Elise married a cleaner she met on the street, trapped in her father’s world of wealth and rigid expectations. What began as an act of rebellion blossomed into an unexpected love, revealing unspoken family secrets and leading to a confrontation so intense that it left her father deeply remorseful.
I had been ruled by my father my entire life. While he wasn’t overtly harsh, he viewed everything through the lens of cold, calculated business. To him, I was merely a pawn in his never-ending strategy game—a tool to be manipulated for his own gain. My future spouse? He would be a “wise choice” for the family rather than someone with whom to share laughter or affection.
With a firm and unwavering tone, he would say, “One day, you’ll thank me. It’s not about love; it’s about security. Strength is the essence of true love.”
But his words grew heavier with each passing year. For me, “what’s best” felt like a trap that I was being dragged into without any say in the matter. As I aged, every conversation, every meal, circled back to my “duty” to the family.
“You’re our only child, Elise. You have a role to fulfill. Don’t you understand?” he would say during yet another quiet dinner.
Finally, one chilly October afternoon, I reached my breaking point. I wandered the city after leaving the house, fleeing the oppressive silence that felt more like a vault than a home. I needed to escape, even if just for a few hours, but I had nowhere to go.
As I turned a corner, I noticed him: a young man with a slight limp, raking leaves outside a row of shops. He worked slowly and methodically, each sweep of the rake seeming like a peaceful ritual. There was something serene about his presence, as if he were a part of the city’s rhythm.
Without thinking, I approached him.
“Excuse me,” I said, my voice tremulous. Startled, he looked up and remained silent, waiting for me to continue.
“Hey… I—” I inhaled deeply to regain my composure. “I need a husband. Are you interested in getting married today?”
He stared at me as if I were from another planet, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.
“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice calm and deep.
I tried to sound more certain than I felt, but my desperation seeped through. “Yes. It’s not… it isn’t what you think. This has nothing to do with love. I just need to get out of a situation.”
He studied me, his expression thoughtful. “So, you’re saying you need a fake husband?”
“Exactly. A contract,” I replied, taking a deep breath. “Just to get my father off my back. This is him.” I showed him a picture I had taken on my phone.
He paused, scrutinizing the image before his brow furrowed in recognition. “I know this guy,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Lucas. Are you sure about this?”
I nodded. “As sure as I can be.”
Lucas remained cautious, as if waiting for me to reveal that it was all a joke. “You don’t even know me,” he remarked. “This could get complicated.”
I tried to reassure him. “It’s just a contract. After that, I won’t bother you. You can go back to your life.”
He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he exhaled softly. “All right. If it helps you escape this chaos, I’ll agree. But know that once I commit, I don’t back out.”
A wave of relief washed over me. “Thank you,” I breathed, almost overwhelmed. “I appreciate it, Lucas.”
He smiled slightly, as if he understood the absurdity of the situation. “I guess I’ve been a little crazy myself. But this—this could be the most insane thing I’ve ever done.”
That afternoon, we headed straight to city hall. Just a piece of paper and two strangers signing it together—no flowers, no elaborate ceremony.
As we walked out of the building, Lucas smiled at me. “Well, I suppose we’re officially in this now.”
Then it hit me: I had just married a stranger.
The days that followed were chaotic yet surprisingly calming. Lucas and I developed a strange routine that was both peculiar and comforting. Life in his world was easy and laid-back, teaching me things I had never known, like budgeting for groceries and making breakfast for myself.
My father was furious when he learned I had gotten married. His calls were relentless, his voice icy and accusatory. I ignored him for days before finally answering.
“Elise, what’s going on?” he demanded. “You married a janitor! A stranger! Are you out of your mind?”
I felt a tremor in my voice as I replied, “It’s my life, Dad.”
“Elise, you have obligations. Do you really think this nonsense will be respected? I’ll be over tomorrow. I want to meet your husband.”
“All right, Dad,” I responded, feeling cold. I knew I couldn’t avoid it forever.
The following evening, my father showed up at our tiny apartment, surveying the space in disdain as he took in the mismatched furnishings and simple décor.
“You actually live here, Elise?” His voice dripped with disappointment.
I crossed my arms defiantly. “This is our home.” Behind me, I felt Lucas’s steady presence.
My father turned to him, assessing him with contempt. “So, you’re the man who married my daughter. Do you even know who she is? Do you understand her worth?”
Unfazed, Lucas met my father’s gaze. “Yes, sir, I do,” he replied calmly. “I know she is more than just her last name and the wealth that comes with it.”
My father sneered. “Oh, I see. You have the right words. You’re obviously only interested in what you can gain, not in love.”
“Honestly, sir,” Lucas said firmly, “I don’t care about your wealth or status. Elise matters to me.”
Anger flushed my father’s face. “You think I’ll believe that? You’re nothing but a janitor.”
Lucas remained composed. “Even as a janitor, I value honesty and respect. Elise deserves better than being treated as a pawn in your game.”
My father’s expression shifted, a mix of disbelief and fury. “And why do you think you have the right to teach me about respect?”
Lucas took a deep breath. “You don’t think much of my last name, do you? What if I told you that Martin was my father’s name?”
A flicker of confusion crossed my father’s face. “Martin?”
“You used to know him,” Lucas continued. “Until you forced him out—took everything he owned. He went from being a business owner to a floor cleaner. That’s how I was raised.”
My father’s face drained of color, and the room crackled with tension. “That can’t be true,” he stammered, studying Lucas’s face. “That was years ago. You’re his son?”
Lucas nodded. “He never fully recovered. But my dad taught me to rise above my resentment. And here I am.”
My father turned away, his shoulders slumping as if he had aged in an instant. Then, unexpectedly, he fell to his knees. “Martin was a friend of mine. I had to make a choice. I had a family, and it was either him or me. I did what I thought I had to do. I’m sorry.”
A long silence stretched between us. Finally, my father turned to me, a new look of regret in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to pull you into this, Elise. I thought I was creating a future for you.”
“A future you chose for me,” I muttered. “But now I’m choosing my own.”
My father walked out the door, his figure hunched, without another word. I felt a mixture of relief and sadness in my chest as I watched him leave.
Days passed, and although I didn’t hear from my dad, it felt like a weight had been lifted. Then one night, someone knocked on the door. I was shocked to find him standing there, looking awkward and uncertain.
“Lucas,” he said softly, in a tone I had never heard from him before. “I need to apologize to you. Not just for the past, but 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 accepted his words with a nod. “Sir, that’s all anyone can do. Everyone makes mistakes. What matters is what we do next.”
A week later, we met in a small park. Martin, Lucas’s father, had come to town. As Martin approached, my father fidgeted nervously, twisting his hands. After a long moment of silence between the two men, my father extended his hand.
“I’m sorry, Martin. I can’t change the past, but I never meant to hurt you.”
Martin’s expression softened as he nodded slowly. “Back then, we were different men. But there’s always time to change.”
In a small patchwork of years filled with pain and animosity, they shook hands. I watched as my father and Martin turned to face us, the past fading away as they embraced a future united by forgiveness.