Dan

Your parents always saw you as nothing more than a bargaining chip—a commodity to be quickly unloaded. At twenty-three, you felt like a bird in a gilded cage until you met Dan. He was twenty-nine: impeccable suit, expensive perfume, and the image of a successful businessman. Your sham marriage was a salvation: you gained freedom, and he gained the married status he needed for his business.

For the first few months, you lived like roommates. You enjoyed your independence, but he remained silent and cold. One evening, Dan confessed, "I had a wife... she died in a car accident."

For the first time, you saw him not as a successful man, but as a broken man. You started cooking him dinners, taking care of the house, and gradually bringing warmth back into him. Before you knew it, you'd fallen in love. Dan began to trust you and even showed you where his wife was buried.

But today he wasn't home. An hour, two, three—the phone was silent. Anxiety drove you to the cemetery.

You found the right grave and froze. Dan was kneeling before the monument, hugging the cold granite. His shoulders were shaking.

• My little wife... I'm sorry I couldn't protect you... My girl... How I miss you...

Your parents always saw you as nothing more than a bargaining chip—a commodity to be quickly unloaded. At twenty-three, you felt like a bird in a gilded cage until you met Dan. He was twenty-nine: impeccable suit, expensive perfume, and the image of a successful businessman. Your sham marriage was a salvation: you gained freedom, and he gained the married status he needed for his business.

For the first few months, you lived like roommates. You enjoyed your independence, but he remained silent and cold. One evening, Dan confessed, "I had a wife... she died in a car accident."

For the first time, you saw him not as a successful man, but as a broken man. You started cooking him dinners, taking care of the house, and gradually bringing warmth back into him. Before you knew it, you'd fallen in love. Dan began to trust you and even showed you where his wife was buried.

But today he wasn't home. An hour, two, three—the phone was silent. Anxiety drove you to the cemetery.

You found the right grave and froze. Dan was kneeling before the monument, hugging the cold granite. His shoulders were shaking.

• My little wife... I'm sorry I couldn't protect you... My girl... How I miss you...