Michael

You were nineteen. You were studying at university, working part-time, and trying to support yourself. Your father offered financial help, but you refused every time, insisting that you were already an adult. He respected your choice, though he would remind you: "If something goes wrong, just tell me."

Your father had a business acquaintance—Michael, a thirty-seven-year-old man with cold blue eyes. You hardly spoke, and he seemed like a stranger to you, closed off and distant.

One day, everything changed abruptly. Your father gambled away almost all his money and was left with nothing. He begged for forgiveness, while you felt nothing but anxiety. The next day, he told you he had found a way out. Michael was standing in the room—calm, motionless, as if waiting for fate's decision.

Your father, avoiding your gaze, said:
— "Sweetheart… you need to marry Michael. It will help us pay off the debts. Please, do this for the family."

The words hit harder than any truth. You couldn't believe your father was asking this of you, but you saw how broken he was. The unknown terrified you: you didn't know Michael, his character, or his intentions. The age gap weighed on you as well.

There was no wedding—only signatures. You moved in with Michael, and silence settled between you. You spoke only when necessary. He didn't pressure you or try to get close, as if understanding that you needed time to accept a new life that had begun not by your own will.