Patrick and I had been together for two years, and every time I mentioned moving in together or getting engaged, his response was always the same:
“We don’t know each other well enough yet.”
Okay. I waited. I was patient.
Then my aunt passed away last month, leaving me her three-bedroom apartment.
I told Patrick about it. And that same night? He MAGICALLY “knew me well enough” and PROPOSED ON HIS KNEES.
The same guy who wasn’t ready just two weeks ago suddenly had a ring in his hand.
I felt bad. It wasn’t me he wanted, it was a free apartment.
But instead of calling him out on it… I played along.
I gasped, clutched my chest, and put on the biggest smile of my life.
“Yes! I’ll marry you!”
His eyes lit up. But then I raised a finger.
“With ONE condition.”
“Anything, darling!” he smiled.
I took a deep breath and dropped the bomb.
“From now on, you’ll ALWAYS follow ONE of my rules.”
His smile faltered. “What rule?”
I looked him straight in the eye. “We split everything 50/50. Rent, groceries, bills. No free rides—even in a free apartment.”
He laughed nervously, tried to play it off. “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 smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, of course.”
Over the next few weeks, we started “planning” the wedding—but Patrick never once talked about venues or vows. He only talked about furniture upgrades, “renovation ideas,” and how we could “flip the place” for more cash someday. He even suggested we turn my aunt’s old office into a home gym for him. Not us—him.
So I gave him another test.
I told him I was considering donating a portion of the inheritance to a domestic abuse shelter my aunt used to support. Her wish, I said.
Patrick’s smile froze like he’d bitten into a lemon.
“Donate? Why? That money could be our starter fund. A honeymoon. A new car.”
“She always wanted to help women starting over,” I replied. “Feels right.”
He sighed. “Okay, okay, maybe just a small donation. But don’t go overboard.”
So I did go overboard—intentionally. I wrote a fat check to the shelter and asked them to mail me a thank-you letter in print.
When it arrived, I left it sitting on the kitchen table, plain as day.
That night, Patrick came home, saw the letter, and just stood there. Quiet.
“You donated how much?” he finally said, eyes scanning the paper.
“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. Guess it depends on your definition of value.”
Patrick got cold after that.
He stopped bringing up the wedding. Started working late. Took “calls” outside. Even canceled dinner with my mom twice in one week. I knew what was coming.
Then, one Sunday morning, he dropped the act.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, not even looking me in the eye. “Maybe we rushed this engagement.”
I smiled sadly. “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 try to fight for the ring.
A week later, I bumped into his coworker at a bookstore downtown—Salome, sweet girl, always friendly. I casually mentioned the breakup. She raised her eyebrows.
“Oh, wow,” she said. “He was still telling people he was single at the office.”
Not a surprise. Just confirmation.
You know what the funny part is? I never wanted to trap or trick him. I just wanted to know. Whether he loved me, or the apartment. The money. The perks.
Turned out, it wasn’t me.
And honestly, I’m grateful.
Because that test saved me years of wondering. Of wondering if he would’ve stayed if the money disappeared. Of wondering if he loved the version of me who struggled—before the inheritance.
Since then, I’ve converted my aunt’s old office into a reading nook. No gym equipment in sight. I started volunteering at the shelter too, meeting women who’ve rebuilt from scratch. Their strength inspires me more than any man ever could.
Here’s what I learned: Love that shows up when the money does? Isn’t love.
So test it. Don’t withhold kindness or affection—but ask the real questions. See what happens when things aren’t easy. The people who stay? Who support you even when you’re giving, not just receiving?
That’s who you keep.
If this story hit home, please share it—someone out there might need this reminder today. ❤️
