Elise married a cleaner she had met on the street, trapped in her father’s world of wealth and rigid regulations. What started out as disobedience led to unanticipated love, unspoken family secrets, and a confrontation so intense that it made her father feel deeply sorry.
I had been ruled by my father my entire life. Although he wasn’t particularly harsh, he saw everything as a cold, calculated business transaction.
I was a piece in his never-ending strategy game, a tool in his world. My future spouse? He would be a “wise choice” for the family’s good rather than someone with whom to laugh or share affection.
With a firm and decisive tone, he would remark, “One day, you’ll thank me.” “Dear, it’s not about love. It has to do with safety. Strength is the source of true love.
But his words become more weighty every year. For me, “what’s best” felt like a trap that I was being dragged into without having any control. It just got worse as I got older. Every conversation and every meal came full circle to my “duty” to the family.
You are our only kid, Elise. You’ve got a part to play. Do you not comprehend? During another peaceful supper one evening, he said.
I finally had enough one chilly October afternoon. I roamed the city after leaving the house, fleeing the oppressive silence that felt more like a vault than a home. I needed to leave, even if only for a few hours, but I had nowhere to go.
I noticed him when I turned a corner. Outside a row of shops, a young man with a slight limp is raking leaves off the sidewalk.
He went slowly and methodically, as if every broom stroke was a peaceful ritual. His work had a serene quality, as if he were a part of the city’s cadence.
I went to him without thinking.
“Pardon me,” I replied in a tremulous voice. Startled, he looked up, but remained silent and waited.
“Hey… I— I inhaled to regain my composure. “I need a husband.” Are you interested in getting married today?
He looked at me as if I were from another planet and raised an eyebrow.
“Are you serious?” he said in a calm, deep voice.
I tried to sound certain when I responded, “Yes,” but my desperation came through. “It’s not… It isn’t what you believe. This has nothing to do with love. I simply have to get out of a situation.
He thought as he examined me. “You’re saying that you need a phony husband?”
“Exactly. A bargain. I took a deep breath. “Just to get my father to stop bothering me.” I showed my father the picture I had taken with my phone. “This is him.”
He stopped and looked at the image. He scowled as if he remembered the face. He extended his hand and introduced himself as Lucas. “Are you certain about this?”
I gave a nod. “As certain as I will ever be.”
Lucas was still apprehensive, as if he was waiting for me to acknowledge that it was a joke. “You’re not familiar with me. He eyed me and said, “This could be trouble.” His eyes were calm, gentle, and not stern.
I tried to allay his worries by saying, “It’s just a contract.” “After that, I won’t bother you. You are free to resume your life.
He remained silent for a while, his face unreadable. At long last, he exhaled deeply. “All right,” he said softly. if it enables you to escape this chaos. Please know that once I commit, I don’t back out.
I felt a wave of relief. “Thank you,” I responded, nearly out of breath. “I’m grateful, Lucas.”
He smiled slightly, knowingly. I guess I’ve been a little insane all my life. However, this—this could be the most insane.
We headed straight to city hall that afternoon. Just a piece of paper and two strangers signing it together—no flowers, no fancy clothing.
Lucas smiled at me as we walked out of the building. “Well, I suppose we are now in this.”
Then it dawned on me. I recently got married to a stranger.
The days that followed were hectic. Lucas and I developed a routine that was peculiar yet strangely reassuring.
Life was easy and leisurely in his world, and he taught me things I had never known, like how to budget for groceries or prepare breakfast on my own.
My father was enraged to hear that I had gotten married. He called me all the time, his messages piercing, his voice cold. I ignored him for days before answering.
“Elie, what’s going on?” He made a demand. “You married a janitor, a stranger! Are you insane?
I trembled as I said, “It’s my life, Dad.”
“Elise, you have obligations. Do you believe that this rubbish will be respected by the world? I’ll be over tomorrow. I would like to meet your hubby.
“All right, Dad,” I responded, feeling cold. But I knew I couldn’t stay away from it indefinitely.
My father showed up at our tiny flat the following evening. Wearing his typical fitted suit, he surveyed the space with disdain, glancing at the haphazard furnishings and plain décor as if they were offensive.
“You actually live here, Elise?” His voice was full of disappointment as he asked.
I crossed my arms and declared, “This is our home.” Behind me, I sensed Lucas’s serene presence.
My dad looked at him, assessing him. His voice was brimming with contempt as he replied, “So, you’re the man who married my daughter.” “Are you aware of her identity? Do you know how much she’s worth?
Unfazed, Lucas looked him in the eye. “Yes, sir, I do,” he responded in a calm, steady voice. “I am aware that she is more than just her last name and the associated wealth.”
My dad sneered. “Oh, I see. You have the perfect words. You’re obviously only interested in what you can obtain, not love.
“Really, sir,” Lucas stated resolutely, “I don’t give a damn about your wealth or position. Elise is important to me.
Anger made my father’s face flush. He said, “You think I’ll believe that?” “You are nothing more than a janitor.”
Lucas remained unflinching. He made eye contact with my father. He remarked, “Even though I work as a janitor, I understand honesty.” and deference. Elise deserves better than being viewed as a piece in your game, I’m sure of it.
My father’s face changed, displaying a mixture of incredulity and anger. Furthermore, why do you feel entitled to teach me about respect?
Lucas inhaled deeply. “You don’t think much of my last name, do you? What if I told you that Martin was the name of my father? His tone was strong but calm as he inquired.
A look of bewilderment flashed across my father’s face as he scowled. “Martin?”
“You used to know him,” Lucas added. “Until you forced him out, he was your business partner. took all of his possessions. He moved from being a business owner to a floor cleaner. That’s how I was raised.
My father’s face went white, and the room felt electric. “That isn’t possible. scrutinizing Lucas’s face, he stuttered, “That was years ago.” “You’re his son?”
Lucas gave a nod. “He never got better. However, Dad brought me up to overcome my resentment. And here I am.
My father averted his gaze, his shoulders hunching as though he had aged suddenly. He fell on his knees after that. “Martin was a friend of mine. I had to be desperate. I had a family, and it was either him or me. I took the action I believed was necessary. I apologize.
There was a long pause. At last, my father turned to face me, a new look of regret in his eyes. I didn’t mean to drag you into this, Elise. I believed that I was creating a future for you.
“A future you chose for me,” I muttered. “But now I’m picking my own.”
My father walked down the steps, his form hunched, without saying another word. I felt a mixture of relief and sadness in my chest as I watched him leave.
Days went by. Even though I didn’t hear from my dad, it was like a burden being lifted. Then, one night, someone knocked on the door. I was shocked to see him standing clumsily and appearing nearly uncertain.
He said, “Lucas,” in a softer voice than I had ever heard. “I must apologize to you. For now, not simply for the past. For everything. I can do better for my daughter, but I can’t take back what I did to your family. Now I see that.
Lucas quietly accepted the comments with a nod. “Sir, it is the only thing anyone can do. Everybody makes mistakes. What we do next is what counts.
We got together in a little park a week later. Martin, Lucas’s father, had arrived in town. As Martin came closer, my father twisted his hands nervously. After a long moment of quiet between the two men, my father extended his hand.
“I apologize, Martin. I can’t take back the things I did at the time, but I didn’t mean to hurt you.
Martin’s face softened with time as he nodded softly. “Back then, we were different men. However, there is always time to improve.
As a tiny patchwork over years of suffering and animosity, they shook hands. I saw my father and Martin turn to face us, the past vanishing as they welcomed a future as two families bound by forgiveness.