For two years, I had been in a relationship with Ethan, a man I believed was my future. We had talked about everything—our dreams, our goals, even the possibility of marriage. But every time I brought it up, he would shut down the conversation.
“I’m just not ready,” he would say, brushing it off. “Marriage is such a big commitment. Let’s not rush things.”
I accepted it, convincing myself that maybe he just needed more time. But then, something strange happened.
I inherited a three-bedroom apartment from my late aunt, and the moment Ethan found out, his attitude toward marriage changed overnight.
“Wow, babe, that’s amazing!” he gushed when I told him. “A three-bedroom? In the city? That must be worth a fortune!”
I nodded, still grieving my aunt’s passing. “Yeah, it’s a beautiful place. She left it to me in her will.”
Ethan’s entire demeanor shifted after that. Suddenly, he was talking about marriage as if it had been his plan all along. “You know,” he said one evening over dinner, “I’ve been thinking… maybe it’s time we start planning our future together. I mean, we’ve been together for two years, and I love you. Marriage makes sense, right?”
I wasn’t stupid. I knew exactly what had changed. He wasn’t in love with me—he was in love with the idea of living in that apartment for free. Instead of confronting him outright, I decided to play along and see how far he would go.
I agreed enthusiastically, pretending I had been waiting for this moment. We started discussing wedding plans, and Ethan was suddenly invested in every little detail. But what really gave him away was his eagerness to move in before we were even married.
“Babe, why don’t we just start living there now?” he suggested one day. “We can turn one of the bedrooms into a home office, and maybe rent out the other for extra cash.”
I smirked internally but kept my cool. “Oh, I forgot to mention,” I said, feigning innocence. “The apartment has a special condition in the will. I can’t live in it until I’m married.”
His face dropped. “What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “My aunt was very traditional. She wanted to make sure I was settled before I moved in. So, no marriage, no apartment.”
Ethan’s disappointment was visible, but he quickly covered it up. “Well, I guess we should get married soon then,” he said with forced enthusiasm.
That was all the confirmation I needed. I broke up with him that night. “You never wanted to marry me,” I told him. “You wanted to marry an apartment.”
He tried to deny it, but his face told me everything. He wasn’t heartbroken—he was furious that his plan had backfired.
As I walked away, I felt nothing but relief. I had lost two years to the wrong person, but at least I had dodged a lifetime of regret.
