ely acknowledged my existence—was now gesturing toward the windows.

“I think sheer curtains would brighten up the space,” she mused.

Patrick, caught mid-measurement, turned, “Oh!

Babe! You’re home early!” he stammered, dropping the tape measure like it burned him.

I set my bag down very deliberately, crossed my arms, and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah,” I said coolly, letting my gaze sweep over them.

“And I see you broke the one rule I gave you.”

Silence.

Patrick swallowed hard. “Babe, I—”

But before he could even attempt an excuse, his mother—bless her entitled little heart—sniffed and waved a dismissive hand.

“Well, dear, now that Patrick is your fiancé, it’s his home too!”

And that’s when I lost it.

I laughed right in their faces.

Patrick flinched, while his mother’s mouth pressed into a tight, disapproving line. The tension in the room got thick.

“Oh, you thought we were actually getting married?” I asked, shaking my head as I wiped an imaginary tear from my eye.

“That’s cute.”

Patrick’s eyes widened in horror. “W-What? Babe, of course—”

“No, no, no,” I interrupted, holding up a hand.

“Let me be clear: I knew why you proposed. You never wanted me—you wanted the apartment.”

His mother let out a scandalized gasp, clutching her chest like I’d just slapped her. “How dare you accuse my son—”

“No, how dare you two plan to move into my apartment while I was at work!” I shot back, my voice cutting through the room like a whip.

Patrick was sweating now, his hands raised as if he could calm the situation.

“Babe, please, I just—”

“Stop. Just stop.”

His face twisted, caught somewhere between anger and panic, and I could tell his carefully crafted act was crumbling.

But I wasn’t done.

“Let’s talk about what’s really going on here, Patrick,” I said, folding my arms. “You weren’t ready to propose for two years.

But the second I inherit a fully paid-off apartment? You’re suddenly down on one knee?”

Patrick blinked rapidly, scrambling for an excuse. “That’s not—I just realized how much I love you, babe!”

I let out a sharp laugh.

“Oh, really? So tell me, when exactly did you ‘realize’ that? Before or after you and your mommy started planning where her furniture would go?”

His mother scoffed, stepping forward like a queen addressing her subjects.

“Young lady, you are being very ungrateful. My son is giving you his last name, and you’re treating him like a gold digger!”

Silence.

Then, Patrick snapped.

“FINE! You wanna know the truth?” He threw his hands up.

“Yeah! I wasn’t ready to marry you before because, frankly, you’re not the kind of woman men fight for!”

Oof.

But he wasn’t finished.

“You should be thankful someone like me gave you a chance! You weren’t gonna do any better, Janet!”

I took a deep breath.

“You’re right, Patrick. Maybe I won’t do any better.”

His face lit up, thinking I was backing down. His mother smirked, clearly believing they’d won.

Then, I reached into my bag, pulled out a neatly stacked pile of papers, and tossed them onto the kitchen counter.

“Good thing I won’t have to find out,” I said casually.

“Because, as of this morning, I sold the apartment.”

His jaw dropped.

“You WHAT?!” Patrick shrieked, lunging toward the papers as if he could undo what had already been done.

“You heard me,” I said, grinning. “I signed the paperwork this morning. The money’s already in my account.”

Patrick looked like he might pass out.

His face paled, and for the first time since I’d known him, he had nothing to say.

“You—you’re lying,” he whispered.

I shrugged. “Call the realtor. Ask.”

He stumbled backward, his eyes darting wildly to his mother, who grabbed his arm in sheer panic.

“Mom, what do we do?!”

And that?

That was the final nail in the coffin.

I grabbed my purse, walked to the door, and turned back.

“You’re right, Patrick. I wasn’t gonna do any better. But lucky for me…” I flashed him the brightest, most satisfied smile of my life.

“I just did.”

Then, I pointed to the door.

“Now, get the hell out of this house.”

The apartment sold faster than I expected. Within a week, the paperwork was finalized, the money was in my account, and I was gone. I moved to a new city, got a cozy little apartment on my own terms, and started afresh.

No freeloaders. No manipulative boyfriends. Just me, living life the way I deserved.

Patrick, of course, lost his mind.

He called nonstop, begging to “work things out.” He swore he “never meant to hurt me” and that we could “start over.”

Blocked.

His mother left a three-minute voicemail calling me a “heartless little witch” for “ruining her son’s future.”

Also blocked.

A mutual friend later told me Patrick had no savings, no backup plan, and—big surprise—was still living with his mom.

And me?

I was in my new apartment, sipping wine on my balcony, happier than I’d ever been.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t settling.

Source: amomama