My parents wouldn’t let me forget that I was unmarried and thirty-four years old.
They matched me with every decent-looking person they knew to get me married and begin a family. Still, that was only one aspect of it. They finally informed me that unless I married by the time I turned thirty-five, I would not get any of their money. I was going to lose it since they just had a few months left to reach their target.
Following a fresh argument with my folks, one day I went for a walk to cool off. I was so furious that I paid little thought to my destination until I came upon a woman seated on the pavement. Her hair and clothing were disorganized, and a wooden sign over her shoulder said “Need help.” But her stare caught me and made me stop and pay attention; it was sweet, compassionate, and curiously soothing. I had an idea at that same moment that nearly seemed like a need. I approached her and formulated a proposal without giving it enough thought.
If she married me, I promised her food, a safe place to live, and some basic luxuries as well as peace from my parents would stop harassing me. Apart from posing as my wife, she wouldn’t have to do anything while she lived with me. I was stunned when she answered yes. Jessica, a female, accomplished it.
When I entered the living room Jessica was there. She was grinning and laying down a meal tray. “I thought you might be hungry, so I made your favorite,” she said. Her voice was harsh and worn when I first met her, but now it was gentle and polite.
Stammered, I stood there. One month prior, I had come upon a destitute and homeless woman. This was not hers. Her manner and appearance had altered as well. I had no idea what to say; she looked to be radiating love and kindness.
Jessica told us the truth about her background as we ate. “I’ve had a hard life,” she remarked first, her voice calm but firm. “I knew I deserved better even though I made a lot of bad decisions that landed me on the streets.” Everybody I asked would simply trust in me and see me for exactly who I am.
Her words struck me like several tons of stones. I never regarded Jessica as a person with ambitions, dreams, or emotions since I was enraged with my parents. Rather, I argued using her as a pawn to drive my point. But as she spoke, I started to see how poorly I had assessed her. She was attempting to make our house cozy and inviting, not only acting as a decent wife.
Then Jessica pulled a little cotton-wrapped present from her bag, right as I assumed everything was safe. She handed it to me silently, and when I opened it I found a journal—a battered notebook filled with her thoughts, dreams, and reflections. Turning the leaves taught me about her struggles, her will, and her unflinching hope for a better future.
Reading what she penned made me cry. She never gave up on herself in front of all that had transpired. I came to see I had been passing over her beauty, strength, and friendliness. And here I was, a man believing he was being courteous by proposing a hasty marriage. By then Jessica was more than simply someone I had married out of wrath. She had unknowingly brought love and brightness into my life. This was amazing.
