At 22 years old, I married the 70-year-old widow of the richest Arab in the country to escape poverty. I was certain I could stick it out by her side for a few years and then become a wealthy man. But on our very first wedding night, what she did truly ‘hurt’ me. – Cute Info

“Before we begin this marriage, I want us to understand each other.”

I attempted a smile.

“Of course.”

“I know why you married me.”

My smile disappeared.

She continued.

“You want my money.”

I remained silent.

“Don’t bother denying it. You asked about your inheritance before you asked whether I was happy. You agreed to marry me before you knew much about my life. And when my lawyer warned you to read the contract, you barely glanced at it.”

I felt my face burning.

“Margaret, I agreed because I thought we could help each other.”

“Help each other?” She laughed quietly. “How generous of you to describe it that way.”

She opened the agreement to a marked page.

“There is one small problem, Daniel. You won’t inherit my fortune simply because you married me.”

I grabbed the document.

“What are you talking about?”

She pointed to the relevant clause.

My eyes moved across the lines, but the words seemed to blur.