I met her while repairing a broken fence on a property she had recently purchased on the outskirts of town, and when I burned my hand with the welding torch and everyone nearby laughed at my clumsiness, she was the only one who approached with water, ointment, and a serene kindness that took me by surprise.
From that moment on, he treated me differently than anyone else ever had, and he started lending me books on business and personal growth that I initially struggled to understand, but which I refused to abandon.
He patiently helped me pronounce English words correctly without making me feel inferior, and he talked to me about saving money, building something meaningful, and thinking beyond the limits of our town.
No one my age had ever made me feel that my future could extend beyond the workshop, the debts, and the dry land surrounding our house, and with it I finally believed that I could become something more than what I had always known.
And yes, I fell in love with her in a way that had nothing to do with money, comfort, or appearances, because I fell in love with the way she listened to me as if I mattered.
When I told my family about my decision, they erupted in anger and disbelief that shook the entire house.
“That woman has you completely manipulated,” my aunt snapped while crossing her arms tightly.
“You’re looking for a mother figure, not a wife,” my cousin added with open contempt.
“He’ll use you and discard you when he gets bored,” my father said with a mixture of anger and disappointment that hurt me more than the insults.
