Patrick always told me we needed 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?
He couldn’t wait a second longer. And that’s when I knew—I was never his first choice.
For years, I watched my friends fall in love, get engaged, and start their lives with partners who adored them.
Meanwhile, I was the one always third-wheeling, the one asked to take cute couple photos, the one joking about how I’d probably end up 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 this effortless charm and when he looked at me like I was the most interesting person in the room, I fell for it. Hard.
For two years, I ignored the little things.
The way he never really gave—not gifts, not time, not effort. The way he still lived with his mom and had no plans to change that. The way he dodged every single conversation about moving in together or, marriage.
“We don’t know each other well enough yet,” he always said, usually while scrolling through his phone.
Two years together.
And yet, he still wasn’t sure.
I swallowed the hurt and told myself love was about patience and that commitment would come.
But then something happened.
And everything changed.
Last month, my aunt passed away. It was sudden, unexpected. She was my mom’s older sister, the one who always remembered my birthday, who sent me random care packages even as an adult.
Losing her felt like losing a piece of home.
Then came the shock.
She had no kids, no spouse, and she left her entire three-bedroom apartment to me.
It was bittersweet. I would’ve given anything to have her back. But this?
This inheritance was life-changing. No more rent. No more stressing about rising costs.
A home that was mine.
Naturally, I shared the news with Patrick.
And guess what?
That very night, he showed up at my door with flowers (his first ever), a bottle of wine (cheap, but still), and most shocking of all—a ring.
I opened the door, and there he was, standing awkwardly on my tiny welcome mat, holding up a small velvet box.
“Babe,” he breathed out, flashing that easy grin. “I couldn’t wait any longer. Will you marry me?”
I stared, not knowing how to respond.
Two weeks ago, I had 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 put on my best surprised face.
“Patrick… I— I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” he urged, his eyes gleaming. “We’ve been together two years, babe. It’s time.
Let’s build our future together.”
Build. Right. Because now I had something worth building in.
I should’ve thrown the ring back at him. Should’ve called him out.
But instead? I forced the biggest, most over-the-top smile I could manage.
The kind of grin that would make anyone believe I was the happiest woman alive.
“Yes! I’ll marry you!” I gasped.
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