Confrontation and the Final Straw

When I just kept inviting him to eat and didn’t ask, he couldn’t help but speak up.

"Okay, so, listen—Lucas had a crush on you for ages. Seriously, he begged me to introduce you."

My heart skipped. I kept my cool, raised my eyebrows, and smiled, playing along: "Really?"

He put down his fork and stared at me. "Hey, Maddie, don’t doubt it."

"I promised Lucas I wouldn’t tell you, but I think he’s just shy. He liked you for ages but always acted reserved."

I finally showed some interest, took a sip of water, and asked softly, "Oh? Really?"

He slapped the table, getting excited. "Of course! He saw your photo on my Instagram and kept pestering me, always checking your posts. I thought he was just curious."

"But guess what?"

I didn’t answer, just smiled, but he kept going.

"After three months, he secretly bought a house and a car, then begged me to introduce you. I was surprised and asked why. He said, ‘Maddie is so amazing—if I don’t work hard, I’ll never have a chance.’"

He laughed heartily. "He’s just that kind of guy—does everything on the down low. But, trust me, he’s crazy about you."

So, Lucas had planned everything from the start.

I smiled, looking surprised.

"I never would have guessed. From how Lucas acts, I thought we just got together because the timing was right and we were a good match."

My friend shook his head. "Maddie, don’t misunderstand him. He does things but never talks about them. I think it’s good I told you, or you’d never know."

He toasted to our happiness.

I smiled, clinked glasses, then quietly poured some water out while thinking, I poured out the wine, letting the good wishes go with it.

I watched the droplets hit the napkin, the gesture feeling oddly cathartic. Sometimes you have to let go of other people’s dreams for you.

Next, I went to the neighborhood where my fiancé’s house was.

The complex was pretty basic—a bunch of plain apartment buildings, not much in the way of trees or amenities.

Honestly, I’d only been there a few times. I had my own place and liked living alone. My parents always said to keep some distance before marriage, so I rarely visited his place.

Even when I did, I didn’t hang around outside—there wasn’t much to see.

By contrast, my fiancé loved coming to my place. He’d stay all day and only leave late at night.

Before I knew it, I was at the door of Building 8, Unit 906—Lucas’s place.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts and was about to head back down when the door opened.

A young woman in her twenties, wearing leggings and a hoodie, came out with the trash.

She greeted me warmly, "Hey, are you the neighbor next door?"

I probably didn’t look too happy. I mean, who was this girl coming out of Lucas’s place? Anyone would feel bad if they thought they’d been cheated on.

But I forced a smile and answered vaguely, "I don’t think I’ve seen you before."

She didn’t seem to notice my discomfort and replied cheerfully, "Yeah, I just moved in. Please look out for me."

Just moved in? Oh, right—my fiancé said he’d sold his house. Wow. That was fast.

I made a few polite comments, then quickly left.

The community bulletin board was covered with house-for-sale flyers.

I usually ignored them, but now I was searching every flyer.

Finally, I found one ad with a picture of my fiancé’s house.

But the contact was someone named Mr. Daniels, and the phone number wasn’t Lucas’s.

I stared at my phone for a long time, then dialed the number.

"Hello?" A stranger answered.

"Hi, Mr. Daniels, I saw your listing for a place in Willow Grove Apartments. It looks nice—can I come see it?"

He apologized, "Sorry, it just sold a couple days ago. You must have seen an old flyer—I haven’t taken it down yet."

We made a little more small talk, then I asked, "By the way, I heard Building 8, Unit 906 is for sale too, but I couldn’t find any info. Have you seen any contact for that?"

He laughed, "That’s my place."

"Sorry to bother you, then."

I hung up.

On the way home, I tried to piece things together.

I hadn’t talked to my fiancé much lately. We were never the type to chat constantly—just a little each day. We were both busy, not much passion, so it didn’t feel strange now. Still, it felt like something was missing, like a quiet gap had opened up between us.

Unexpectedly, as soon as I got home and sat down, my fiancé messaged me.

"Babe, how’s it going? Did you handle it?"

I stared at his message, my thoughts a mess, and couldn’t help comparing it to before.

When was he ever this attentive? I thought back, but couldn’t remember a time.

Our relationship was steady, but honestly, kind of bland. We were both easygoing, always respecting each other’s boundaries.

We’d give advice sometimes, but never interfered in each other’s decisions.

So when he sold his house without telling me, I was uncomfortable, but couldn’t really get mad.

But now, he’d crossed a line.

I couldn’t even pretend to keep my emotions in check anymore. There was no point to this relationship anymore.

I calmed down and replied, "No, still working on selling."

"Why?"

I slowly grabbed a bottle of Chobani yogurt, drank as I thought about my reply.

"Because I already signed the contract. I don’t know much about these things, but the penalty for backing out is too high. It’s not worth it."

"How high?" He replied quickly, as if waiting for my answer.

After a moment, I replied, "A hundred thousand."

"How could it be that high?"

"I figured I was going to sell anyway, so I didn’t pay much attention to the penalty."

He replied, "Can’t you just not go through with it? If not, we can go to court."

"We probably wouldn’t win, and the lawyer’s fee isn’t cheap. Usually, you have to pay the agreed penalty."

"I’ll go ask." After that, he stopped messaging.

I sprawled on the couch, tired but clear-headed, recent events spinning in my mind.

At midnight, my fiancé called.

I glanced at the time, muted the phone, and didn’t answer.

But he called again, and again, as if he wouldn’t stop until I picked up.

Just as I was getting drowsy, I was wide awake again.

I answered, and he said:

"Maddie, I asked around for you. Since there’s a penalty in the contract, it’s hard to win, and lawyer fees could be tens of thousands—really not worth it."

"Mm," I replied softly.

"But I have a friend getting me into investing. Why don’t you join us?" he suggested.

I hesitated, feeling a wave of skepticism. Was he really trying to pitch me on this now?

"No thanks. I don’t know how, and I don’t want to. It’s late—I’m tired. I’m going to sleep."

"Oh, okay, then get some rest."

After hanging up, I couldn’t sleep.

Two days later, in the morning, he called again.

"Babe, yesterday my parents found out I sold my house and really let me have it—said I was out of my mind. They said I have no sense, and yelled at me—who gets married without their own house?"

"I thought about it all night, and I think they’re right. We’re getting married, planning to settle here, so we really should have a place of our own."

I listened quietly, giving a few “mm-hmm”s to show I was listening, but didn’t say much.

He continued, cheerful again, "So I decided to buy another house. What do you think?"

I raised my eyebrows and replied perfunctorily, "Sounds good."

He perked up. "Really! You think so too? Then let’s go look at houses today!"

But…"

He changed the subject: "But I checked the law, and look, just to make you feel better, why don’t we split it fifty-fifty? That way, we each own half, so if anything ever happens, you won’t lose out."

When I didn’t answer, he asked again, "Babe, what do you think?"

My stomach turned. What do I think? I think it’s awful.

So I said, "Let’s break up."

"Break up?" His voice shot up, full of disbelief. His voice cracked, like he couldn’t believe it.

Before I could say more, he snapped, "Maddie, are you seeing someone else?"

That made me laugh in anger.

I didn’t even understand why—when I said break up, his first reaction wasn’t that something was wrong between us, or that he’d done something wrong, but that I had.

I snorted, deciding to be direct.

"Lucas, I went to Willow Grove Apartments, Building 8, Unit 906."

There was a beat of silence, then I heard him breathing hard on the other end.

I continued, "That house is sold."

He let out a relieved sigh, then laughed, "Didn’t I already tell you it was sold? You even went to check?"