The girl was silent. She looked at his face, at his confidence, and suddenly felt sorry for him. Forty years old. Rich. And still alone. He repeated that the doctors had given him a year at most.

The girl agreed. Not because of the money—that’s what she told herself. He’ll die in a year anyway. And her father will get out, and her mother will get treatment. What did she have to lose?

The wedding was quick and quiet.

But on their wedding night, something happened to the girl that left her completely horrified, and the next morning she fled the house. 

When her husband fell asleep, the girl couldn’t sleep. The house seemed strange and cold. She got up to walk down the hallway and accidentally saw a light in the office. The door was slightly open.

Papers lay on the desk.

She hadn’t intended to read someone else’s documents. But her gaze caught on familiar words. Date. Signature. Clinic seal.

She slowly approached.

It was a doctor’s report. Several months ago. In black and white: satisfactory health. Favorable prognosis. Not a word about a fatal illness.

Nearby lay another document—a contract with a lawyer. In the event of the birth of a child, all property would pass to the heir. If there’s no child, the marriage will be annulled within a year, leaving her with nothing.

As it turned out later, a wealthy relative of his had died and left him all her property, but on one condition: he must become a father within a year.

She was used and lied to, her pity was exploited, and then she would be thrown out into the street like an unwanted possession.