Allison was graduating from college, and a very important chapter of her life was beginning. It was the stage where she had to start a completely independent life, decide on her future, her career, and her family. She was incredibly anxious; she realized she had to make the right choices because her parents simply wouldn't be able to afford a second chance at an education for her.
Allison’s father was already 62, and her mother was 54—in other words, she was a "change of life" baby. Her older brother, Anthony, had died two years ago; he had lost control of his car during a heavy rainstorm. Her parents had somehow survived the loss of their son, but Allison saw how difficult it had become for them to live with such a void. Both had aged significantly; they tried to stay upbeat for their daughter, but Allison saw through it. She had loved her brother dearly herself and missed him every day. For this very reason, she couldn't afford to make a mistake with her future. She needed to support her parents, not be a burden on them. However, it was very difficult for her to explain all this to her boyfriend, whom she had started dating during her sophomore year.
Patrick was far less responsible; he solved almost all his problems with his father’s money, who owned a large construction firm. He cleared his academic debts with "donations" and made friends at the lavish parties he threw. Pat was a good guy—he loved Allison—but he relied too heavily on his father’s finances, and that frightened her. They were like they were from different planets.
"So," Pat said, jumping onto the sofa with his feet up and resting his head on Allison’s lap, covering the copy of The Great Gatsby she had been enjoying. "Any plans for tonight?"
"I’m reading," she smiled. "By the way, you just creased my page."
"Yeah? Sorry about that. How about we go out and buy you a brand-new copy?" Pat shrugged carelessly.
"No, this is a special book," Allison said, placing a bookmark inside and setting it on the side table. "My godfather gave it to me for my fifteenth birthday. And a year later—exactly a year later—he was pushed in front of a subway train."
"Oh my God... I’m so sorry, I..." Pat looked panicked, worried he’d hit a sore spot, but Allison just laughed.
"He’s perfectly fine! Don't worry. He always says that 'fate hasn't spilled the milk yet,' and you can't go before your time."
"Is that so? You know you really scared me, right? You owe me for that," Pat said, pulling two tickets from his back pocket. "Check it out: a yacht trip. A midnight cruise. Just us, the captain, and the crew."
"Pat..." Allison smiled.
Of course, she wanted to go on a yacht, but she couldn't help wondering what such a luxury cost. It was clearly more than the guy made testing video games.
"Where did this splurge come from?"
"Well, my old man helped out a bit," Patrick admitted reluctantly. He knew how Allison felt about these things. "But actually, my own business is starting to pay off, too."
"Really? Tell me about it," Allison asked curiously.
Patrick suddenly became serious, sitting up abruptly and crossing his legs.
"Remember how I was testing those games? Well, that was just the start. I was mostly trying to figure out who was who in the industry. I hit it off with one of the developers, we started talking, I mentioned I studied design, and he asked me to lead my own project!"
Allison didn't understand most of what he told her next, but looking at the spark in Pat's eyes, it was clear he was thrilled.
"Wow! Congratulations!" Allison kissed him.
"But that’s not all," Patrick announced triumphantly. "If the game does well, we split the profits fifty-fifty."
"Will that be a lot?"
"Well, hopefully enough to start my own firm. Worst case, I’ll just ask my dad. Yeah, yeah, don't look at me like that!" He held his hands up defensively. "He’s more than happy to help."
"Alright," Allison sighed. "I’m happy for you, truly."
"Why just for me?" Pat squinted playfully. "We’re going to be together forever."
"That’s a big statement," she smiled.
"You don't believe me?" She shrugged, and he chuckled, pulling her into an embrace. "Well, you should..."
***
The midnight cruise was unforgettable. It really was just the two of them, aside from a couple of servers bringing out champagne and appetizers, a captain they only saw at the very beginning and end, and a few deckhands who were likely tucked away somewhere. Allison was breathless at the stunning views of the city skyline at night. Pat, seemingly more accustomed to such luxuries, just seemed happy that his girlfriend was enjoying herself.
After they successfully defended their senior theses, Patrick’s parents gave him a two-bedroom apartment. He immediately invited Allison to move in. She didn't have to think long: she loved Pat, and he loved her. Why not start a life together? Maybe it would lead to something more in the future. Once the move was finished and the apartment was set up, Allison finally landed a suitable job. Even though she was paid less as an entry-level specialist, it was a good start.
But negative changes were happening with Patrick. He became increasingly obsessed with gaming, sitting at his computer for days on end. Allison initially thought he was working until she happened to glance at his screen.
"Pat... are you just playing?" she asked, confused.
"Yeah," he muttered, not taking his eyes off the monitor.
"I thought you were supposed to be developing a game. Isn't that happening?"
"Oh, listen, that didn't work out," he said, waving her off.
Allison shrugged and went to take a shower. Pat had money, which meant he had reconnected his father to his bank account. Allison didn't like it; she paid for her own expenses with her salary, and they split the groceries. She wasn't financially dependent on him, but the problem was she no longer felt his love.
He had lied to her about the games—though, if she thought about it, he hadn't lied exactly; Allison had just assumed he was working. It turned out he was just entertaining himself while his father funded his lifestyle. Furthermore, their communication had dwindled to almost nothing. They ate lunch together, and that was the only time they spoke. Allison managed to keep the house clean, cook, and work. Pat couldn't even find the time to ask how her day was, let alone help out. Allison realized with a heavy heart that her feelings weren't what they used to be.
Time passed.
A year went by, and nothing changed. Two years, and it was the same. Pat still spent all his time at the computer. Allison tried to earn more, working herself to the bone trying to fix their relationship. Patrick had become quite irritable and still hadn't found a job. Allison was exhausted; she could easily rent her own place, but she stayed only out of the hope that he would snap out of it.
"Allison, where’s my yogurt?" Pat yelled from the computer.
"In the fridge," she called back, finishing a project on her laptop.
"Can you bring it to me?" Patrick whined.
"I’m working."
"Pleee-aaase!" he begged.
Suddenly, that "please" pushed Allison over the edge.
What the hell? Why isn't he doing anything to start an adult life? He can't even get a yogurt out of the fridge—this is absurd!
She sat for a few seconds, trying to keep from having a breakdown, then saved her work, closed her laptop, and walked over to him. He looked up at her with surprised eyes. Allison took a good look at the man she loved. He had completely let himself go. At twenty-seven, he looked forty, with a growing beer belly, unshaven, a messy beard, and an oil stain on his stretched-out t-shirt.
Suddenly, Allison realized this wasn't the Pat she had loved. That version, even if he lived on his parents' dime, at least cared for her. Now, sitting in an expensive gaming chair, was a typical thirty-year-old leech.
"No yogurt?" Patrick asked.
"Pat, we need to talk."
"Now?" He looked at the screen.
"Yes, right now."
"Give me like fifteen minutes," he whined again.
"In fifteen minutes, Pat, I’ll be finished packing my bags," she snapped.
"Are you going somewhere?"
Allison rolled her eyes.
"Patrick, you’ve changed so much in the last two years," she said, ignoring his furious button-mashing. "I thought you’d at least get a job, finally stop living off your parents. But no. You just sit there and play. I thought we’d have a family, but you’re just playing. I thought we’d be happy together, but guess what? You’re just playing. I’m tired of it. I’m twenty-six, I want to get married and have a child so I don't have to be fifty-five when they graduate college. I want to get back to the work I love, but you don't care about my dreams at all."
"Fine, what do you want from me?" Patrick made a martyr's face.
"I want you to grow up!" she shouted from the heart. "Play on the weekends, play in your free time, but being nearly thirty without a job is embarrassing!"
"I don't know why you’re screaming at me," Patrick replied coldly. "As you might recall, I have an apartment. One that you live in, by the way. And I have money that you can spend, too. What more do you want?"
"Pat, none of this is yours! It’s your father’s!"
"Stop screaming, seriously. You’re distracting me from the game, can't you see? And anyway, what does it matter where the money comes from? It’s there, and that’s it."
"It matters! Your parents won't live forever, and you don't even know the name of your dad’s company. How are you going to run it? You’re nothing without their handouts!"
"That’s it!" Patrick threw his headset aside, jumped to his feet, and clenched his fists.
For a moment, Allison thought he was going to hit her.
"Get out! And don't let me see your face again!"
Allison immediately backed toward the door, tears stinging her eyes. This is what he had become. The man of her dreams. Once kind, caring—irresponsible, sure—but still good. Now he was like a cornered animal. Clumsy, but strong enough to be dangerous. Seeing his fists clenched and ready was the worst part. She wouldn't stay another minute.
She backed out and closed the door. From the creak of the leather chair and the rapid clicking of keys, she knew he had sat back down and put his headset on. Allison went to the closet, grabbed a bag, threw in her essentials, took her laptop, phone, and documents, and slipped out of the apartment unnoticed. Or maybe Patrick intentionally didn't stop her. Either way, she was relieved to be out. She had to stay in a hotel that night because it was too late to find a rental. She’d handle that after work.
The next morning, she called a realtor and described what she was looking for. She went to work, then met with the agent who had found three options. She liked two of them, but one was too far from her office, so the choice was easy. She settled on a one-bedroom apartment with a separate bathroom. The kitchen was spacious—big enough that you could put up a partition to make another room. It had all the necessary furniture: two closets, a bed, and a couple of nightstands. In addition to the kitchen cabinets, there was a dining table, a fridge, a sofa that could serve as a guest bed, and a small coffee table. There was even a screened-in balcony with another table and two beanbag chairs, with carpeting so your feet wouldn't get cold in the winter. The bathroom had a washer—basically, it had everything except a microwave.
I can live without that for now, Allison decided.
The rent was surprisingly low, which was a relief. Now, every dollar counted.
Patrick didn't call her that day, or the next. He didn't call a week later. Allison was hurt. Did those years of their relationship mean nothing? Or maybe he hadn't even noticed she was gone? Perhaps he thought she couldn't survive on her own and would crawl back. No way. Allison tried to stay calm, focus on work, and send money to her parents. As for Pat...
She hoped the pain would eventually fade.
***
A month later, Patrick finally bothered to dial Allison’s number. She had just started to miss him a little less—the old him, the one who would talk about his day, shower her with attention, tuck her in at night, and brew two mugs of tea.
Allison never wanted Pat's money; she just wanted to love and be loved. But now, looking at the incoming call, the contact name "My Love" no longer felt like the truth.
"Hello," she answered.
"Where are you?" he grunted into the phone.
Despite everything, hearing his voice made her heart ache. She still loved him; she still wanted to be with him. Then she remembered the night she had fled. The feeling passed.
"You told me to get out, so I left."
"Not funny. Where are you?" he insisted.
There was no warmth, no tenderness, no concern. From his tone, Allison realized Patrick just wanted his property back.
"I’m not a gift from your father, Pat. Where I am is none of your business. You should focus on yourself for once."
"Allison, do you really want to end it like this?"
"Pat," she sighed. "Thank God you didn't hit me. Because I wasn't a hundred percent sure you wouldn't."
"Are you insane?!" he suddenly exploded.
"That’s exactly what I mean. Goodbye, Patrick." Allison hung up, turned off her phone, and cried.
It hurt terribly, but she knew it was over. There was no point in humilitating herself; you can't get back what’s already gone.
***
Patrick didn't call again, and slowly, her pain subsided. Allison climbed the career ladder, saved up, and eventually bought her own place. It was very similar to the rental where she had started her new life without Pat. The only difference was a decorative archway dividing the kitchen, just as she had wanted. She joined a gym, started eating healthy, and by thirty, she looked better than she had at twenty-five. Maybe the absence of Patrick played a part in that.
One day after the gym, she went to a coffee shop to meet a client about a new project. She had only spoken with his assistant; the man himself was busy and had barely found time for a face-to-face meeting. After a few minutes of waiting, a tall man in a business suit walked in. He scanned the room and walked confidently to Allison’s table.
"Hello. You must be our designer? Allison?" He smiled, flashing bright white teeth.
"That’s me," she replied with an equally bright smile. "And you’re Max, right?"
"Yes, indeed. I'm glad you’re so easy to spot—you're beautiful," he said, sitting down across from her.
"Thank you," she said, a light blush creeping onto her cheeks. It had been a long time since she’d received a compliment. She had spent all her time on work and the gym, forgetting about her personal life and her dream of a family. "Shall we discuss the project?"
"And a business-like attitude to boot. You’re a dream," Max teased. Allison looked at him suspiciously, but he didn't seem to be faking it. He seemed genuine. "Can you cook, too?"
"It’s not relevant to the project, but yes, I can," she laughed.
"That's it! Marry me!" Max laughed.
Allison laughed along, simply not knowing how else to react.
"Alright, alright, before you think I’m a total clown and walk out on the contract... honestly, it's been a long day. Would you mind if we had some coffee first? Or are you in a rush?"
"No, I’m not in a hurry. I’m done for the day," Allison smiled. She realized she actually enjoyed talking to this man. His humor was right on the edge, but it was charming.
"Wonderful!" He signaled a passing waiter. He ordered quickly, then looked at her. "Have you decided?"
"Um, yes, a cappuccino, please," Allison told the waiter.
"And your honey cake for the lady!" Max added immediately.
"Oh, no, I shouldn't..."
"It’s made with organic honey, it's delicious, and I guarantee your figure won't suffer," he assured her calmly.
Allison smiled shyly and nodded. She wanted to trust this man, even in the small things, and she didn't know why.
"You know the menu well. Do you come here often?" she asked.
"Sure. I like to come here for coffee after work. Actually, that place across the street is mine," Max pointed to the fitness center where Allison had just been.
"No way! I just came from there!" she exclaimed.
"You're kidding!" Max raised his eyebrows. "I would have noticed you!"
Allison laughed at his jokes sincerely. It turned out Max owned a chain of fitness centers and a few bars. She was there to design the interior for one of his new locations.
"Why such different businesses?" Allison asked.
"Well, it started with something else entirely," Max leaned back. "My father is a wealthy man, too, but when I turned eighteen, he told me he wouldn't support me. I panicked—I thought he was kicking me out on the street. He didn't, but he moved me into a rental and told me I had to earn my own grocery money. I was still in school. I became a bartender, learned the ropes for a year, and then with a loan from my dad, I opened my first bar. He was just an investor; I pay him back from the profits, even though he didn't want it. I really owe him everything. Then I expanded, met some developers, and built the chain. I thought I'd stop there, but then I saw something that stuck with me. I was out with friends one night, and a guy I knew—a contractor—came in with his family. His wife and son. The family sat down, but the father stayed at the bar looking miserable, drinking neat whiskey. We talked, and he complained about his son—said he'd given him everything, but the kid wouldn't lift a finger. Typical spoiled brat story, but... I looked at the son, and he didn't look like my peer. He looked like his father's age. He was overweight, unshaven, greasy hair, bad skin. Right then, I realized I didn't want to become that. I saved my profits, bought a couple of buildings at a good price, and the fitness centers took off better than I expected. But if I hadn't seen what I could have become, I never would have pushed myself."
Allison listened and realized exactly who he was talking about. It was Patrick, the man she had loved so much she couldn't see his flaws. That was how he looked to the rest of the world.
"I think I’ve bored you with my life story," Max chuckled.
"No, it's just... I think I know that person."
"Small world," he said, looking into her eyes. "Let’s not ruin a perfect evening talking about him." He sensed she didn't want to talk about Patrick.
"I’d like that," Allison agreed with relief.
They talked a bit more, discussed the project, exchanged numbers, and went their separate ways.
***
But the "professional relationship" didn't want to stay strictly professional. Allison felt that Max liked her, and she certainly liked him. She poured herself into his project, finishing it ahead of schedule and to the highest standard. Max was impressed.
"You are the best designer I've ever worked with," he said seriously.
Allison smiled. She loved the praise.
"Thank you. Well, I suppose this is where we say goodbye?"
"Is that what you want?" Max asked unexpectedly.
Allison was caught off guard. Seeing her hesitation, he continued.
"We could celebrate the completion of the project. I’d say I insist, but I don't want to scare you off."
"Trust me, you don't scare me," she noted.
Why not take a risk? She was thirty. What did she have to lose?
"Alright, I’d love to celebrate."
"That’s great news! I’ll pick you up. I want to show you my places, but first, dinner. Deal?"
"Deal," Allison smiled and gave him her address.
At the appointed time, Max arrived in a sleek car with a driver. Allison wore a classic little black dress. Max was in a black three-piece suit. He met her at the door and gallantly took her hand.
"You look stunning," he said, lightly kissing her knuckles.
"Thank you. Dark colors suit you," she replied.
In the car, Max looked at her as if he were afraid to break a spell. They went to one of the most prestigious restaurants in the city. Dinner was wonderful; Max was a brilliant conversationalist. They found they had so much in common: sports, music, art, even horseback riding.
"No way! You’ve been riding since you were thirteen?" Allison asked in amazement as they left the restaurant for one of his bars.
"Absolutely. I even remember my first horse, Diamond. I loved him, even though he bucked me off a couple of times," he laughed.
"I’ve only been a few times, but it was magical," she said dreamily.
"We can fix that. Do you have plans for tomorrow?" Allison shook her head. "Well, you do now. We're going riding."
"Oh, I don't know..." she said shyly, knowing he wouldn't let her pay. "We aren't exactly old friends..."
"Then let's change that. First step: call me Max, not Mr. Miller." The driver pulled over, and Max opened her door. Allison’s face was still flushed. "What do you say, Allie?"
"Okay, Max," she smiled.
Her father was the only one who ever called her Allie; it gave her a warm, safe feeling.
***
The bar was incredible—a perfect mix of modern and cozy. Allison loved it. They had a few drinks, talked even more, laughed, and danced. When they sat back down to rest, Max suddenly put his arm around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss. Only one thought crossed Allison’s mind: Finally!
She realized she had been waiting for that all night.
"Was that too much?" Max asked tentatively, pulling back slightly.
Instead of answering, Allison wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him back for another kiss.
***
Six months later, Allison and Max were married. They were head over heels for each other and couldn't imagine how they had ever lived apart.
A month after the wedding, Allison found out she was pregnant. Max was over the moon, practically carrying her everywhere.
One day, she found herself crying because Max loved her "too much." She was so grateful; he supported her, cared for her, helped her parents ensure they had a comfortable retirement, and spent hours every day just talking to her. She was happy. She was finally loving and being loved, just as she had always dreamed.
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