The poor milkmaid accepted out of desperation. But on their wedding night, something dreadful occurred, leaving her horrified.
The girl was just twenty. Her hands carried the scent of milk and hay, and her boots were still damp from the mud. She shared a crumbling wooden house with her sick mother. Her father sat in prison over debts he had failed to repay.
The village buzzed with rumors, yet the truth was simple: there was no provider, no money, and at times they had absolutely nothing to eat.
Her mother grew frailer with each month. Medicine cost more than they could manage. The girl woke before sunrise and labored on the farm until nightfall, but her earnings barely covered a loaf of bread. Sometimes she would sit by the window, staring down the road, not knowing what step to take next.
Then the wealthy man entered their lives. Around forty years old, dressed in a costly suit, arriving in a luxury car, he carried the steady, weighty gaze of someone used to getting his way.
He came to their home and stated calmly, almost without emotion:
“I’ll help your father get out early. I’ll pay off his debts. Your family will never want for anything again. Just marry me and bear me a son. I’ll die in a year anyway.”
He spoke as though negotiating the purchase of property.
The girl said nothing. She studied his face, his assured manner, and unexpectedly felt a trace of pity. Forty years old. Wealthy. Yet alone. He insisted doctors had given him no more than a year.
She agreed. Not for the money—or so she convinced herself. He would be gone in a year regardless. Her father would be freed, her mother would receive treatment. What did she truly stand to lose?
The wedding was small and swift.
But that night, something happened that filled the girl with terror, and by morning she had fled the house.
After her husband drifted to sleep, she lay awake. The house felt unfamiliar and cold. She rose to walk along the hallway and noticed a light glowing in the office. The door stood slightly ajar.
Documents were spread across the desk.
She had no intention of prying into private papers. Yet certain words caught her eye. A date. A signature. The seal of a clinic.
Slowly, she stepped closer.
It was a medical report from several months earlier. Printed clearly: satisfactory health. Positive prognosis. Not a single mention of a terminal illness.
Beside it lay another paper—a contract with an attorney. If a child were born, all property would transfer to the heir. If no child arrived, the marriage would be dissolved within a year, and she would leave with nothing.
Later she learned the full truth: a wealthy relative had passed away, leaving him her entire estate under one condition—he must father a child within a year.
He had deceived her and taken advantage of her compassion, only to discard her afterward like something unwanted.
