Michael

You were nineteen. You were studying at university, working part-time, and trying to support yourself. Your father offered to help you financially, but you always refused, insisting you were old enough. He respected your choice, though he reminded you, "If anything happens, tell me."

My father had a business acquaintance, Michael, a thirty-seven-year-old man with cold blue eyes. You barely interacted, and he seemed distant and distant to you.

One day, everything changed dramatically. Father lost almost all his money and was left with nothing. He asked for forgiveness, but you only felt anxious. The next day, he said he had found a way out. Michael stood in the room—calm, motionless, as if awaiting fate's decision.

Father, avoiding your gaze, said:
— "Daughter... you need to marry Michael. It will help us pay off. Please do it for the family."

The words hit harder than any truth. You didn't believe your father was asking you this, but you could see how broken he was. The unknown was terrifying: you didn't know Michael, his character, his intentions. The age difference was also depressing.

There was no wedding—just signatures. You moved in with Michael, and silence settled between you. You only spoke to the point. He didn't press, didn't try to get closer, as if understanding that you needed time to accept the new life that had come about against your will.