Together, we'd make it—eventually, there'd be bread on the table.
That stormy night, I ran to a bike-share, soaked to the bone, suddenly realizing I no longer needed to struggle alongside him for a home.
The rain washed over my face, pulling me back to three years ago.
That day, also stormy, was rough at work—boss on my case, colleagues scheming, and I'd lost a major project.
Dazed on the street, I nearly didn't see the car coming.
He yanked me back just in time, and when I turned, there was his handsome face, calming me with his gentle tone. I fell for him right then.
We hit it off, and in no time, we rushed into marriage.
He said it was his first love, and so was I—I thought I'd struck gold, bypassing all the heartache, but I had no clue...
Given his rough upbringing and rural background, my parents were initially against it after scraping to get me through college.
But I stood by him, convinced that with enough elbow grease, we'd bake our bread eventually.
My folks finally caved, handed me the family records, and we skipped a wedding to save cash.
Three years on, I discovered he wasn't cash-strapped; he was just pinching pennies when it came to me.