Patrick blinked at me, still on one knee with the ring trembling slightly between his fingers, and asked what rule I was talking about. I pretended to hesitate and then dropped the news. I told him that if we got married, we would live in my new apartment, but my family had a strict tradition he needed to follow. His curiosity turned cautious as he asked what kind of tradition I meant.

I explained that before marriage, the groom was expected to prove his dedication by serving the bride’s family for one full year. His brows drew together as he asked what I meant by “serve.” I sighed and told him it was just simple things—cleaning, cooking, running errands, a bit of yard work. I mentioned that my aunt’s apartment had a large garden that required a lot of maintenance and that, since I was inheriting it, I had to honor her wishes because she had loved that garden.

Patrick’s face twitched as he finally processed it. He asked if I wanted him to do chores for a year. I acted offended and told him he made it sound harsh, insisting it was a sacred tradition. I leaned in and asked softly if he still wanted to marry me. He didn’t answer right away, and I could practically see him weighing his options: a free apartment on one side, manual labor on the other.

He swallowed and asked if we could skip that part. I shook my head and said my family wouldn’t give their blessing if we did, and that it would be disrespectful to my aunt’s memory. He sat back on his heels looking miserable, staring at the ring and then at me, realizing his plan to freeload in my new apartment was falling apart. I simply smiled and waited.

Eventually, he sighed, forced a smile of his own, and said he would do it. I beamed and told him he could start the next day because my uncle had a long list of tasks he needed help with.

And that completely made-up family tradition ensured I never had to see that ring again.