On the night of our wedding, when I saw my husband’s “down there,” I shuddered and understood why my husband’s family had given me a lakeside villa worth approximately 1 million dollars to marry a poor girl like me…

On the night of our wedding, when I saw my husband’s “down there,” I shuddered and understood why my husband’s family had given me a lakeside villa worth approximately 1 million dollars to marry a poor girl like me…

On the night of our wedding, when I saw my husband’s “down there,” I shuddered and understood why my husband’s family had given me a lakeside villa worth approximately 1 million dollars to marry a poor girl like me…
My name is Lily, I’m 26 years old, I grew up in a poor family in sunny and windy West Texas. My dad died early, my mom got sick, I had to drop out of school in 10th grade to work for rent. After years of struggle, I finally got a job as a live-in maid for one of the wealthiest families in San Francisco – the Whitmore family in Pacific Heights.

My husband – Michael Whitmore – was the only son of that family. He was handsome, educated, calm, but there was always an invisible distance around him. I’ve worked there for almost three years, I’m used to bowing quietly, never daring to think I’ll ever be able to enter their world. But one day, Eleanor Whitmore (Michael’s mother) called me into the living room, placed the marriage certificate in front of me, and promised:
“Lily, if you agree to marry Michael, the lake house in Lake Tahoe is in your name. It was a wedding gift from the family.”

I was stunned. How can a girl like me compare to her beloved son? I thought he was joking, but his eyes were serious. I don’t understand why they chose me; All I know is that my mom has a serious illness, and the monthly medical expenses are an incredible burden. My mind told me to say no, but my weak heart — and my attention to my mother — made me nod.

The wedding was luxurious beyond imagination at The Fairmont San Francisco. I was dressed in white, sitting next to Michael, still thinking I was dreaming. But the way he looked at me was cold and distant, as if he was hiding a secret I had never touched.

On the wedding night, the room was filled with flowers. Michael was dressed in a white shirt, his face was sculptural but his eyes were sad and silent. As he approached, my whole body shook. It was at that moment that the hard truth was revealed.

Michael was not like any other man. She had a congenital defect that prevented her from fully performing the duties of a husband. Suddenly everything became clear: why they had given him a villa; why would a poor maid be allowed into a wealthy family – not because I’m special, but because they need a “nominal wife” for Michael.

Tears welled up in my eyes — I don’t know if it was out of self-pity or pity. Michael sat up quietly and said: “I’m sorry, Lily. You don’t deserve this. I know you’ve done a lot, but my mother… She needs me to have a family to be safe. I can’t go against her will.”

In the yellow light, I could see her eyes were moist. She felt a deep sense of pain. She was no different from me — both victims of fate.

In the days that followed, our lives were very different. There was no sweetness between the couple, only respect and sharing. Michael was very kind: he asked me questions in the morning, took me on walks around Lake Tahoe in the afternoon, and had dinner together. He didn’t see me as a slave as I used to be, but as a companion. That made me feel awkward: my heart was touched and my mind reminded me that this marriage would not be “complete” in the usual sense.

Once, I heard Mrs. Eleanor confide in the family doctor: she had a heart attack and didn’t have much time. She feared that if she left, Michael would be lonely forever. She chose me because she saw that I was gentle, hardworking, and unambitious; she believed that I would stay with Michael and that I would not leave him because of that defect.

When I found out the truth, my heart sank. I used to think I was just a “replacement” in exchange for a villa, but it turned out that I was chosen out of love and trust. That day, I said to myself: no matter what happens in this marriage, I will not leave Michael.

One rainy night in the Bay Area, Michael suddenly had a seizure. I was terrified and took him to UCSF Medical Center. In his coma, he grabbed my hand tightly and whispered:
“If one day you’re tired, go. A house on the lake is a price. I don’t want you to feel bad for me,”
I burst into tears. When did he touch my heart? I took his hand,
“No matter what, I’m not leaving. You’re my husband – my family. ”

After the crisis, Michael woke up. When he saw me, his eyes filled with tears and warmth. We didn’t need a “perfect” marriage. What we had was understanding – sharing – and a quiet, lasting love.

The house on Lake Tahoe was no longer a “reward,” but a real home. I planted flowers on the porch; Michael put an easel in the living room. Every night, we would sit next to each other, listening to the rain falling on the pine forest, and talking about our little dreams.

Tperhaps, happiness isn’t perfection, but finding someone who – despite their shortcomings – still chooses to love and stay. Ti found that happiness… right from that trembling wedding night.