You’re not married yet, but you’re thinking about buying a house together. Or maybe just one of you is thinking about it, and the other is quietly wondering what that means. Either way, you’ve stumbled into one of the most emotionally charged financial decisions a couple can make—and you’re making it before you’ve made the legal commitment that would give you both clear rights to the asset.
This isn’t a question about whether you love each other enough. It’s a question about what happens to a $400,000 asset when things don’t go as planned—and statistically, for unmarried couples, they often don’t.
The Belief That Gets Couples Into Trouble
There’s a pervasive idea that buying a house together before marriage is just “practice” for the real thing. You’re testing your compatibility, building equity instead of throwing money away on rent, and getting a head start on your financial future together. It sounds practical. Progressive, even.
But here’s what that narrative leaves out: marriage comes with a legal framework for dividing assets. Unmarried cohabitation does not. When married couples divorce, there are courts, attorneys, and established precedents for splitting property. When unmarried couples split up, there’s often just… chaos.
The house you bought together doesn’t automatically get divided 50/50. The person whose name is on the deed has the legal claim. The person who paid for renovations out of their personal account may have no documentation that matters. The person who made mortgage payments while their partner paid for groceries has no automatic right to equity.
You’re not building a life together. You’re building a legal nightmare dressed up as a starter home.
The Hidden Cost of Buying Together Before Marriage
Let’s say you both go in on the house. You’re both on the mortgage, both on the deed. You split the down payment, you split the monthly costs. Seems fair.
Now fast forward three years. The relationship ends. One of you wants to keep the house; the other wants out. Here’s what you’re facing:
If you agree: One partner needs to refinance into their name alone, which requires qualifying for the entire mortgage on a single income. If they can’t qualify, you’re stuck co-owning a property with someone you no longer want to see. You’ll need to negotiate a buyout price for the departing partner’s equity—and you’ll probably disagree on what the house is worth.
If you don’t agree: You may need to sell the house, which means paying realtor commissions, closing costs, and potentially selling at a bad time in the market. If there’s negative equity, you’re both on the hook. If one person refuses to cooperate, you might end up in civil court—yes, you can sue your ex-partner over a house, and people do.
The cost of a contested property dispute between unmarried partners can run $15,000 to $50,000 or more in legal fees, according to family law practitioners, and that’s before you factor in the emotional toll and the months (sometimes years) of limbo.
Compare that to the cost of renting for another year or two while you figure out whether this relationship is going the distance.
The Hidden Cost of Only One Partner Buying
Maybe you’ve thought about this, and you’ve decided it’s simpler for just one person to buy. One name on the mortgage, one name on the deed. Clean and clear.
Except now you’ve created a different problem: one partner is building equity while the other is effectively paying rent to their significant other. And unlike actual rent, those payments aren’t building anything for the non-owner.
Let’s say your partner buys a house and you contribute $1,500 a month toward the mortgage. After five years, they’ve built up $80,000 in equity (between principal paydown and appreciation). You’ve contributed $90,000 in payments. What do you own? Nothing. Legally, you’re a tenant who happens to be sleeping with your landlord.
This creates a power imbalance that corrodes relationships. The owner holds the cards. They decide whether to sell, when to refinance, whether to take out a home equity loan. The non-owner has all the obligations of homeownership—fixing things that break, maintaining the yard, caring about the property value—with none of the rights.
Some couples try to solve this with a cohabitation agreement that promises the non-owner a percentage of equity. These agreements can work, but they’re not as enforceable as you’d think, and they require both partners to be proactive about a conversation that feels deeply unromantic.
When Buying Before Marriage Actually Makes Sense
I’m not saying it’s never the right move. There are scenarios where buying before marriage is rational:
You’re engaged with a wedding date set. If you’re getting married in six months and you’ve found the perfect house, waiting might mean losing it or buying into a worse market. The risk window is short, and you’re already committed.
One partner already owns a home and you’re moving in. This isn’t really “buying together”—it’s one person maintaining their existing asset while the relationship develops. The key is being honest about the arrangement: you’re a guest in their financial life until you’re married.
You’re buying as an investment, not a shared home. If one partner is purchasing a rental property or an investment unit, that’s a business decision that can exist outside the relationship. Just keep it that way—separate finances, separate ownership, separate everything.
You’ve had a real conversation with a real attorney. Not a template you found online. An actual lawyer who specializes in property law in your state, who has walked you through what happens if you break up, and who has drafted documents that protect both of you.
If none of these apply, you should probably wait.
The Emotional Math Nobody Wants to Do
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: the couples who are most confident about buying together before marriage are often the ones most at risk. Research on cohabiting couples consistently shows that people overestimate the stability of their relationships. We’re wired for optimism about our own partnerships, even when the base rates suggest caution.
Demographic research suggests that a significant percentage of cohabiting couples who don’t marry—some studies estimate around 40%—will separate within five years. That’s not a judgment—it’s a pattern observed across multiple surveys. And when you’re buying a house on one income, the stakes only get higher if that income is yours and your partner walks away.
The couples who successfully buy before marriage tend to share a few characteristics: they’ve been together for a long time (five years or more), they have similar financial situations (so neither partner is taking on disproportionate risk), and they’ve had explicit, documented conversations about what happens if things don’t work out.
If the idea of drafting a “what if we break up” agreement makes you uncomfortable, that discomfort is telling you something. It’s not that you don’t trust your partner. It’s that you’re not yet at the stage of the relationship where combining major assets makes sense.
The Real Risk: You’re Not Just Buying a House
When you buy a house before marriage, you’re not just making a financial decision. You’re making a legal decision about your relationship that may be harder to undo than marriage itself.
Think about it: if you get married and it doesn’t work out, divorce law exists specifically to untangle your shared life. There are default rules about who gets what, how debts are divided, even how retirement accounts get split. It’s not pleasant, but it’s predictable.
If you buy a house together and it doesn’t work out? You’re in uncharted territory. The rules depend on whose name is on what document, what state you live in, and whether you had the foresight to create written agreements. Most people don’t.
This is why so many financial advisors and attorneys say the same thing: if you want to buy a house together, get married first. Not because marriage is a guarantee—it isn’t—but because it provides a legal structure for the thing you’re trying to build.
A Simpler Framework
If you’re genuinely trying to decide whether to buy before marriage, here’s a rule of thumb:
Would you buy this house with this person if you weren’t in a relationship?
Imagine your partner is a friend or a sibling. Would you co-sign a mortgage with them? Would you combine your savings into a single asset that neither of you can easily exit? Would you trust them to make fair decisions if you had a falling out?
If the answer is no—if you’d never enter a business arrangement this risky with anyone else in your life—then the relationship itself isn’t a good enough reason to do it.
The house will still be there after you’re married. The market might change, rates might shift, but waiting to buy a house for the right reasons rarely destroys anyone’s financial future.
What to Do Instead
If you’re not ready to marry but you’re tired of renting, there are better options:
One partner buys, the other pays fair market rent. This keeps the financial arrangement clean. The non-owner isn’t building equity, but they’re also not taking on risk. If the relationship ends, they walk away with no obligations and no losses—just like any other renter.
Keep renting and save aggressively for your future home. The down payment you’re building now doesn’t disappear if the relationship ends. It stays yours. And if the relationship does work out, you’ll buy your first home together as a married couple with a massive down payment and clear legal protections.
Buy separately. If you’re both financially ready to buy, maybe you each buy your own place. It sounds crazy, but plenty of couples have done it successfully. You maintain your independence, build your own equity, and if you end up getting married, you can sell one property or keep both as investments.
The point isn’t to be pessimistic about your relationship. It’s to recognize that hope isn’t a financial strategy.
The Decision After This One
Let’s say you decide to wait. Or let’s say you decide to go ahead and buy together, but you do it right—with legal agreements, clear documentation, and eyes wide open about the risks.
Either way, you’ve just made one of the more thoughtful financial decisions of your young relationship. And that’s worth something.
But here’s the next question you should be asking: if you do get married and buy a home together, how much should you actually spend? The real cost of becoming house poor has destroyed more marriages than disagreements about whose name goes on the deed.
How much house can you afford without suffocating everything else you want your life to be?