I’m standing in my brand-new studio flat making pasta with this guy from Hinge, and his phone lights up on my counter with a reminder: “Cake tasting with Sophie - 8 weeks to wedding”. He spent the last two hours kissing my forehead like I’m his soulmate, only to freeze up whenever I got close. Am I literally just someone's pre-wedding bucket list?!

Short answer: Yes, you accidentally auditioned for the role of *Last Regret Before the Altar*, and you didn't even get paid for the gig. The hot-and-cold act suddenly makes disgusting sense. That passionate romance? Him indulging his fantasy. The sudden ice-cold detachment? The crushing weight of guilt and cowardice when he remembered Sophie exists. His emotional rollercoaster had zero to do with you and everything to do with him being an absolute fraud. You do not owe this man a civilized dinner or a listening ear. Turn off the stove, point at the front door, and say: “You forgot your phone, and Sophie deserves better. Get out.” Then block his number, pour yourself a drink, and celebrate your new flat without a dishonest fiancé cluttering up your floor space. You saved yourself months of breadcrumbs in exchange for one ruined pot of pasta.