteering at the shelter too—meeting women who’ve rebuilt their lives from nothing. Their strength inspires me more than any man ever could.