My father always saw me as part of some high-stakes business deal. His dream? To marry me off to his wealthiest friend’s son — a “merger” he’d planned for years. For him, marriage was strategic, cold, and profitable. And one day, I’d had enough.
That autumn, while wandering the city, I saw a young man with a slight limp sweeping leaves. Something about his slow, purposeful movements struck me. On impulse, I walked up to him and said, “I need a husband. How would you feel about getting married today?”
He looked at me, confused. “Is this a joke?”
“Not at all. Think of it as a business deal,” I replied, explaining my father’s plans and offering him a small sum for this “freedom contract.” After a pause, he extended his hand, “Name’s Ethan. Deal.”
That afternoon, we married at city hall — no fancy dresses or flowers, just us and two bewildered witnesses. When we stepped out, Ethan said with a grin, “Well, Mrs. Callahan, guess we’re in this together now.”
The real storm, however, was Dad. When he found out, he was furious and demanded to meet my “disgraceful” husband. But when he came face-to-face with Ethan, my arrogant father shocked me by falling to his knees, tears in his eyes.