When I proposed to Alice, I thought I knew her. We’d been together for two years, and she was kind, funny, grounded—the kind of person I wanted to build a life with. But the moment we got engaged, something shifted. She became obsessed with the wedding.

At first, I figured it was normal. People get excited about planning. But it wasn’t excitement—it was fixation. She stopped talking about anything else. Every conversation revolved around flower arrangements, venues, or her ten bridesmaids. She wanted everything extravagant, no matter the cost, and she didn’t care if it went over budget.

It started straining everyone, including her own parents. And me. We fought more than ever. I started wondering if I even knew the woman I was marrying.

Then this week happened.

Alice maxed out my credit card—thousands of dollars—on outfits for herself and her bridesmaids. Ten women, all getting their dresses from one of the most expensive bridal boutiques she could find.

The card had been for wedding-related expenses—flowers, catering deposits, little things like that. Not ten couture gowns. When I confronted her, she brushed it off like it was nothing.

She said, “Well, we’re getting married. Your money is my money now.”

I told her she was being selfish. She snapped that I was being petty. The argument spiraled. I said if she kept this up, maybe she should cancel the wedding. She told me fine, she would. I didn’t even care anymore. I started packing my things that night and left to stay with my parents.

That was two days ago.

She didn’t call or text once. Then today she finally reached out, asking if I was really not coming back. I told her I needed space, that I wasn’t sure about getting married anymore. She started apologizing, saying she’d change, that she was sorry about everything. But I just couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t mean it.

The truth was, I needed time to think.

A few days passed before I finally called her. I told her I wasn’t angry about the money—it wasn’t about that. It was about her behavior, how she’d changed since the engagement. She said I was overreacting. She promised she’d pay me back, that this was just a tiny bump in the road, and we could move on like nothing happened.

She completely missed the point.

I told her it wasn’t about the credit card—it was about priorities. She cared more about a lavish wedding than about what came after. I tried explaining that marriage is about life after the wedding day, not about one party. But she didn’t get it. She just wanted to keep proving she was right, that everyone else—including her parents and me—was wrong.

Eventually I asked her to meet me for lunch so we could talk face-to-face. I chose a public place in case things got heated.

At first, it was awkward but civil. Then I told her the truth—that I didn’t think it was a good idea to go through with the wedding. I said she’d been hurting everyone around her for months and that even her parents had noticed her behavior.

She immediately became defensive, interrupting me, insisting nothing had changed, that everyone was just “overreacting.” I stayed calm and kept trying to explain, but she wasn’t listening. She didn’t want to hear that she might be wrong.

Finally, she lost it. She started yelling in the middle of the restaurant, saying I had no right to break off our engagement “over one stupid little fight.” She said I was being selfish, that I was probably cheating on her, that I was using the credit card issue as an excuse. People were staring. It was humiliating.

I got up to leave. She followed me outside, demanding an answer about whether the wedding was still on. I told her no.

She started crying and screaming that I couldn’t just end things like this, that I “owed her an explanation.” I said she already had one—her behavior was the reason. I told her she cared more about a party than the marriage itself, that I didn’t even recognize her anymore.

She wouldn’t let me go. She grabbed my arm, refusing to let me get in my car. I told her to let go, that I didn’t want to force her off me, but if she kept pushing, I would. Eventually she let go.

I got in my car, drove away, and blocked her number. I was shaking the whole way home, but I knew it was the right decision.

When my parents got back from dinner that night, I sat them down and told them everything. They were shocked but supportive. They said I’d done the right thing. Even though they’d known Alice for two years, they’d never imagined she could act like this.

That night, I finally let myself cry. Months of frustration and confusion came pouring out. My parents comforted me and reassured me that calling off the engagement now was better than going through with a marriage doomed to fail.

Two days later, I unblocked her so I could message about collecting my things from our place. She replied almost instantly, saying she’d already left and that I could “do whatever I wanted.” Then she unleashed a wall of texts—accusing me of cheating, saying she’d been the one reconsidering the marriage anyway, claiming she didn’t care anymore.

It was ridiculous. She said she didn’t care, but the paragraphs she sent told a different story. I didn’t reply. I just blocked her again.

I went back with a friend, packed up my stuff, ended our lease, and moved my things back to my parents’ house. My parents offered to handle canceling the wedding arrangements so I wouldn’t have to deal with it.

Then, a few days later, I heard from a mutual friend who’d run into her at the grocery store. Apparently, she was cheerful—like nothing had happened. When the friend asked about me, Alice told him I’d cheated on her and canceled the wedding to hide it.

That’s when I decided I needed to make a public announcement. I kept it simple, just saying the engagement had been called off. I didn’t want to air our dirty laundry. But when she went online and posted that I’d cheated, I had no choice but to respond.

I clarified that I hadn’t cheated, and I told the truth. It split our mutual friend group, but honestly, I didn’t care. The ones who mattered stuck by me.

It’s been six months now. I’ve moved out, found my own place, gone back to the gym, picked up reading again, and started to feel like myself. Alice vanished from social media for a while, but a few days ago, she reappeared—with a new fiancé.

Her caption said, “When the time is right, it’s just right.”

They’ve been together two months.

I hope, for his sake, she’s changed. But for mine, I’m just grateful I dodged that bullet.